Eight years of “service to the country.”  Eight years of lodging-house life, while yonder lay a sumptuous home adorned with a luxuriousness that had cost his mother and his father-in-law half a fortune!  Long seasons of separation from his wife and his children—­and without amusements, to avoid spending money lest the folks at home suspect him of dereliction in public—­and private—­duty!  What a dog’s life his eight years as deputy had been!  Indigestion from the countless gallons of sugared water drunk at the Congressional bar; callouses on his feet from endless promenades along the central corridor, absentmindedly knocking the varnish off the tiles of the wainscoating with the tip of his cane; an incalculable quantity of pesetas spent on carriages, through fault of his supporters, who sent him trotting every morning from one Ministry to the next, asking for the earth, and getting a grain of sand!

He had not as yet gotten anywhere in particular; but according to Chamber gossip he was a “serious” well-balanced young man, of few words, but good ones, and sure some day to be rewarded with a Portfolio.  Content with the role of safety and sanity that had been assigned to him, he laughed very seldom, and dressed soberly, with not a dissonant color to brighten his black attire.  He would listen patiently to things that did not concern him in the least, rather than venture a personal opinion with the chance of going wrong—­satisfied with premature wrinkles, premature corpulency, and premature baldness, since nothing could be more respectable than a thoughtful face, a conspicuous paunch, and a pate that could shine with venerable brilliancy under the lamps of the Chamber.  At thirty-four, he looked more like forty-five.  When he spoke he would remove his spectacles with a gesture he had carefully imitated from the deceased leader of “the Party.”  He would never take the floor without prefacing his remarks with:  “My understanding is ...,” or “I have my own humble opinion on this matter....”  And this was what don Rafael Brull had learned in eight years of parliamentary assiduity!

The new Conservative leader, seeing that he could always depend on Brull’s vote and that Alcira elections cost “the Party” nothing, had a certain consideration for Rafael.  He was a soldier always on hand for roll-call, whenever a new Parliament was formed.  He would present himself with his certificate of election, whether his party, with all the insolence of victory, occupied the benches on the Right, or hungry and defiant, and reduced in numbers, was huddled on the Left, determined to find fault with everything the reigning Ministry did.  Two sessions as part of the minority had won him a certain intimacy with the leader in that frank comradeship that Oppositions always have, since, from leader down to the most silent member, all the deputies “out of power” are on a level.  Besides, in those two seasons of misfortune, to aid in the destructive tactics of his faction, he put little interpellations to the government, at the openings of the sessions when the crowds were small; and more than once he heard from the pale smiling lips of the chief:  “Very good, Brull; that was to the point.”  And such congratulations were duly echoed in his home city, where rustic imagination did the rest.