Don Andres was standing there, gazing at him out of those yellow eyes of his, scowling through his wrinkles with an expression of stern authority.

“You’ve given me a fine night, Rafael.  I know where you’ve been.  I saw you row off last night with that woman; and plenty of my friends were on hand to follow you and find out just where you went.  You’ve been on the island all night; that woman was singing away like a lunatic....  God of Gods, boy!  Aren’t there any houses in the world?  Do you have to play the band when you’re having an affair, so that everybody in the Kingdom can come and look?”

The old man was truly riled; all the more because he was himself the secretive, the dexterous, libertine, adopting every precaution not to be discovered in his “weaknesses.”  Was it anger or envy that he felt on seeing a couple enough in love with each other to be fearless of gossip and indifferent to danger, to throw prudence to the winds, and flaunt their passion before the world with the reckless insolence of happiness?

“Besides, your mother knows everything.  She’s discovered what you’ve been up to, these nights past.  She knows you haven’t been in your room.  You’re going to break that woman’s heart!”

And with paternal severity he went on to speak of dona Bernarda’s despair, of the danger to the future of the House, of the obligations they were under to don Matias, of the solemn promise given, of that poor girl waiting to be married!

Rafael walked along in silence and like an automaton.  That old man’s chatter brought down around his head, like a swarm of pestering mosquitoes, all the provoking, irritating obligations of his life.  He felt like a man rudely awakened by a tactless servant in the middle of a sweet dream.  His lips were still tingling with Leonora’s kisses!  His whole body was aglow with her gentle warmth!  And here was this old curmudgeon coming along with a sermon on “duty,” “family,” “what they would say”—­as if love amounted to nothing in this life!  It was a plot against his happiness, and he felt stirred to the depths with a sense of outrage and revolt.

They had reached the entrance to the Brull mansion.  Rafael was fumbling about for the key-hole with his key.

“Well,” growled the old man.  “What have you got to say to all this?  What do you propose to do?  Answer me!  Haven’t you got a tongue in your head?”

“I,” replied the young man energetically—­“will do as I please.”

Don Andres jumped as though he had been stung.  My, how this Rafael had changed!...  Never before had he seen that gleam of aggressiveness, arrogance, belligerency in the eye of the boy!

“Rafael, is that the way you answer me,—­a man who has known you since you were born?  Is that the tone of voice you use toward one who loves you as your own father loved you?”

“I’m of age, if you don’t mind my saying so!” Rafael replied.  “I’m not going to put up any longer with this comedy of being a somebody on the street and a baby in my own house.  Henceforth just keep your advice to yourself until I ask for it.  Good day, sir!”