“I came in without anybody seeing me,” she said. “Your porter, ‘Wild Piglet,’ let me pass. I know that Amparito is not here.”
She didn’t say “Your wife,” or “Your lady,” but “Amparito.”
“Tell me what you want,” said Cæsar, looking at the woman with a certain dread.
“I am the woman that lives with ‘Driveller’ Juan.”
“Ah! You are...?” “Yes. ‘The Cub-Slut.’”
Cæsar looked at her attentively. She was of the aquiline type seen on Iberian coins, her nose arched, eyes big and black, thin-lipped mouth, and a protruding chin. She noticed his scrutiny, and stood as if on her guard.
“Sit down, if you will, please, and tell me what you wish.”
“I am all right,” she replied, continuing to stand; then, precipitately, she said, “What I want is for them not to punish Juan more than is just.”
“I don’t believe he will be punished unjustly,” responded Cæsar.
“The whole town says that if you speak against him in court, the punishment will be heavier.”