Froth: A Novel

The famous mines of Riosa are situated in a hollow between two low ranges of hills, the spurs of a great mountain-chain, and are surrounded on all sides by broken ground, knolls and downs of no great height, but scarred and ravined in such a way as to look peculiarly barren and melancholy. In the hollow stands a town dating from the remotest antiquity. Our travellers did not invade it, they stopped about two kilometres short of it, at a village named Villalegre, where the engineers and miners have settled themselves with a view to avoiding the mercurial and sulphurous fumes which slowly poison not the miners only, but all the inhabitants of the neighbourhood. It is divided from the mines by a ridge, and is a striking contrast to the mining town itself. It is watered by a stream which makes it blossom like a garden, gay with wild lilies, jasmine, and heliotrope, and, above all, with damask roses, which have naturalised themselves there more completely than in any other region of Spain. The aromatic fragrance of thyme and fennel perfumes and purifies the air.

The most flowery plot in all the settlement belonged to the company, at about three hundred yards from the village. A handsome stone building stood in the midst of a garden, this was the residence of the head-manager, and the central office of the mines; round it, at some little distance, were several smaller dwellings, each with its little garden, occupied by clerks, and by some of the operatives; but most of these lived at Riosa.

"Well," said he, "the sovereign people are not attractive looking in these parts."

The manager introduced the clerks to Salabert, each by name. They were almost all natives of other parts of the country, healthy, smiling young fellows, with nothing noticeable about them, and the superintendents no less so. The only man of them all who attracted any attention was a delicate-looking man, with a pale face, and thin black moustache, whose steady dark eyes looked at the fashionable visitors with such piercing determination as bordered on insolence. Without knowing why, those who met his gaze felt vaguely uncomfortable, and were glad to look away. The manager introduced him as the doctor attached to the mines.

"Do you know what you remind me of?" he shouted. "A party of commercial travellers in some suburban café!"

This comparison seemed to hurt their feelings deeply; the dancing lost its attractions for the fashionable juveniles, and soon ceased altogether. However, as their hearts were set on Terpsichorean delights, it occurred to them to transfer the music to the board room, where they continued their devotions to the Muse, free from the dreadful burden which Cobo had laid on their conscience.

The festivities were carried on till late. Fireworks were presently let off, having been brought expressly from Madrid. The various couples wandered about the gravelled paths, enjoying the coolness of the night, made fragrant by the scent of flowers. There was but one dark blot on their perfect enjoyment. When they went near the gate, they saw a crowd outside, of labourers, women, and children, who had come from Riosa, on hearing of the great doings—the same haggard creatures, hollow-eyed and gloomy, as they had met on arriving. So they took care not to go too near the fence, but to remain in the paths and alleys near the middle of the garden. Lola, only, who prided herself on being charitable, and who was president, secretary, and treasurer of no less than three societies, was brave enough to speak to them, and even to distribute some small silver money; but out of the darkness came obscene abuse and insults, which compelled her to retreat. Cotorraso, when he heard of it, was in a great rage.

The law of elective affinity had drawn together Raimundo Alcázar and a man who was somewhat out of his element in this riotous company. This gentleman, with whom he was walking, was between fifty and sixty years of age, short and thin, with a white moustache and beard, and prominent eyes, with a somewhat absent gaze through his spectacles. His name was Don Juan Peñalver; he held a chair of philosophy at the University, and had been in the Ministry. He enjoyed a high and deserved reputation for learning, and for a dignity of character rare in Spain. This naturally brought him into ill-odour with the "Savages," who affected to treat him with contemptuous familiarity. It is obvious that nothing can be more offensive to the average "Savage" than Philosophy. Peñalver's intellectual superiority and fame was a stab to their pride. Their scorn did not trouble him; he was by nature cheerful, warm-hearted, and absent-minded; he was incapable of discriminating the various shades of social manner, and, in fact, had not been much seen in the world since retiring from political life to devote himself exclusively to science. He had joined this expedition to oblige his brother-in-law, Escosura, who held a large number of shares in the Riosa mines. Of late years he had been an ardent student of natural science, as the surest way of combatting the metaphysical idealism to which he had devoted his early life. It was with real pleasure that he found himself accidentally thrown into the company of a youth so well-informed on scientific matters as Raimundo. The rest of the party bored him past endurance, so taking Alcázar by the arm, without inquiring whether he wanted him or no, he began discussing physiology.

They were sitting in a summer-house with several other persons, but conversing apart with great animation. Each time he and Peñalver went past them, his heart swelled with a pang; he scarcely heard, or even tried to hear, the learned disquisition his companion was pouring into his ear. Clementina could read in his anxious gaze how much he was suffering, and after watching him for a little while she rose and joined the two men, saying with a smile:

"And what plot are you two sages hatching?"

