Cæsar acted as if he hadn’t heard and kept on talking.
Amparito took the glass, wet her lips in it, and looked at Alzugaray maliciously.
After eating and having coffee, as the two married ladies and the girls were inert from so long a meal, they arose, and Alzugaray, the mayor’s son, and Amparito’s father followed them. Don Calixto, the judge, and Cæsar remained at table. The priest had gone to sleep.
A bottle of chartreuse was brought, and they started in drinking and smoking.
Cæsar’s throat grew dry and he became nauseated from drinking, smoking, and talking.
At five the judge took his leave, because he had to glance in at court; Don Calixto wanted to take his nap, and after he had escorted Cæsar to the garden, he went away. The two married ladies were alone, because the young people had gone with Amparito’s father on an excursion to the Devil’s Threshold, a defile where the river flows between some red precipitous rocks full of clefts.
Cæsar joined the two ladies, and kept up a monotonous, dreary conversation about the ways of the great city.
At twilight all the excursionists came back from their jaunt. One of the young ladies played something very noisy on the piano, and the judge’s daughter was besought to recite one of Campoamor’s poems.
“It is a very pretty thing,” said the judge’s wife, “a girl who laments because her lover abandons her.”
“Given the customs of Spain, as they are, the girl would be in a house of prostitution,” said Cæsar in a low tone, ironically.