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This trouble of parting near at hand had already arisen, and half-spoilt McKay's delight at the prospect of sailing for the East. "Do you think I shall ever forget you? If I go, it will be to win promotion, fame a better, higher, more honourable position for you to share." It was at this moment that La Zandunga interrupted the lovers with her resonant, unpleasant voice. "My aunt! my aunt!
Run, Stanislas! do not let her see you, in Heaven's name!" The Serjeant disappeared promptly, but the old virago caught a glimpse of his retreating figure. "With whom were you gossiping there, good-for-nothing?" cried La Zandunga, fiercely. "I seemed to catch the colour of his coat.
Women ripen early, are soon at their prime, and fade prematurely, under this quickening Southern sun. The husband was older, yet better preserved, than his wife a large, stout man, with a fierce face and black, baleful eyes. All cowered before him except La Zandunga, as they called his wife here in Bombardier Lane.
McKay expected nothing less than coarse abuse, but no honey could be sweeter than the old people's accents and words. "Do not mind us," said La Zandunga, coaxingly. "A pair of turtle-doves," said Tio Pedro: "bashful and timid as birds." "Sit down, good sir," went on the old woman: "you can see Mariquita again. Let us talk first of this business." "You want horses, I believe?" said Tio Pedro.
It was about her that they were having high words a day or two after McKay's departure. Mariquita overheard them. "You shall not see her, I tell you!" said La Zandunga, with shrill determination. "The sweet child is sad and sick at heart." "She has broken mine, as you have your word to me. I shall never be happy more."
She was popular with them, evidently, for no one would answer when La Zandunga shrieked out an angry inquiry to each. No answer was needed. There was Mariquita at the end of the garden, gossiping across the fence with young Sergeant McKay. It was quite an accident, of course.
Tio Pedro had gone off to a neighbouring wine-shop to exaggerate his recent prowess, and La Zandunga sat alone behind the counter. "Where is Benito? Has he gone?" asked Mariquita, nervously. "Yes. Did he frighten my sweet bird?" said her aunt, soothing her. "He is an indecent, ill-mannered rogue, and we shall be well rid of him." "Well rid of him? He really leaves us, then? For the Crimea?"
I start to-morrow." "Go, in Heaven's keeping," said Tio Pedro. "And never let us see you again," added La Zandunga, whose sentiments towards Benito had undergone an entire change in the last few months. "May I not see her to say good-bye?" "No, you would only agitate her." "Do not be so cruel. I implore you to let me speak to her." "Be off!" said the old woman, angrily.
He could find no words to thank her for such un-selfish devotion, but he pressed her to his heart again and again. He still held Mariquita's hand, and was soothing her with many endearing expressions, when La Zandunga, accompanied by Tio Pedro, returned. The lovers flew apart, abashed at being surprised.
La Zandunga looked hastily round the room. It contained half-a-dozen small low tables, drawn near the window and open door, and at these sat a posse of girls, busy with deft, nimble fingers, making cigarettes and cigars. These workpeople were under the immediate control of Mariquita, the mistress's niece.
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