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At first they talk of indifferent things while drinking their cider, of Ramuntcho's travels, of what happened in the country during his absence, of the marriages which occurred or were broken.
And now the image of Gracieuse presented itself naturally to her mind, as it did every time she thought of Ramuntcho's future. She was the little betrothed whom she had been wishing for him for ten years.
Absentmindedly, he touches Ramuntcho's hand: "Well, good-bye! Good luck " And, with silent steps, he goes toward the smugglers, toward the frontier, toward the propitious darkness. Then Ramuntcho, alone in the world now, whips the little, mountain horse who gallops with his light tinkling of bells.
"Oh, my friend," replied Arrochkoa, become more serious also, "on my word of honor, it suits me very well And even, as I fear that there shall be trouble with mother, I promise to help you if you need help " And Ramuntcho's sadness is dispelled as a little dust on which one has blown. He finds the supper delicious, the inn gay.
Ramuntcho's awakenings were impregnated, at this window, with peace and humble serenity. They were full of joy, his awakenings of a man engaged, since he had the assurance of meeting Gracieuse at night at the promised place.
Thus, doubtless, on these same mountains, marched his ancestors, farm laborers and cowboys like him since numberless centuries. And this one, at Ramuntcho's aspect, touches the forehead of his oxen, stops them with a gesture and a cry of command, then comes to the traveller, extending to him his brave hands. Florentino!
But Arrochkoa, in meeting him, utters in a wicked voice, in a voice tightened by his young, feline teeth, one of those series of insults which call for immediate answer and sound like an invitation to fight. It is so unexpected that Ramuntcho's stupor at first immobilizes him, retards the rush of blood to his head.
Is this really what his friend has just said and in such a tone of undeniable insult? "You said?" "Well!" replies Arrochkoa, somewhat softened and on his guard, observing in the darkness Ramuntcho's attitudes. "Well! you had us almost caught, awkward fellow that you are! The silhouettes of the others appear in another bark. "They are there," he continues. "Let us go near them!"
All this was Spain, mountainous Spain, eternally standing there in the face of them and incessantly preoccupying their minds: a country which one must reach in silence, in dark nights, in nights without moonlight, under the rain of winter; a country which is the perpetual aim of dangerous expeditions; a country which, for the men of Ramuntcho's village, seems always to close the southwestern horizon, while it changes in appearance according to the clouds and the hours; a country which is the first to be lighted by the pale sun of mornings and which masks afterward, like a sombre screen the red sun of evenings.
In truth, he was not heartless, Ramuntcho's father; when, fatally, he had wearied of her, he had made some efforts not to let her see it and never would he have abandoned her with her child if, in her pride, she had not quitted him. Perhaps it would be her duty to-day to write to him, to ask him to think of his son
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