He had enough strength left for one more caress the
day when, escorted by don Andres, Rafael entered with
his degree as a Doctor of Law. He gave the boy
his shotgun—a veritable jewel, the admiration
of the entire District—and a magnificent
horse. And as if he had been waiting around just
to see the realization of old Don Jaime’s ambition,
which he himself had not been able to fulfill, he
passed away.
All the bells of the city tolled mournfully.
The Party weekly came out with a black border a palm
wide; and from all over the District folks came in
droves to see whether the powerful don Ramon Brull,
who had been able to rain upon the just and unjust
alike on this earth, could possibly have died the
same as any other human being.
When dona Bernarda found herself alone, and absolute
mistress of her home, she could not conceal her satisfaction.
Now they would see what a woman could do.
She counted on the advice and experience of don Andres,
who was closer than ever to her now; and on the prestige
of Rafael, the young lawyer, who bade fair to sustain
the reputation of the Brulls.
The power of the family continued unchanged.
Don Andres, who, at the death of his master, had succeeded
to the authority of a second father in the Brull house,
saw to the maintenance of relations with the authorities
at the provincial capital and with the still bigger
fish in Madrid. Petitions were heard in the patio
the same as ever. Loyal party adherents were
received as cordially as before and the same favors
were done, nor was there any decline of influence in
places that don Andres referred to as “the spheres
of public administration.”
There came an election for Parliament, and as usual,
dona Bernarda secured the triumph of the individual
whose nomination had been dictated from Madrid.
Don Ramon had left the party machine in perfect condition;
all it needed was enough “grease” to keep
it running smoothly; and there his widow was besides,
ever alert at the slightest suggestion of a creak
in the gearing.
At provincial headquarters they spoke of the District
with the usual confidence:
“It’s ours. Brull’s son is
as powerful as the old man himself.”
The truth was that Rafael took little interest in
“the Party.” He looked upon it as
one of the family properties, the title to which no
one could dispute. He confined his personal activities
to obeying his mother. “Go to Riola with
don Andres. Our friends there will be happy to
see you.” And he would go on the trip,
to suffer the torment of an interminable rally, a
paella, during which his fellow partisans would
bore him with their uncouth merriment and ill-mannered
flattery. “You really ought to give your
horse a couple of days’ rest. Instead of
going out for a ride, spend your afternoon at the
Club! Our fellows are complaining they never