"You flatter me," said the younger with a modest bow. "The only sage here is Señor Peñalver."

"Well, Señor Peñalver can bestow a lecture on the Condesa de Cotorraso, who is anxious to make his acquaintance, while you come with me to see a Gothic cathedral which is about to explode in fireworks," and she put her hand through her lover's arm.

"Still such a baby!" she exclaimed, giving him a caressing little pinch. "Pepa is right when she says you are like a school-girl in a convent. Come, let us walk about; some one might see your face."

They went into a more retired part of the garden. From one spot in the grounds they could see a very curious landscape. The full moon lighted up the crest of the nearest hill, which divided Villalegre from Riosa, making it look like the ruins of a castle. Clementina wished to see it closer, so they went out by one of the side-gates, where no one was to be seen, and slowly wandered on—the knoll was barren of vegetation, a pile of boulders, in fact, of fantastic shapes, looking precisely like a mass of ruins. It was not till they were close to it that they could convince themselves of the truth.

"It is one of the boys from the pumps! Go it, my boy, work away! A tough job, isn't it?"

And his companions burst into brutal laughter, crying out to the poor little somnambulist:

"Go at it! Keep it up! Harder, boy, harder, the water is rising!"

And the unhappy boy redoubled his imaginary efforts with more and more energy. He was a weakly creature, with a white face, quite expressionless with sleep, and his ragged rough hair gave him the look of a wraith. The savage glee of the workmen, who looked on at the pitiable scene, made a very painful impression on Raimundo. He took the child in his arms, shook him gently to wake him, kissed him kindly on the forehead, and taking a dollar out of his purse, gave it to the lad, and then went on with Clementina. The working men ceased their laughter, and one of them said in a tone of envy:

AT one in the morning the party broke up.

They were to reassemble at nine, to set out in a body on a visit of inspection to the mines; and the programme was carried out, not indeed with punctuality, which in Spain is an impossibility, but with no more than an hour's delay. They set out for Riosa, in carriages, at ten; of course a diminished party. They alighted at the outskirts of the town and crossed it on foot, producing, as may be supposed, no small excitement. The women crowded to the doors and windows, staring with eager curiosity at this splendid procession of ladies and gentlemen, arrayed in clothes such as they had never seen in their lives. Like their husbands, brothers, and sons, these women were pale and sickly-looking, their features pinched, their eyes dull, their hands and feet stunted. The visitors also saw a few men suffering from constant trembling.

"What is the matter? Why do those men tremble so?" asked Esperancita anxiously.

"They have the palsy," said one of the clerks.

"What is the palsy?"

"They get it by working in the mines."

"Do many of them get it?"

"All of them," said the doctor, who had heard the question. "Mercurial palsy attacks all who work in the mines."

"And why do they work there, then?" asked the girl, with much simplicity.

"For my part I think the fresh air up here is much better to breathe than the foul air down below."

"Why, of course. I would be anything rather than a miner."

They came out at length on a small open space, where some workmen were busy erecting an artistic pedestal of marble.

"This is the pedestal for the statue of the Duke," said the manager of the mines, in a loud voice.

"Ah, ah! They are going to put up a statue to you?" said one and another, gathering round the great man. He shrugged his shoulders with a deprecating gesture.

"I am sure I don't know. Some absurd notion that has been started in the miners' wine-shops, I suppose."

"No, indeed, Señor Duque," exclaimed the manager, whose duty it had been to start the idea which Llera had suggested to him at a hint from Salabert himself. "No, indeed. The town of Riosa is anxious to erect a monument of its gratitude and respect to a noble patron who, in the most critical circumstances, did not hesitate to risk an enormous sum in the purchase of a half-ruined undertaking, and so to save it from utter disaster."

"What a beautiful thing it is to do good!" exclaimed Lola, in a voice full of feeling; and her pretty eyes rested admiringly on Requena.

"Only old men seem to be employed."

The manager smiled. "They are not old, though they look so, Señora."

"But they are all wrinkled, and their eyes are sunken and dim."

"There is not a man of forty among them. Those whom you see at work here are too far gone to work underground. We employ them up here, but they get less wages."

"And does it take long in the mines to reduce them to this condition?" asked Ramon.

"Not long, not long," murmured the manager, and he went on: "Such as you see them, they are always eager to get back to the mine again. The pay for outside work is so small."

"What do they get?"

The manager now proposed that they should inspect the hospital. Some refused, but Lola, who never missed an opportunity of displaying her benevolent sentiments, set the example, and most of the ladies followed her, with a few of the men. The Duke excused himself, as he was busy with the engineers, who were giving him their opinion on the state of the furnaces.

