The guitar thudded with chorded applause for the singer.
"Good," Robert Jordan heard some one say.
"Give us the Catalan, gypsy."
"No."
"Yes.
Yes.
The Catalan."
"All right," the gypsy said and sang mournfully,
"_My nose is flat_.
"_My face is black_.
"_But still I am a man_."
"Ole!" some one said.
"Go on, gypsy!"
The gypsy's voice rose tragically and mockingly.
"_Thank God I am a Negro_.
"_And not a Catalan!_"
"There is much noise," Pablo's voice said.
"Shut up, gypsy."
"Yes," he heard the woman's voice.
"There is too much noise.
You could call the _guardia civil_ with that voice and still it has no quality."
"I know another verse," the gypsy said and the guitar commenced
"Save it," the woman told him.
The guitar stopped.
"I am not good in voice tonight.
So there is no loss," the gypsy said and pushing the blanket aside he came out into the dark.
Robert Jordan watched him walk over to a tree and then come toward him.
"Roberto," the gypsy said softly.
"Yes, Rafael," he said.
He knew the gypsy had been affected by the wine from his voice.
He himself had drunk the two absinthes and some wine but his head was clear and cold from the strain of the difficulty with Pablo.
"Why didst thou not kill Pablo?" the gypsy said very softly.
"Why kill him?"
"You have to kill him sooner or later.
Why did you not approve of the moment?"
"Do you speak seriously?"
"What do you think they all waited for?
What do you think the woman sent the girl away for?
Do you believe that it is possible to continue after what has been said?"
"That you all should kill him."
"_Que va_," the gypsy said quietly.
"That is your business.
Three or four times we waited for you to kill him.
Pablo has no friends."
"I had the idea," Robert Jordan said.
"But I left it."
"Surely all could see that.
Every one noted your preparations.
Why didn't you do it?"
"I thought it might molest you others or the woman."