“And you, my friend, hope to encounter great and strong things in a mean society. You are deceived.”
Pacheco and Quentin fell silent, and the Countess contemplated the two men as they rode quietly along....
It was late afternoon. The dry earth, warmed by the sun, exhaled the aroma of rosemary and thyme and dried grass. Upon the round summit of the mountain, trees, bushes, rocks, stood out in minutest detail in the diaphanous air.
The sun was sinking. The naked rocks, the thickets of heather and furze, were reddened as if on the point of bursting into flame. Here and there among the yellow foliage of the trees, appeared the white and smiling walls of farmhouses....
Soon night began to fall; bands of deep violet crept along the hillsides; one could hear in the distance the crowing of cocks and the tinkling of bells, which sounded louder than usual in that peaceful twilight; the air was tranquil, the sky azure.... Herds of cattle spread over the fields, which were covered with dry bushes; and along the damp pathways, bordered by huge, grey century-plants, a torrent of sheep and goats flowed, followed by their shepherd and his great, gentle-eyed, white mastiff.
When they returned to the farmhouse, Tío Frasquito said to Pacheco:
“We have been waiting for you.”
“Why, what’s up?”
“They just baptized a baby in the farm next to ours, and are having a little dance. If you people would like to go....”
“Shall we go?” Pacheco asked the Countess.