The hospital was outside the precincts of the mines, near the burial-ground—no doubt to accustom the inmates to the idea of death, and also, perhaps, that if the mercurial vapours proved ineffectual to kill them, those of the graveyard might finish the task. It was an old building, tumble-down, damp, and gloomy. It was only sheer shame which hindered the ladies from turning back from the threshold. The doctor, who had undertaken to guide them, showed them into the different rooms, and displayed the dreadful panorama of human suffering. Most of the poor wretches were dressed, and sitting on their beds or on chairs. Their drawn, corpse-like faces were objects of terror; their bodies shook with incessant trembling, as though they were stricken with a common panic. Fear and pity were painted on the fresh faces of their visitors; and the doctor smiled his peculiar smile, looking at them boldly with his large, black eyes.

"Not a pleasing picture, is it?" said he.

"Poor creatures! And are they all miners?"

"Yes, all. The atmosphere they live in, vitiated by mercurial vapours, and the insufficient supply of fresh air, inevitably produce not only this trembling from acute or chronic mercurial poisoning—which is the most conspicuous result—but pulmonary catarrh of an aggravated type, dysentery, tuberculosis, mercurial irritation of the stomach, and many other diseases which either shorten their lives or render them incapable of labour after a few years spent under ground."

The little party who had followed his guidance listened to him with attention and sympathy. Never had they seen anything so terrible. Labour—a penalty in itself—was here complicated with poisoning; and with sincere emotion, full of the best intentions, they suggested means of alleviating the misery of the sufferers. Some declared that a good hospital ought to be erected; others suggested a shop, on charitable principles, where the workmen could obtain good food at a cheap rate; others urged that the children should not be employed at all; others again that the labourers should be allowed to work for only a very limited time.

The doctor smiled and shook his head.

"All this would be admirable, no doubt; I quite agree with you. But then, as I can but tell you, it would not be a paying business."

They distributed some money among the sick, visited the chapel, where again they left some money to procure a new robe for the Holy Infant, and at last got out of the dismal place. To breathe the fresh air once more was almost intoxicating, and they laughed and talked as they made their way back to join the rest of the party.

The engineers were explaining to Salabert a new process of sublimation which might be adopted, and by which not only would the production be vastly increased, but the residue would be utilised. This was effected by condensers formed of chambers of very thin brickwork in the lower part of the funnel carrying off the vapour, and of wood and glass above. A furnace to which these were fitted could be kept constantly going. The Duke listened attentively, took notes, raised objections, mastered the details of the business, and finally his keen nose scented enormous profits.

As the ladies came up he gallantly postponed the discussion.

"Well, how are my sick getting on, ladies? The sun has shone on them to-day," said he.

And with one accord they complained of the defects of the building, painting it in the blackest colours, and proposing improvements to make it comfortable.

The Duke listened with smiling indifference and the half-ironical attention we give to a coaxing child.

"Very well, very well; we will have it all seen to. But you will allow me to set the business on its feet first—eh, Regnault?"

The superintendent bowed with an insinuating smile.

"And the men must work shorter hours," said the Condesa de Cebal.

"And they really must be better paid," added Lola.

"And they ought to have cottages built for them at Villalegre," said another.

"Ha, ha, ha," shouted the Duke, with a burst of coarse laughter. "And why not bring Gayarre and Tosti here to entertain them in the evening? They must be dreadfully dull here, I should think, in the evenings!"

The ladies smiled timidly.

"But really, Duke, you should not make fun of it; it is a serious matter," said the Condesa de Cebal.

"Serious! I believe you, Condesa. It has cost me three million dollars already. Do you think three millions are not a serious matter?"

His fair advisers looked at each other, dazzled by the enormous sums this man could handle.

"But do you not expect to get some interest on your millions?" asked Lola, who flattered herself she knew something of business.

The Duke again roared with laughter.

This was a maxim the Duke had frequently heard in the senate; he reiterated it with much emphasis and conviction.

"And think of the myriads of these creatures which must have laboured to produce such an effect," said an engineer.

Quiroga, so the doctor was called, ended by showing them a drop of water. One by one they all looked at the invisible world revealed by the microscope.

"I see one animal larger than the others," said the Duke, as he applied one of his prominent eyes to the tube of the instrument.

"And you will see all the others fly before him," said the doctor.

"Very true."

"That is a rotifer. He is the shark of the drop of water."

"Look yourself a minute, it seems to me that he is hiding behind something that looks like seaweed."

"You may call it seaweed. Perhaps he is hiding to catch his prey."

"Yes, yes. Now he has rushed out on a much smaller creature. It is gone, he must have eaten it."

And the Duke looked up, beaming with satisfaction at having seen this strange microscopic tragedy.

Quiroga looked at him with his bold gaze, and said with that eternal ironical smile of his:

"It is the same all the world over. In the drop of water as in the ocean—everywhere the big fish swallow the small fry."

