In this way we are one more."
"Good," he said.
"I thought you might wish to."
"Nay, _Ingles_," Pilar said looking at him closely.
"Do not be worried.
All will be well.
Remember they expect no such thing to come to them."
"Yes," Robert Jordan said.
"One other thing, _Ingles_," Pilar said as softly as her harsh whisper could be soft.
"In that thing of the hand--"
"What thing of the hand?" he said angrily.
"Nay, listen.
Do not be angry, little boy.
In regard to that thing of the hand.
That is all gypsy nonsense that I make to give myself an importance.
There is no such thing."
"Leave it alone," he said coldly.
"Nay," she said harshly and lovingly.
"It is just a lying nonsense that I make.
I would not have thee worry in the day of battle."
"I am not worried," Robert Jordan said.
"Yes, _Ingles_," she said.
"Thou art very worried, for good cause.
But all will be well, _Ingles_.
It is for this that we are born."
"I don't need a political commissar," Robert Jordan told her.
She smiled at him again, smiling fairly and truly with the harsh lips and the wide mouth, and said,
"I care for thee very much, _Ingles_."
"I don't want that now," he said. "_Ni tu, ni Dios_."
"Yes," Pilar said in that husky whisper.
"I know.
I only wished to tell thee.
And do not worry.
We will do all very well."
"Why not?" Robert Jordan said and the very thinnest edge of the skin in front of his face smiled.
"Of course we will.
All will be well."
"When do we go?" Pilar asked.
Robert Jordan looked at his watch.
"Any time," he said.
He handed one of the packs to Anselmo.
"How are you doing, old one?" he asked.
The old man was finishing whittling the last of a pile of wedges he had copied from a model Robert Jordan had given him.
These were extra wedges in case they should be needed.
"Well," the old man said and nodded.
"So far, very well."
He held his hand out.
"Look," he said and smiled.
His hands were perfectly steady.
"_Bueno, y que?_" Robert Jordan said to him.