Just then, to Lucia's relief, the cook came in, bearing a tray laden with chile con carne, bread and butter, and sugar, and placed it on the table. His fright was still evident. His hands trembled, his legs shook. "Ah! Ze food!" Pancho cried. "Good! Put zem zere!" he ordered; and the cook placed the tray closer to him. Then he turned to Lucia Pell. "You shall wait on me," he told her, as though he were conferring the greatest honor upon her. Angela came close to him, eager again to please him. He merely pushed her to one side, and had eyes only for Lucia. "You!" he said, looking her straight in the face. He sat down, and scanned the tray, while the cook stood in terror, not daring to leave the room, but wishing to God this moment were over. Had he forgotten anything? "I do not see ze coffee," Pancho said at last. "I get for you!" the cook screamed in a shrill voice, and rushed for the kitchen. "_Pronto_," Lopez said. Then, to Lucia, "Ze bread." She leaned over to get a piece for him. He watched her carefully. "Your hand is shake. For why? You 'fraid from me, perhaps?" She admitted that she was afraid--a little. "And why?" he inquired. "Because I've heard that you kill people," she bravely told him. "Oh, but that isn't so!" Angela broke in, fearful that the mere mention of killing would bring about a murder then and there. "I'm sure it isn't!" Nothing must be said to raise the thought in Pancho's mind. "Why are you so sure?" Lopez demanded. "It couldn't be! It couldn't be!" Angela declared. "Anyone so romantic as you, so--" And she tried to look her pleasantest. He must be placated, this wretched man. "You are wrong," Lopez informed her, and also the entire room, "I do kill." Lucia, who had taken a seat near him, now drew back in alarm. He was quick to see her action. "You need not be afraid," he heartened her. "I shall not 'urt you. That is, not yet. The chile--" she dished some out for him, hurriedly. "So! You are afraid of me because I kill people, eh?" He leaned back, and his lids contracted until his eyes looked wicked and sinister. The spangles on his sleeves trembled like leaves. "A little," Lucia managed to say. "You sink it wrong to kill?" Pancho wanted to know, gulping down a great mouthful of chile, and smattering a huge slice of bread with butter. He ate with his knife, like a glutton. He smacked his lips, and wiped them on the sleeve of his coat, where the brass buttons gleamed picturesquely. "You talk of killing in such a matter-of-fact way," Lucia observed. "An' why not?" Lopez asked. The cook brought in the coffee-pot and put it on the table. "Does life mean as little to you as that?" Lucia asked another question. This man was an enigma. He was bad through and through. They were as helpless as cattle in his hands.