The opening of hostilities could not long be delayed. When the hour of dinner arrived, after coming to an agreement with Pinzon regarding the plan to be pursued, the first condition of which was that the friends should pretend not to know each other, Pepe Rey went to the dining-room. There he found his aunt, who had just returned from the cathedral where she had spent the morning as was her habit. She was alone, and appeared to be greatly preoccupied. The engineer observed that on that pale and marble-like countenance, not without a certain beauty, there rested a mysterious shadow. When she looked up it recovered its sinister calmness, but she looked up seldom, and after a rapid examination of her nephew's countenance, that of the amiable lady would again take on its studied gloom.
They awaited dinner in silence. They did not wait for Don Cayetano, for he had gone to Mundogrande. When they sat down to table Dona Perfecta said:
"And that fine soldier whom the Government has sent us, is he not coming to dinner?"
"He seems to be more sleepy than hungry," answered the engineer, without looking at his aunt.
"Do you know him?"
"I have never seen him in all my life before."
"We are nicely off with the guests whom the Government sends us. We have beds and provisions in order to keep them ready for those vagabonds of Madrid, whenever they may choose to dispose of them."
"There are fears of an insurrection," said Pepe Rey, with sudden heat, "and the Government is determined to crush the Orbajosans--to crush them, to grind them to powder."
"Stop, man, stop, for Heaven's sake; don't crush us!" cried Dona Perfecta sarcastically. "Poor we! Be merciful, man, and allow us unhappy creatures to live. And would you, then, be one of those who would aid the army in the grand work of crushing us?"
"I am not a soldier. I will do nothing but applaud when I see the germs of civil war; of insubordination, of discord, of disorder, of robbery, and of barbarism that exist here, to the shame of our times and of our country, forever extirpated."
"All will be as God wills."
"Orbajosa, my dear aunt, has little else than garlic and bandits; for those who in the name of some political or religious idea set out in search of adventures every four or five years are nothing but bandits."
"Thanks, thanks, my dear nephew!" said Dona Perfecta, turning pale. "So Orbajosa has nothing more than that? Yet there must be something else here--something that you do not possess, since you have come to look for it among us."
Rey felt the cut. His soul was on fire. He found it very difficult to show his aunt the consideration to which her ***, her rank, and her relation to himself entitled her. He was on the verge of a violent outbreak, and a force that he could not resist was impelling him against his interlocutor.
"I came to Orbajosa," he said, "because you sent for me; you arranged with my father--"
"Yes, yes; it is true," she answered, interrupting him quickly and ****** an effort to recover her habitual serenity. "I do not deny it. I am the one who is really to blame. I am to blame for your ill-humor, for the slights you put upon us, for every thing disagreeable that has been happening in my house since you entered it."
"I am glad that you are conscious of it."
"In exchange, you are a saint. Must I also go down on my knees to your grace and ask your pardon?"
"Senora," said Pepe Rey gravely, laying down his knife and fork, "I entreat you not to mock me in so pitiless a manner. I cannot meet you on equal ground. All I have said is that I came to Orbajosa at your invitation."
"And it is true. Your father and I arranged that you should marry Rosario. You came in order to become acquainted with her. I accepted you at once as a son. You pretended to love Rosario--"
"Pardon me," objected Pepe; "I loved and I love Rosario; you pretended to accept me as a son; receiving me with deceitful cordiality, you employed from the very beginning all the arts of cunning to thwart me and to prevent the fulfilment of the proposals made to my father; you determined from the first day to drive me to desperation, to tire me out; and with smiles and affectionate words on your lips you have been killing me, roasting me at the slow fire; you have let loose upon me in the dark and from behind an ambush a swarm of lawsuits; you have deprived me of the official commission which I brought to Orbajosa; you have brought me into disrepute in the town; you have had me turned out of the cathedral; you have kept me constantly separated from the chosen of my heart; you have tortured your daughter with an inquisitorial imprisonment which will cause her death, unless God interposes to prevent it."
Dona Perfecta turned scarlet. But the flush of offended pride passed away quickly, leaving her face of a greenish pallor. Her lips trembled.
Throwing down the knife and fork with which she had been eating, she rose swiftly to her feet. Her nephew rose also.
"My God! Holy Virgin of Succor!" she cried, raising both her hands to her head and pressing it between them with the gesture indicative of desperation, "is it possible that I deserve such atrocious insults?
Pepe, my son, is it you who speak to me in this way? If I have done what you say, I am indeed very wicked."
She sank on the sofa and covered her face with her hands. Pepe, approaching her slowly, saw that his aunt was sobbing bitterly and shedding abundant tears. In spite of his conviction he could not altogether conquer the feeling of compassion which took possession of him; and while he condemned himself for his cowardice he felt something of remorse for the severity and the frankness with which he had spoken.
"My dear aunt," he said, putting his hand on her shoulder, "if you answer me with tears and sighs, you will not convince me. Proofs, not emotions, are what I require. Speak to me, tell me that I am mistaken in thinking what I think; then prove it to me, and I will acknowledge my error."
