“Wants me? What does he want me for?” Candia demanded rather sharply, for she was at a loss to understand this unexpected summons, and it turned her as stubborn as a horse balking at a shadow.
“I can’t tell you what for,” replied the Little Corporal, “those were my orders.”
“What were your orders?” From an obstinacy that was natural to her, she would not cease from asking questions. She could not convince herself that it was a reality. “The mayor wants me? What for? What have I done, I should like to know? I’m not going. I haven’t done anything.”
The Little Corporal, losing his temper, answered: “Oh, you won’t go, won’t you? We’ll see about that!” and he went off, muttering, with his hand upon the hilt of the ancient sword he wore.
Meanwhile there were others along the narrow street who had overheard the conversation and came out upon their doorsteps, where they could watch Candia vigorously working her arms up and down in the tubful of clothes. And since they knew about the silver spoon, they laughed meaningly and interchanged ambiguous phrases, which Candia could not understand. But this laughter and these phrases awoke a vague foreboding in the woman’s mind. And this foreboding gathered strength when the Little Corporal reappeared, accompanied by another officer.
“Step lively,” said the Little Corporal peremptorily.
Candia wiped her arms, without replying, and went with them. In the public square, people stopped to look. One of her enemies, Rosa Panura, called out from the door of her shop, with a hateful laugh: “Drop your stolen bone!”
The laundress, dazed by this persecution for which she could find no reason, was at a loss for a reply.
Before the mayor’s office a group of curious idlers had gathered to watch her as she went in. Candia, in an access of anger, mounted the steps in a rush and burst into the mayor’s presence, breathlessly demanding: “Well, what is it you want of me?”
Don Silla, a man of peaceful proclivities, was for the moment perturbed by the laundress’s strident tones, and cast a glance at the two faithful custodians of his official dignity. Then, taking a pinch of tobacco from his horn snuff-box, he said to her: “My daughter, be seated.”