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Updated: June 10, 2025
She therefore sat in her best black silk dress in an attitude subtly combining, with a kind tolerance for all who were so unfortunate as not to be Sarrions, a complacent determination to do her duty.
"It is a small thing a mere bagatelle in the French Rentes but one sees one's opportunities, one sees one's opportunities." He made a gesture with the two fingers that held his cigarette, which seemed to be a warning to the Sarrions not to make any mistake as to the shrewdness of him who spoke to them. "Speak for yourself," said Sarrion, with a laugh. "I do," insisted the other, leaning forward.
There had been much to detain the Sarrions at Saragossa and Juanita had to wait for the gratification of her desire to smell the pines and the bracken again. It seemed that it was no one's business to question the validity of the strange marriage in the chapel of Our Lady of the Shadows. Evasio Mon who was supposed to know more about it than any other, only smiled and said nothing.
"I pity you! yes, good-bye; close the door." The station was full of soldiers, and their high peaked caps were at every window of the trains. It was barely yet daylight when the Sarrions alighted at the fortified station in the plain below Pampeluna.
And it was said that they only repeated what the Sarrions had told them. At all events, no Carlists came that way. "Torre Garda is not worth holding," they said. "And you cannot hold Pampeluna unless you take Torre Garda first," thought those who knew the art of guerilla warfare.
The Sarrions returned to their gloomy house on the Paseo del Ebro and there awaited the information which Sor Teresa alone could give them. They had not waited long before the driver of her carriage, who had seemed to recognise Marcos on the road from Alagón, brought a note: "It is at number five, Calle de la Merced, but they will await, E. M." "And the other carriage that is on the road?"
In Spain, a messenger delivers neither message nor letter to a servant. A survival of mediaeval habits permits the humblest to seek the presence of the great at any time of day. The Sarrions had just finished dinner and still sat in the vast dining-room, the walls of which glittered with arms and loomed darkly with great portraits of the Spanish school of painting. The teamster was not abashed.
"Why?" she asked. "To take you home," replied Sarrion. Juanita got into the carriage and sat down in silence. The man who closed the door touched his hat, not to the Sarrions but to her; and she returned the salutation with a friendly smile. "Where are we going?" she asked after a pause. "To the Casa Sarrion," was the reply. "Is it open, after all these years?" "Yes," answered Sarrion. "But why?"
He could see every one from this position, but he did not hear the Sarrions a few yards behind him. At this moment Juanita turned round and perceiving them gave a little start which Mon saw. He turned his head to the left; Sarrion was standing in the semi-darkness at his shoulder. Then he turned to the right and there was Marcos, motionless, with a handkerchief held to his lips.
Although there was a striking resemblance of feature between the Sarrions, the father was taller, slighter and quicker in his glance, while Marcos' face seemed to bespeak a greater strength. In any common purpose it would assuredly fall to Marcos' lot to execute that which his father had conceived. The older man's presence suggested the Court, while Marcos was clearly intended for the Camp.
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