Quentin turned back with the idea of leaving Remedios with her sister.
“Well, well!” Rafaela exclaimed. “You certainly can’t complain. We’ve been waiting for you to go home with us. Come, get down.”
“No; he’s going to take me home—aren’t you, Quentin?”
“Whatever you wish.”
“Well, let’s be going.”
“We’re off!”
“Look out for jokers,” warned Rafaela’s cousin Transito.
They took the road cityward, riding among the groups who were returning from the fiesta.
They could see Cordova in the twilight with the last rays of the sun quivering upon its towers. In some houses the windows were commencing to light up; in the dark blue sky, the stars were beginning to appear.
Neither Quentin nor the girl spoke; they rode along in silence, swaying with the motion of the horse. They reached the Carrera de la Fuensantilla, and from there followed Las Ollerías. At the first gate they came to, El Colodro, Quentin thought he saw a group that might have stationed itself there with the intention of frightening the horses of the passers-by; so he went on through the Arco de la Malmuerta to the Campo de la Merced.