“Then, Señor Candiola,” I said, taking him resolutely by the arm to lead him away, “if your treasures are safe, what is the good of staying here to watch them? Let us go!”
“Have you not understood me, you meddlesome fellow?” he cried, loosing his arm forcibly; “go to the devil, and leave me in peace! How do you suppose I am going to leave my house when the authorities of Saragossa have not sent a detachment of troops to guard it? Indeed! Do you suppose that my house is not full of valuable things? How can you think that I would go from here without taking them? You can see that this first story is unhurt? By removing this grating, it could be easily entered and everything taken away. If I tear myself from here for a single moment, the thieves will come, the refuse of the neighborhood, and woe to all my work and my savings then, to the furniture and utensils which represent forty years of hard work. Look on the table of my room, señor soldier, and you will find a copper dish which weighs no less than three pounds. That must be saved at any cost. If the authorities would send a company of engineers here, as it is their duty to do—There is a table service in the cupboard in the dining-room which must remain intact. By entering carefully, propping up the roof, they could save it. Oh, yes, it is absolutely necessary to save that set. It is not merely that, señor. In a tin box are my receipts. I hope to save them. There is also a trunk where I keep two old coats and some shoes and three hats. All these things are down here on this story, and are not likely to be hurt. My daughter’s clothing is all irrecoverably lost. Her dresses, her jewelry, her handkerchiefs, her bottles of perfume would be worth a good sum of money if they were to be had now. How could it be that all this should be destroyed? My Lord, what trouble! It must be true that God wished to punish the sin of my daughter, and the bombs fell upon her bottles of perfume. I left my waistcoat upon the bed, and in the pocket there was a peseta and a half. And there are not even twenty men here yet with picks and spades. Just and merciful Heaven, what are the authorities of Saragossa thinking about! The double-wicked lamp will not be ruined. It is the best olive-oil burner in the world. We might find it over yonder, by lifting carefully the fragments of that corner room. Let them send workmen here, and see that they do it quickly. How can anyone expect me to leave this place? If I should go, or if I should sleep for a single instant, the thieves would come. Yes, they will come, and take away that piece of copper from Palma.”
The obstinacy of the miser was so persistent that I resolved to go without him, leaving him given over to his delirious anxiety. Doña Guedita now arrived, walking hastily. She brought a pick and spade, and a little basket in which I saw some provisions.
“Señor,” she said, sitting down tired and breathless, “here’s the pick and spade my nephew has given me. They will not need them any more, because they are not going to make any more fortifications. Here are some half-spoiled raisins and some crusts of bread.” The old woman ate hungrily; not so Candiola, who, despising the bread, seized the pick. Resolutely, as if his body were suddenly filled with new energy, he tried to unhinge the grating; working with eager activity, he said—
“If the authorities of Saragossa are not willing to do their duty by me, Doña Guedita, between you and me, we will do it all! You take the spade and get ready to move the fragments as I dig. Look out for the beams that are still smoking. Look out for the nails!”
I was trying to interpret the signs of intelligence made me by the housekeeper, when he turned to me, saying—
“Go to the devil! What business have you in my house? Get out of here! We understand you—you have come to see if you can pick up anything. There is nothing here. Everything is burned up.”
There was certainly no hope of taking him with me to Las Tenerias to set poor Mariquilla’s mind at rest, and so, not being able to stay any longer, I went. Master and servant were working away with great vigor.
XX
I slept from three o’clock until daybreak, and in the morning we heard mass in the Coso. In the large balcony of a house called Las Monas at the entrance of the Calle de las Escuelas Pias all the priests had set up an altar and celebrated there the divine office. By the situation of the building, it was possible to see the priests from anywhere in the Coso. It was a profoundly moving sight, especially at the moment of the elevation of the host; and when all knelt in prayer, the low murmur of the service could be heard from one end of the street to the
