Amparito entered the room and explained what was going on. The old woman was “Driveller” Juan’s mother. People had told Juan’s mother that the only obstacle to her son’s salvation from death was Cæsar, and she had come to implore him not to let them condemn Juan to death.
“My poor son is a good boy,” moaned the old creature; “a woman made him commit the crime.”
Cæsar listened, silent and gloomy, without speaking, and then left the room. Amparito remained with the old woman, consoling her and trying to quiet her.
That night Amparito returned to the task, and dragged the promise from her husband that he would not act as private attorney at the trial.
Cæsar was ashamed and saddened; he didn’t care to go to see anybody; he was committing treason against his cause.
“Pity will finish my work or finish me,” thought Cæsar, walking about his room. “That poor old woman is worthy of compassion; that is undeniable. She believes her son is a good boy, and he really is a low, cowardly ruffian. I ought not to pay any attention to this plea, but insist on their condemning that miserable wretch to death. But I haven’t any more energy; I haven’t any more strength. I can feel that I am going to yield; the mother’s grief moves me, and I do not consider that if this bully goes free, he is going to turn the town upside down and ruin all our work. I am lost.”
FLIGHT
Cæsar confided to his wife that he was daunted; his lack of courage was a nightmare to him.
Amparito said that they ought to take a long trip. Laura had invited them to come to Italy. It was the best thing they could do.
Cæsar accepted her solution, and, as a matter of fact, they went to Madrid and from there to Italy.