The Duke's smile faded away. He gave a side glance at the doctor, whose mysterious countenance showed no change, and said abruptly:

"You must all be tired of science. Let us go to luncheon."

"How very original! How odd! How delightful!" The ladies especially were most eager about it.

By the Duke's advice, they all had provided themselves with elegant waterproof cloaks and high boots, for water oozed into the mine in many places, and made deep puddles. Only the evening before, however, several had taken fright at the immediate prospect, and had given up the expedition. The Duke had been obliged to order two meals, one in the mine and one above ground. The braver party who persisted in their purpose were not more than eight or ten. These had brought their waterproofs and leggings.

The whole party now gathered round one of the mouths of the mine known as San Gennaro's pit. Near this shaft there was a building used for inspecting and weighing the ore, and there the ladies and gentlemen changed their boots and put on their wrappers. On seeing them thus prepared for the worst, almost all the ladies declared that they would after all go down with their friends. A messenger was forthwith sent to Villalegre for the rest of the waterproofs.

"The first gallery," said the manager, as they passed a black opening.

But no one made any remark. This suspension in the abyss, over the unknown void, paralysed their tongues and almost their power of thought.

"The second gallery," said the manager again as they passed another yawning hole. And thus he continued till they came to the ninth. There they heard the sound of voices and saw that the gallery was lighted up.

"We shall take our luncheon here. But first we will go down to the eleventh gallery to see the works."

When they had gone past the tenth, he shouted as loud as he could:

"Are the brakes on?"

And a voice from below replied:

"No!"

"Put them on at once," he called down.

"It cannot be done," was the answer.

"What, why? The brakes, I say; put on the brakes."

And with a very red face, almost convulsed with excitement, he still shouted like a madman, while the cage slowly went down, down.

A cold chill fell on every heart. In the upper compartment some of the women began to utter piercing shrieks. In the lower room a few screams were heard and all clung tightly to the men's arms. Some fainted. It was a moment of indescribable alarm. They all thought this was their dying hour.

And still the manager kept shouting: "The brakes, put on the brakes."

When they firmly believed that they were rushing into the nether void the cage quietly stopped. They heard a peal of loud laughter, and their terrified eyes beheld, by the tremulous light of tallow candles, a party of miners whose grinning faces suddenly assumed an expression of the utmost alarm and dismay.

"What is all this? What is the meaning of this piece of foolery?" asked the manager, jumping out of the lift in a rage and going up to them.

The men respectfully took off their hats and one of them with a shame-faced smile stammered out:

"Begging your pardon, Señor, we thought it was a lot of the men, and we wanted to give 'em a fright."

"Did not you know that we were coming down?" he angrily asked.

"We thought the gentlefolks were going to stop at number nine, where all the fine doings are to be——"

"You thought, and you thought; you should not think such stupid things."

The Duke recovered the use of his tongue.

"But do you know, my good fellows, that you were playing a very rough and ready joke on your fellow workmen! Making them fancy they were rushing to their death!"

"Their death!" echoed the miner who had first spoken.

"No, Señor Duque," said the manager, "if they had not put the breaks on we should only have been up to our waists in water."

"Is that all?"

"Would you have liked a bath in dirty water?"

"Well, of course it would not have been a pleasant dip. But to see you in such a state of frenzy made us all think we were being killed outright. What do you say, ladies?"

The spectacle which presented itself to their eyes when they could bring themselves to look at it, was not less grand than fantastic. Huge vaulted arches diverged in every direction, lighted only by the pale light of a few candles placed at wide intervals. To and fro in these galleries, with incessant toil, a crowd of labourers were constantly moving, their gigantic shadows dancing in the dim, flickering light. Their shouts echoed to the accompaniment of creaking trolley-wheels, and they seemed possessed with the idea of accomplishing some mysterious task in a very short time. In some of the galleries the walls were lined with crystals of native mercury, glittering as though they were covered with silver. On the other side of these walls, dull regular blows might be heard, and on going a few yards into the openings which had been formed here and there, they could see at the end, in an illuminated cavern, four or five pale, melancholy men hewing out the ore with their pick-axes. Whenever they stopped to rest it could be seen that their limbs shook with the palsy, characteristic of mercurial poisoning.

It would have been easy to fancy oneself translated to the world of gnomes, and the scene of their mysterious labours. Man burrows in the earth with incessant toil like the mole, tunnelling it in every direction; but he poisons himself as he eats it away. The gods could get rid of the human rat without the aid of the cat.

"Oh, no," said the manager with a smile. "Only private mines fall in. This was a Government concern, and everything was done with lavish security."

"I have been in mines where we have had to send a party of men down to dig the miners out," said one of the engineers.

