“My name is not Miranda,” said the latter quietly. And as he saw the angry official again turn rudely to Lucía, he said to her.
“No, Señor,” answered Lucía, now greatly distressed. “Of course I am not traveling alone; I am traveling with Don Aurelio Miranda, my husband,” and as she pronounced the words, she smiled involuntarily at the new and curious sound of the expression, uttered by her lips.
“She seems very young to be married,” said the traveler to himself; but, remembering the ring he had seen gleaming on her finger, he asked aloud:
“At Leon. But is not Miranda here? Holy Virgin! Señor, tell me--allow me----”
And forgetting that the train was in motion she was going to open the door hastily when the official interposed, seizing her by the arm with force.
“Eh, Señora,” he said in a rude voice, “do you want to kill yourself? Are you mad? And let us end this at once. I want the ticket.”
“I haven’t it. How can I give it to you if I haven’t it?” exclaimed Lucía, greatly distressed, her eyes filling with tears.
“You will have to buy one at the next station then, and pay a fine,” growled the official, more angrily than before.
“Don’t trouble the lady any more,” said the traveler, interfering very opportunely, for tears as big as filberts now began to course down Lucía’s cheeks. “Insolent!” he continued angrily. “Do you not see that some unforeseen accident has happened to this lady? Come, take yourself off or----”
“But you see, sir, we have our duties to consider, our responsibilities----”
“Say no more, but go. Take this for the lady’s fare.”
As he spoke, he put his right hand into the pocket of his overcoat and drew from it some greasy-looking papers of a greenish color, the sight of which at once restored serenity to the frowning brow of the official who, as he took the proffered bill, lowered by two or three tones the pitch of his gruff voice.
“I beg your pardon,” he said, placing it in his soiled and well-worn pocket-book. “Your word would have been sufficient. I did not recognize you at first, but I recollect your face very well now, and I remember having often seen both you and your father, Señor de Artegui----”
“Well then,” rejoined the traveler, “if you know me, you know that I am not in the habit of wasting words. Go.” And pushing the man out of the compartment, he closed the door behind him. But he opened it again quickly and calling to the official, who was running with incredible agility along the narrow ledge beside the steps, he cried to him in sonorous tones:
