Yes, it was old Perotti himself, gardener, coachman, chauffeur, porter, everything, as Micol had told me, and on the whole not the least bit changed since our schooldays, when he'd sat up on his box, waiting impassively for the dark and ominous den that had swallowed up his two fearless, smiling young charges to give them back at last, no less serene and sure of themselves, to the coach, all glass, varnish, nickelplating, padded cloth and valuable wood-really just like a precious casket-the upkeep and driving of which was his sole responsibility.
Bera zen, Perotti zaharra, lorazain, kotxezain, chauffeur, atezain, eta denetakoa, Micòlek esan bezala: oro har, ez zen ezer aldatu Guariniren garaitik, zeinetan gidalekuan eserita zirkinik egin gabe zain egoten baitzen bere "señoritoak", izukaitz eta ezpainetan irribarrea zutela, irentsiak izan ziren harpe ilun mehatxagarri hark noiz erabakiko zuen berriro haiek itzultzea, lehen bezain lasai eta beren buruez seguru, ibilgailu kristal, berniz, nikelatu, oihal tapizatu eta zur preziatuz beteriko hartara-kutxa baliotsu bat zirudien benetan-, zeinen kontserbatu eta gidatzeko ardura berak bakarrik baitzeukan.