"Father!" called the little voice of Angela from the next apartment, "father, we are alone."
"You will be yet more alone," murmured Perico, without answering her.
The children's voices kept on calling "Father, father!"
"You have no father!" shouted Perico, and went out into the court. He placed his gun against the trunk of the orange-tree, in order to take out ammunition to load it, but, as if the ancient protector of the family repulsed the weapon, it slid and fell to the ground. The leaves of the tree murmured mournfully. Were they moved by some dismal presentiment?
Perico was leaving the court when he found himself face to face with his mother, who, made watchful by her inquietude, had heard her son enter.
"Where are you going, Perico?" she asked.
"To the field. I have told you already that there were goats around."
"Did you go to the feast?"
"Yes."
"And Rita?"