No sooner had we all entered than a hen, leading a brood of
a dozen half-grown chickens, rushed into the room after us, the chickens
instantly distributing themselves about the floor in quest of crumbs,
while the mother, more ambitious, flew on the table, scattering the
papers right and left with the wind she created.
"A thousand demons take the fowls!" cried the Juez, starting up in a
fury. "Man, go and bring your mistress here this instant. I command
her to come."
This order was obeyed by the person who had ushered us in, a
greasy-looking, swarthy-faced individual, in threadbare military
clothes; and in two or three minutes he returned, followed by a very
fat, slatternly woman, looking very good-tempered, however, who
immediately subsided, quite exhausted, into a chair.
"What is it, Fernando?" she panted.
"What is it? How can you have the courage to ask such a question,
Toribia? Look at the confusion your pestilent fowls are creating amongst
my papers--papers that concern the safety of the republic! Woman, what
measures are you going to take to stop this before I have your fowls
all killed on the spot?"
"What can I do, Fernando?--they are hungry, I suppose. I thought you
wanted to ask my advice about these prisoners--poor fellows! and here
you are with your hens."
Her placid manner acted like oil on the fire of his wrath.
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