"How shocking!" exclaimed the ladies in chorus.

At last they got into the cage again and were carried up to number nine. Here the scene was very different. It was a long time since this gallery had been worked, and part of it had been enlarged to form a chamber, which had been enclosed, boarded, and carpeted; it might have been a room in a palace. The roof and walls were hung with waterproof cloth and adorned with trophies of mining. A table was magnificently laid for fifty or more, and the place was brilliantly illuminated by means of lustres with hundreds of wax lights. In short every refinement of luxury and elegance had been lavished here, so that it was difficult to persuade oneself that this dining-room was in the depths of a mine, three hundred mètres below the surface of the earth.

The ladies, their eyes glistening, tremulous with excitement, repeated again and again: "How original, how amusing, I am so glad I came, what a delightful idea of Clementina's!"

Then they tried to be calm and talk of indifferent subjects; but no one succeeded. The sense of so many tons of earth overhead weighed on their consciousness through it all. Nay, with some of the men it was the same, though some were perfectly calm.

Raimundo was, no doubt, the man who thought least of his immediate surroundings; he was entirely absorbed in his moral predicament. Clementina, in spite of her professions and promises, was carrying on a hot flirtation with Escosura. They were placed side by side, exactly opposite to where he sat. He could see them talking eagerly, and laughing frequently; he saw him devoted, obsequious, lavish of compliments and attentions; he saw her complacent, smiling, and accepting his civilities with pleasure. And though from time to time she bestowed on Raimundo a loving look in compensation, he could only regard it as an alms—the crust bestowed on a beggar to save him from death. What did he care whether he were on the face or in the centre of the earth, or even if it should fall in and crush him like a fly.

Another person to whom this geographical question was a matter of supreme indifference was Ramoncito, though from the opposite point of view. Esperanza was most amiable to him, perhaps because she thought she could thus the better endure the absence of Pepe Castro. The young deputy, beside himself with joy, never stirred an inch further from her side, or for a moment longer than appearances demanded. Triumphantly happy, he cast occasional glances of condescending grace on the rest of the company, and when his eyes fell on Calderón's financial face his emotion was visible; he could hardly forbear from addressing him as "Papa."

When dessert was served Escosura rose to propose a toast. He was an object of respect to the "Savages," partly from his corpulence and his vehement temper, but chiefly by reason of his money. He considered himself an orator. In a strong, ringing voice, he pronounced a panegyric on the Duke, whom he repeatedly designated as "that financial genius." He enlarged on labour, capital, and production; and went on to politics—his strong point. From the depths of the quicksilver mine he shot terrific darts at the Ministry, which had failed to give him a portfolio at the last change of Cabinet.

At this instant, simultaneously with the pop of several champagne corks, a tremendous detonation was heard, making the bravest turn pale.

"There is nothing to be alarmed at," said the manager. "They are exploding the borings. It is always done at this hour."

It was in truth an impressive moment. The noise of each explosion, multiplied and repeated by a thousand echoes, was enough to make the stoutest heart quake with faint alarms. Every one was suddenly silenced, listening for some seconds, with absorbed anxiety, to the rolling thunders which shook the earth. The table quivered, and the glasses and dishes rattled and tinkled.

At this moment, the doctor rose from his chair, and after steadily eyeing the guests all round with his dark gaze, he raised his glass and spoke:

"Our illustrious host, the Duke of Requena, has just told us, with a modesty which does him credit, that the whole secret of his great fortune lies in industry and honesty. He must permit me to doubt it. The Duke de Requena represents something more than those vulgar qualities; he represents force. Force! the sustaining factor of the Universe.

"Force is very unequally distributed among organic beings; some have a larger and others a smaller share. And in the ceaseless struggle which goes on among them, the weakest perish, the fittest and strongest survive. Let us, then, adore in our Amphitryon the incarnation of Force. Thanks to the force with which Nature has endowed him, he has been able to subjugate and utilise the smaller share of thousands of individuals who unconsciously serve his ends; thanks to that force, he has accumulated his vast capital.

"Hear him, my dear!" whispered Pepa Frias to Clementina. "This is Mephistopheles' toast, I think."

Clementina smiled faintly. In fact, the doctor's pale, refined face, with the black hair brushed off his forehead, and, above all, his black eyes, in spite of an assumption of innocence, were full of a bitter irony not unworthy of Mephistopheles.

