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"Do you see that one there?" asked Roberto. "She's Don Telmo's niece." "That blonde?" "Yes. Wait for me here." Roberto walked down the road toward the gate. The reading of the religious lesson began; from the patio came the slow, monotonous drone of prayer. Manuel lay back on the ground. Yonder, flat beneath the grey horizon, loomed Madrid out of the mist of the dust-laden atmosphere.
He knocked at Don Telmo's door and was resolved to linger there as long as possible, that he might catch all he could of the conversation. He began to dust Don Telmo's lamp-table with a cloth. "And how did you ascertain that," Don Telmo was asking, "if your family didn't know it?" "Quite by accident," answered the student.
At first I took it all as a joke; then, after some time, I wrote to my mother, and she wrote back that everything was quite so, and that she recalled something of the whole matter." Don Telmo's gaze strayed over toward Manuel. "What are you doing here?" he snarled. "Get out; I don't want you going around telling tales...." "I'm no tattle-tale." "Very well, then, get a move on."
Don Telmo's countenance was crossed by an expression of disagreeable surprise. "Don't worry," replied Roberto, "I'm not going to ask you for it." "My dear boy, if I had it, I'd give it to you with pleasure, and free of interest. They think I'm a millionaire." "No. I tell you I'm not trying to get a centimo from you. All I ask is a bit of advice." "Speak, then, speak.
When it comes to bread, though, not a sign of it." "So say I!" The ladies came out, prayer-books in hand; the old beggar-women set off in pursuit and harassed them with entreaties. Manuel looked everywhere for the student; at last he caught sight of him with Don Telmo's niece. The blonde turned around to look at him, and then stepped into a coach. Roberto saluted her and the coach rolled off.
It was also discovered that Don Telmo frequently paid visits to a very elegant, good looking young lady, who was, according to some, his sweetheart, and to others, his niece. On the following Sunday Manuel overheard a conversation between the old man and the student. In a dark room there was a transom that opened into Don Telmo's room, and from this position he played the eavesdropper.
The bookkeeper, a jaundiced fellow with an emaciated face and a beard like that of a monumental Jew, exceedingly taciturn and timid, had burst into speech in his excitement over the intrigues invented and fancied in the life of Don Telmo; now he became from moment to moment sallower than ever with his hypochondria. Don Telmo's departure was paid for by the student and Don Manuel.
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