Toward the west, the sky was touched with rose; flaming clouds sailed over the mountain. The sun had set; the fire of the clouds changed to scarlet, to mother-of-pearl, to cold ashes. Black night already lurked in the city and in the fields. The wind commenced to murmur in the trees, shaking the window blinds and curtains, and rapidly drying the roofs. A bell clanged, and its solemn sound filled the silent atmosphere.
Slowly the sky was invaded by a deep blue, dark purple in some places; Jupiter shone from his great height with a silver light, and night took possession of the land; a clear, starry night, that seemed the pale continuation of the twilight.
From the house garden arose a fresh perfume of myrtles and oranges; of the exhalations of plants and damp earth.
“We must go now,” said Rafaela. “It’s getting cold.”
They descended the stairs. Quentin took leave of the two girls and stepped into the street.
CHAPTER VI
CONCERNING AN ADVENTURE OF QUENTIN’S IN THE NEIGHBOURHOOD OF EL POTRO
FOR a whole week Quentin walked through the Calle del Sol day and night, hoping to see Rafaela without going to her house. It did not seem expedient to him to call again so soon; he was afraid of being considered inopportune; and he would have liked it had chance—more apparent than real—granted him a meeting with Rafaela while he was strolling about the neighbourhood of the palace.
One warm night in January, Quentin left his house with the intention of walking by the palace in the Calle del Sol.
It was a beautiful, serene night, without a breath of air stirring. The great, round face of the moon was shining high overhead, its light dividing the streets into two zones—one white, and the other bluish black.
Some of the plazas seemed covered with snow, so white were the walls of the houses and the stones of the pavements.