He went on:

"Slavery has existed in every age under one form or another. There have always been men designated by fate to live in the refined atmosphere of intellectual enjoyments, in the cultivation of the arts, in luxury and splendour, and the pleasure to be derived from the society of intelligent and educated persons; while others again are fated to procure them the means of such an existence by rude and painful toil. The pariahs laboured for the Brahmins, the helots for the Spartans, the slaves for the Romans, the villeins for their feudal lords. And is it not the same to this day? Of what avail are laws to abolish slavery? The men who work in the depths of this mine, and inhale the poison which kills them, are slaves, though not by law—by want of bread. The result is the same. It is the law of Nature, and so no doubt a holy and venerable law, that some must suffer for others to enjoy life. You, ladies, are the descendants of the noble Roman ladies who sent their slaves to these mines to procure them vermilion to beautify their faces, and of the Arabs, who used it to decorate the minarets of their palaces at Cordova and Seville. Ladies, I drink to you, my soul possessed by admiration and respect, as the representatives of all that is choicest on earth—Love, Beauty, and Pleasure."

"Ladies and gentlemen," said he, "I do not propose a toast because I am not an orator. I hope that ere long this will be recognised as an honourable distinction in Spain; that when such an individual goes by in the street it will be said of him with respect: 'he is not an orator;' as we already say: 'he wears no order of merit.'"

The ladies applauded and laughed at the joke. But whether from the doctor's words, or whether they were again oppressed by vague fears, they were all conscious of an uneasy feeling. Every one was cheered when it was announced that the cage was ready to carry them up. Those who remained to the last, heard, as they started, a distant chorus, which came nearer as they rose, till it sounded close by them, and then mysteriously died away below them without their having seen any one. The effect was most whimsical. The words they heard were those of an Andalucian boat song:

The engineer remarked in explanation:

"A party of miners, going down in the cage which serves as a counterpoise to this one."

The lady was silent for a moment, then she said, with a melancholy smile:

"It is not a very mirthful ditty, Duke."

This was going on in the upper compartment. In the lower division, Escosura observed in a scornful tone to the chief engineer:

"Do you know that your young doctor was so rash as to give us a taste of his materialistic views?"

"Materialistic! I do not know that he is a Materialist. What he prides himself on being—and the miners worship him for it—is a Socialist."

"Worse and worse."

"To tell the truth," said Peñalver, with a sigh, "it is impossible to come up from the bottom of a mine without having caught a little of the infection."

At nine in the evening, after dining at Villalegre, the party returned to Madrid, by special train. They all set out well content with the excursion. They hoped to amaze their friends by their account of the underground banquet. The only unhappy person was Raimundo. The alternations of joy and anguish which Clementina's flirtation occasioned him had quite quenched his spirit. At last, seeing him so sad and exhausted, his mistress was merciful. She made him sit by her in the train, and without scandalising a party who were cured of all such weakness, she talked to him all the evening, and finally dropped asleep with her head on his shoulder.

Though a sleeping-car formed part of the train, it was not in favour. Most of the travellers preferred remaining in the saloons. Towards morning, however, sleep overcame them all, and they succumbed where they sat, in a variety of attitudes, some of them by no means graceful.

He, too, had seated himself next the idol of his heroic heart, and for some hours sat talking to her in dulcet tones—of English cobs, and of the great pitched battles which were being constantly fought in the municipal council, and in which he bore an active part; till the innocent child, soothed by the monotonous and insinuating discourse, closed her eyes, with her head thrown back against the cushion.

Maldonado remained awake, wide awake, thinking of his happiness. Rosy-fingered Aurora, stepping over the ridge of the distant Sierra, and flying swiftly across the wide plain, peeped through the blinds of the carriages, diffusing a dim and subdued light, and still he was hugging himself in contentment.

Esperancita opened her eyes and smiled at him with a tender smile which thrilled the deepest fibres of his lyric soul. At this instant a lark began to sing. In Ramoncito the god was each moment growing more distinct from the man; intoxicated with love and happiness he murmured into the girl's ear, in a voice tremulous with emotion, a few incoherent and ardent phrases, the expression of the divine madness. Esperanza shut her eyes again—to hear that music better?

The girl still kept her eyes shut. Ramoncito, more and more excited, when he had ended this catalogue of brilliant prospects, bent over her and whispered in impassioned tones: "Do you love me, dearest, do you love me?"

No answer.

"Tell me, do you love me?"

Esperancita, without opening her eyes, answered curtly:

A FEW weeks after this excursion, Doña Carmen's disease suddenly grew much worse. The physicians, indeed, had no doubt that her end was drawing near. She was in a state of complete prostration. Her face was so thin, that there seemed to be nothing left but the skin, and the large, sad, kind eyes, which rested with strange intensity on all who came near her, as if trying to read in theirs the terrible secret of death. And in view of her death, a thousand sordid feelings surged up in the minds of those who ought most to have sorrowed over it. Salabert reflected with indignation on the inheritance which was to pass to his daughter. He made fresh efforts to induce his wife to revoke her will, but without success. For the first time in her life, Doña Carmen showed great firmness of character. Though she was incapable of a revengeful sentiment, she perhaps felt bound by her desire to close her existence by an act of justice. A life of abject submission, during which she had never opposed the smallest obstacle to her husband's will, to his money-making schemes, or his illicit passions, had surely earned her the privilege of asserting her rights on her death-bed, and gratifying the impulses of her heart.

