“Not just now; but they have been for many years. Twenty years working as if it were my own business, and helping them to get rich; they in opulence, and me with thirty dollars a month. And that man, just because he saw me take home a chicken to my sick girl, said to me: ‘I see that you are living like a prince.’ Curse him! Would to God he had sunk in the ocean!”
Palomares had been drinking, and with the excitement of the alcohol, he exposed the very depths of his soul.
“You are terrible,” said Quentin.
“You think I’m a coward! No; I have a wife and three small children ... and I’m already decrepit.... Believe me, we should unite against them, and wish them death. Yes sir! Here’s what I say: the coachman should overturn his master’s carriage, the labourer should burn the crops, the shepherd should drive his flock over a precipice, the clerk should rob his employer—even the wet nurses should poison their milk.”
“You’re all twisted, Palomares.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I thought you were a sheep, and you are almost, almost a wolf.”
“Why, there are some days when I would like to set fire to the whole town. Then I’d stay outside with a gun and shoot anybody who tried to escape.”
“The tortoise will get there,” remarked Quentin.
He said good-bye to Palomares, and went home. As he opened the door and stepped into the entryway, he heard some one weeping sadly. Attracted by the wails, he went through the corridor, crossed a patio, and asked in a loud voice: