She rose, muttering, from the table
and proceeded to unlock a cupboard, from which she took a bottle of
wine. Then, going round the table, she poured out half a tumblerful
for each person, excepting herself and Santos, who, to judge from his
stolid countenance, did not expect any.
"No, no," said old Peralta, "give Santos wine, and pour yourself out
a glass also, Ramona. You have both been good, faithful friends to me,
and have nursed Calixto in his infancy. It is right that you should
drink his health and rejoice with us at his return."
She obeyed with alacrity, and old Santos' wooden face almost relaxed
into a grin when he received his share of the purple fluid (I can
scarcely call it juice) which maketh glad the heart of man.
Presently old Peralta raised his glass and fixed his fierce, insane
eyes on me. "Calixto, my son, we will drink your health," he said,
"and may the curse of the Almighty fall on our enemies; may their
bodies lie where they fall, till the hawks have consumed their flesh,
and their bones have been trodden into dust by the cattle; and may
their souls be tormented with everlasting fire."
Silently they all raised their glasses to their lips, but when they
set them down again, the points of Don Hilario's black moustache were
raised as if by a smile, while Santos smacked his lips in token of
enjoyment.
After this ghastly toast nothing more was spoken by anyone at the
table.
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