It was with infernal astuteness that Salabert set to work to infuse distrust into his wife's mind. Sometimes by insinuation, and sometimes by brutally broad hints, he poured the poison of suspicion into her soul. Clementina and Osorio were looking for her death, as for flowers in May. What airs they would give themselves when they had paid all their debts! And then they would live and enjoy themselves on her money.

The poor woman said nothing, indignant at these base innuendoes. But, nevertheless, in her soul, broken and saddened by suffering, the keen point of this envenomed dart festered deeply, though she strove to conceal her anguish. Every time Clementina came to see her—and towards the end this was twice a day—her stepmother's eyes would rest on hers in mute interrogation, trying to read in them the thoughts in the brain behind. This intent gaze embarrassed the younger woman, making her feel a perturbation, which, though slight, occasionally betrayed itself.

As her malady increased, this anxiety on Doña Carmen's part became almost a mania. In the isolation of soul in which she lived, Clementina represented the one link of affection which bound her to life. It was because her stepdaughter had always been cold and haughty to every one else, that she had never doubted the sincerity of her love for her, and it had made her happy and proud. It had sufficed to indemnify her for the scornful indifference with which every one else had treated her. Now, the horrible doubt which had been forced upon her, filled her heart with bitterness. Such a spirit of goodness and love as her own craved to believe in goodness and love. The uprooting of this last belief made her heart bleed with anguish.

"Lay down the book, child, you are tired," she said at last. And her voice came trembling from her throat, as though she had said something very serious.

"You are, perhaps, of listening. I am not. I have a strong throat."

"God preserve it to you, my child," replied Doña Carmen tenderly, as she looked at her.

There was a brief silence.

"Do you know what I have been told?" she asked finally, with an effort, and her voice was so low that the last syllables were scarcely audible.

Clementina, who was about to read again, raised her head. The few drops of blood left in Doña Carmen's emaciated body suddenly rushed to her face and tinged it with a faint flush.

"I was told—that you wish for my death."

"I know who told you that!"

And as she spoke the blood faded from her face again like a sudden fall of the tide. Her stepmother's retreated to her weary heart. She bent her head with its white hairs, and said:

"If you know, do not utter his name."

"Why not?" cried her wrathful stepdaughter. "When a father, with no motive whatever, solely for the sake of a few dollars, can insult his daughter and make a martyr of his wife, he has no right to claim either affection or respect. I say it, and I do not care who hears me. It is an infamous calumny! My father is a man who knows no God, no love but money. I knew that your will had alienated his love for me—if indeed he ever had any."

"Oh!"

"Yes, I knew it perfectly. But I never could have believed that it would lead him to do anything so vile as to calumniate me so cruelly. I confess to you that I have always loved you the most—oh, yes, much, much the most! I have no hesitation in saying so. Nay, I will say more: I have never really loved any one but you and my children. If this will is the cause of your doubting my love for you, destroy it, undo it, revoke it. Your love and your peace of mind are far dearer to me than your money."

Her voice thrilled with indignation. Her eyes were sternly fixed on vacancy, as though she could evoke the figure of her father and crush him to powder. At the moment she was ardently sincere. Doña Carmen's dim eyes grew bright with contentment as her daughter spoke. At last they glittered through tears as she exclaimed:

"I trust you, my child—I believe you! Ah, you cannot think what good you have done me!"

She seized her hands and kissed them fondly. Clementina exclaimed, as if ashamed:

They held each other in a warm embrace, shedding silent tears. It was one of the few occasions in her life when Clementina wept from tender feeling, and not from vexation of spirit.

But during the remaining days, though the memory of this scene was lively with them both, so, too, was that of the suspicion which had led to it. Clementina felt herself humbled in her stepmother's presence. Her attentions and endearments were now and then a little forced; she tried to efface the impression she still read in Doña Carmen's eyes. Then, again, fearing this might lead her to doubt her sincerity, she would suddenly cut them short, and assume a cold indifference. In short, a current of disquietude flowed between the two women, and caused them both much suffering, though in different ways, whenever they were together.

At last Doña Carmen took to her bed, never again to rise. Clementina spent the whole day by her side. The terrible end was near. One morning, between two and three, two of the Duke's servants gave the alarm to the Osorios. The Duchess was dying, and asked repeatedly for her daughter. Clementina hastily dressed and flew to the Requena Palace as fast as her horses could carry her. Osorio went with her. As they alighted they met the Duke, with an expression of scornful gloom.

