"What a fist you have!"

Every one was looking at the table, which had been split in two by the
blow.

Then they looked at the never-enough-to-be-admired Renialdos or
Caballuco. Undoubtedly there was in his handsome countenance, in his
green eyes animated by a strange, feline glow, in his black hair, in his
herculean frame, a certain expression and air of grandeur--a trace, or
rather a memory, of the grand races that dominated the world. But his
general aspect was one of pitiable degeneration, and it was difficult to
discover the noble and heroic filiation in the brutality of the present.
He resembled Don Cayetano's great men as the mule resembles the horse.



CHAPTER XXIII

MYSTERY

The conference lasted for some time longer, but we omit what followed as
not being necessary to a clear understanding of our story. At last they
separated, Senor Don Inocencio remaining to the last, as usual. Before
the canon and Dona Perfecta had had time to exchange a word, an elderly
woman, Dona Perfecta's confidential servant and her right hand, entered
the dining-room, and her mistress, seeing that she looked disturbed and
anxious, was at once filled with disquietude, suspecting that something
wrong was going on in the house.

"I can't find the senorita anywhere," said the servant, in answer to her