A servant went down-stairs to open the door, and shortly afterward Maria Remedios, who was not now a woman but a basilisk enveloped in a mantle, entered Doña Perfecta's room. Her face, flushed with anxiety, exhaled fire.
"He is there, he is there," she said, as she entered. "He got into the garden through the condemned door." She paused for breath at every syllable.
"I know already," returned Doña Perfecta, with a sort of bellow.
Rosario fell senseless to the floor.
"Let us go down-stairs," said Doña Perfecta, without paying any attention to her daughter's swoon.
The two women glided down-stairs like two snakes. The maids and the man-servant were in the hall, not knowing what to do. Doña Perfecta passed through the dining-room into the garden, followed by Maria Remedios.
"Fortunately we have Ca-Ca-Ca-balluco there," said the canon's niece.
"Where?"
"In the garden, also. He cli-cli-climbed over the wall."
Doña Perfecta explored the darkness with her wrathful eyes. Rage gave them the singular power of seeing in the dark that is peculiar to the feline race.