Dona Perfecta

  CHAPTER I

  VILLAHORRENDA! FIVE MINUTES!

  When the down train No. 65--of what line it is unnecessary tosay--stopped at the little station between kilometres 171 and 172,almost all the second-and third-class passengers remained in the cars,yawning or asleep, for the penetrating cold of the early morning didnot invite to a walk on the unsheltered platform. The only first-classpassenger on the train alighted quickly, and addressing a group of theemployes asked them if this was the Villahorrenda station.

  "We are in Villahorrenda," answered the conductor whose voice wasdrowned by the cackling of the hens which were at that moment beinglifted into the freight car. "I forgot to call you, Senor de Rey. Ithink they are waiting for you at the station with the beasts."

  "Why, how terribly cold it is here!" said the traveller, drawing hiscloak more closely about him. "Is there no place in the station whereI could rest for a while, and get warm, before undertaking a journey onhorseback through this frozen country?"

  Before he had finished speaking the conductor, called away by theurgent duties of his position, went off, leaving our unknown cavalier'squestion unanswered. The latter saw that another employe was comingtoward him, holding a lantern in his right hand, that swung back andforth as he walked, casting the light on the platform of the stationin a series of zigzags, like those described by the shower from awatering-pot.

  "Is there a restaurant or a bedroom in the station of Villahorrenda?"said the traveller to the man with the lantern.

  "There is nothing here," answered the latter brusquely, running towardthe men who were putting the freight on board the cars, and assuagingthem with such a volley of oaths, blasphemies, and abusive epithets thatthe very chickens, scandalized by his brutality, protested against itfrom their baskets.

  "The best thing I can do is to get away from this place as quickly aspossible," said the gentlemen to himself. "The conductor said that thebeasts were here."

  Just as he had come to this conclusion he felt a thin hand pulling himgently and respectfully by the cloak. He turned round and saw a figureenveloped in a gray cloak, and out of whose voluminous folds peeped theshrivelled and astute countenance of a Castilian peasant. He looked atthe ungainly figure, which reminded one of the black poplar among trees;he observed the shrewd eyes that shone from beneath the wide brim of theold velvet hat; the sinewy brown hand that grasped a green switch, andthe broad foot that, with every movement, made the iron spur jingle.

  "Are you Senor Don Jose de Rey?" asked the peasant, raising his hand tohis hat.

  "Yes; and you, I take it," answered the traveller joyfully, "are DonaPerfecta's servant, who have come to the station to meet me and show methe way to Orbajosa?"

  "The same. Whenever you are ready to start. The pony runs like thewind. And Senor Don Jose, I am sure, is a good rider. For what comes byrace--"

  "Which is the way out?" asked the traveller, with impatience. "Come, letus start, senor--What is your name?"

  "My name is Pedro Lucas," answered the man of the gray cloak, againmaking a motion to take off his hat; "but they call me Uncle Licurgo.Where is the young gentleman's baggage?"

  "There it is--there under the cloak. There are three pieces--twoportmanteaus and a box of books for Senor Don Cayetano. Here is thecheck."

  A moment later cavalier and squire found themselves behind the barrackscalled a depot, and facing a road which, starting at this point,disappeared among the neighboring hills, on whose naked slopes could bevaguely distinguished the miserable hamlet of Villahorrenda. There werethree animals to carry the men and the luggage. A not ill-looking nagwas destined for the cavalier; Uncle Licurgo was to ride a venerablehack, somewhat loose in the joints, but sure-footed; and the mule, whichwas to be led by a stout country boy of active limbs and fiery blood,was to carry the luggage.

  Before the caravan had put itself in motion the train had started, andwas now creeping along the road with the lazy deliberation of a waytrain, awakening, as it receded in the distance, deep subterraneanechoes. As it entered the tunnel at kilometre 172, the steam issued fromthe steam whistle with a shriek that resounded through the air. From thedark mouth of the tunnel came volumes of whitish smoke, a succession ofshrill screams like the blasts of a trumpet followed, and at the soundof its stentorian voice villages, towns, the whole surrounding countryawoke. Here a cock began to crow, further on another. Day was beginningto dawn.