Don Andres had no relatives, and spent almost all his time at the Brull’s.  He was like a piece of furniture that seems always to be getting in the way at first; but when all were once accustomed to him, he became an indispensable fixture in the family.  In the days when don Ramon had been a young subordinate of the Ayuntamiento, he had met and liked the man, and taking him into the ranks of his “heelers,” had promoted him rapidly to be chief of staff.  In the opinion of the “boss,” there wasn’t a cleverer, shrewder fellow in the world than don Andres, nor one with a better memory for names and faces.  Brull was the strategist who directed the campaign; don Andres the tactician who commanded actual operations and cleaned up behind the lines when the enemy was divided and undone.  Don Ramon was given to settling everything in a violent manner, and drew his gun at the slightest provocation.  If his methods had been followed, “the Party” would have murdered someone every day.  Don Andres had a smooth tongue and a seraphic smile that simply wound alcaldes or rebellious electors around his little finger, and his specialty was the art of letting loose a rain of sealed documents over the District that started complicated and never-ending prosecutions against troublesome opponents.

He attended to “the chief’s” correspondence, and was tutor and playmate to the little Rafael, taking the boy on long walks through the orchard country.  To dona Bernarda he was confidential adviser.

That surly, severe woman showed her bare heart to no one in the world save don Andres.  Whenever he called her his “senora,” or his “worthy mistress,” she could not restrain a gesture of satisfaction; and it was to him that she poured out her complaints against her husband’s misdeeds.  Her affection for him was that of a dame of ancient chivalry for her private squire.  Enthusiasm for the glory of the house united them in such intimacy that the opposition wagged its tongues, asserting that dona Bernarda was getting even for her husband’s waywardness.  But don Andres, who smiled scornfully when accused of taking advantage of the chief’s influence to drive hard bargains to his own advantage, was not the man to be trifled with if gossip ventured to smirch his friendship with the senora.

Their Trinity was most closely cemented, however, by their fondness for Rafael, the little tot destined to bring fame to the name of Brull and realize the ambitions of both his grandfather and his father.

Rafael was a quiet, morose little boy, whose gentleness of disposition seemed to irritate the hard-hearted dona Bernarda.  He was always hanging on to her skirts.  Every time she raised her eyes she would find the little fellow’s gaze fixed upon her.

“Go out and play in the patio,” the mother would say.

And the little fellow, moody and resigned, would leave the room, as if in obedience to a disagreeable command.