"You are in time—oh, you are in time!" he growled, and he turned away without another word.

On seeing her daughter the Duchess turned to look in her face with an anxious expression, and held out a hand to her.

"Come close, child," she said, in a fairly strong voice. And she took Clementina's right hand in her own thin, waxen hands, and said, with a fearful fixity of gaze:

"I am dying, my child, dying. Do you not see it? Only so long as you are not glad of it."

"Mamma, dear mamma!"

"Say that you are not glad," she earnestly insisted, without ceasing to look in her daughter's eyes.

"Mamma, mamma, for God's sake!" cried Clementina, both bewildered and alarmed.

"Say that you are not glad!" she repeated, with increased energy, even raising her head with a great effort, and looking sternly at her.

"No, my beloved mother, no. If I could save your life at the cost of my own I swear to you I would do so."

The dying woman's dim eyes softened; she laid her head on the pillow, and, after a short silence, she said, in a weak, quavering voice:

"You would be very ungrateful—very ungrateful. Your poor mother has loved you dearly. Kiss me, do not cry. I am not sorry to leave this world. What hurt me was the thought that you, child of my heart—you—oh, horrible to think of! How it has tortured me!"

"God bless you, my child," she said, with a gaze fixed on the ceiling. "You are right to be glad at my death."

"Mamma, mamma, what are you saying?" cried Clementina, in horror.

"I am glad, too, glad that my death should be an advantage to you. If I could have given you all while I lived, I would have done it. It is sad, is it not, that I should have to die to make you happy? I should have liked to see you happy. Good-by; good-by. Think sometimes of your poor mamma."

"Mother, dearest mother!" sobbed the younger woman, dropping on her knees with a burst of tears. "I do not want you to die, no, no. I have been very wicked, but I have always loved you, have always respected you."

"Do not be foolish," said the dying woman, smiling with an effort, and laying her hand on the fair head. "I am not sorry if you are glad. And what does it matter? I die content to know that you will owe some happiness to me. Remember my old women in the asylum, be kind to them, and to Marcella, my good Marcella. Farewell, all of you. Forgive me any faults——"

Her voice failed, her breathing was hard and painful. The sobs of Clementina and Marcella were the only other sound. The Duke, trembling and shocked, was at last persuaded to leave the room.

Doña Carmen spoke no more. Her eyes closed, her lips parted, she lay quite still. Now and then she half raised her eyelids and looked fondly at her step-daughter who remained kneeling. The priest read on in a quavering nasal voice prayer after prayer.

Thus died the Duchess de Requena. Let her depart in peace.

But everything went on as before. Although the Duchess's will was incontrovertible, Salabert never said a word on money matters. He continued to manage the whole of the fortune, and engaged in various concerns with calm despotism. But his daughter and son-in-law were not so calm. They began, on the contrary, to be greatly disturbed, to express their opinions to each other with crude vehemence, and to lay plots to provoke an explanation. Clementina thought that Osorio should speak to her father. He considered it her part to apply to him in dutiful terms for an explanation, before formulating a complaint. After some days of hesitation the wife finally made up her mind to say a few words to her father, though not without some embarrassment, since she knew his temper and her own too.

"Well, papa," said she, with affected lightness, finding him alone in his room, "when are you going to talk over money matters with me?"

"Money matters? Why should I?" he replied in a tone of surprise, and looking at her with such an air of innocence that she longed to slap his face.

"Ah, to be sure!" exclaimed the Duke, with a flourish of the hand to dismiss the subject. "We will talk of that later—much later."

Clementina turned pale. Her blood seemed to curdle with rage. Her lips quivered, and she was on the point of saying something violent.

"Still, it would be as well that we should come to an understanding," she murmured in a low voice.

"Not at all, not at all. I cannot discuss it now. When I have time and am in the humour I will think about it."

He spoke with such decision and indifference that his daughter had no choice but either to give the reins to her tongue and quarrel violently with her father, or to go. After a moment's hesitation she went. She turned on her heel, and, without a word of leave-taking, she quitted the room and went off in her carriage, in such a state of excitement that she was trembling from head to foot.

As soon as she reached home she shut herself up in her own room and gave vent to her fury. She wept, she stamped, she tore her clothes, and broke various articles of crockery. Osorio too flew into a rage, and declared he would bring Salabert to book. But nothing came of it all, excepting a letter, in which respectfully enough, he required his father-in-law to give him an account of the state of his business, that the preliminaries of an estimate might be arrived at. Salabert simply did not answer. They wrote another; again no reply. They ceased going to the house. Clementina would not go for fear of a scandal. Osorio, on his part, considering the relations that subsisted between him and his wife, did not feel that he had the moral position which would entitle him to lay formal claim to her fortune.