Part 2 (2/2)
The travellers got out; Manuel descended with his little bundle of clothes in his hand, looked in every direction for a glimpse of his mother and could not make her out anywhere on the wide platform. For a moment he was confused, then decided to follow the throng that was hurrying with bundles and bird-cages toward a gate; he was asked for his ticket, he stopped to go through his pockets, found it and issued into the street between two rows of porters who were yelling the names of hotels.
”Manuel! Where are you going?”
There was his mother. Petra had meant to be severe; but at the sight of her son she forgot her severity and embraced him effusively.
”But--what happened?” Petra asked at once.
”Nothing.”
”Then--why have you come?”
”They asked me whether I wanted to stay there or go to Madrid, and I said I'd rather go to Madrid.”
”Nothing more?”
”Nothing more,” replied Manuel simply.
”And Juan? Was he studying?”
”Yes. Much more than I was. Is the house far off, Mother?”
”Yes, Why? Are you hungry?”
”I should say. I haven't had a bite all the way.”
They left the Station at the Prado; then they walked up Alcala street.
A dusty mist quivered in the air; the street-lamp shone opaquely in the turbid atmosphere.... As soon as they reached the house Petra made supper for Manuel and prepared a bed for him upon the floor, beside her own. The youth lay down, but so violent was the contrast between the hamlet's silence and the racket of footsteps, conversations and cries that resounded through the house, that, despite his weariness, Manuel could not sleep.
He heard every lodger come in; it was past midnight when the disturbance quieted down; suddenly a squabble burst out followed by a crash of laughter which ended in a triply blasphemous imprecation and a slap that woke the echoes.
”What can that be, Mother?” asked Manuel from his bed.
”That's Dona Violante's daughter whom they've caught with her sweetheart,” Petra answered, half from her sleep. Then it occurred to her that it was imprudent to tell this to her boy, and she added, gruffly:
”Shut up and go to sleep.”
The music-box in the reception-room, set going by the hand of one of the boarders, commenced to tinkle that sentimental air from _La Mascotte_,--the duet between Pippo and Bettina:
_Will you forget me, gentle swain?_
Then all was silent.
CHAPTER III
First Impressions of Madrid--The Boarders--Idyll--Sweet and Delightful Lessons.
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