While the landlady lulled her fancy in this sweet vision of a brothel
_de luxe_, Petra entered a dingy little room that was cluttered
with old furniture. She set the light upon a chair, and placed a
greasy box of matches on the top of the container; she read for a
moment out of a filthy, begrimed devotionary printed in large type;
she repeated several prayers with her eyes raised to the ceiling, then
began to undress. The night was stifling; in that hole the heat was
horrible. Petra got into bed, crossed herself, put out the lamp, which
smoked for a long time, stretched herself out and laid her head upon
the pillow. A worm in one of the pieces of furniture made the wood
crack at regular intervals.
Petra slept soundly for a couple of hours, then awoke stifling from
the heat. Somebody had just opened the door and footsteps were heard
in the entry.
"That's Dona Violante and her daughters," mumbled Petra. "It must be
pretty late."
The three women were probably returning from los Jardines, after
having supped in search of the pesetas necessary to existence. Luck
must have withheld its favour, for they were in bad humour and the two
young women were quarrelling, each blaming the other for having wasted
the night.
There were a number of venomous, ironic phrases, then the dispute
ceased and silence was restored.
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