Maximina

"It is rather a hard matter to deceive them," replied Miguel, laughing at the tone in which his friend spoke those last words.

Mendoza took up his abode in the house; but first it was necessary to have a trunk brought from his lodging, and for him to change his clothes in Miguel's bedroom; when this was accomplished he went out cautiously, and soon returned like an ordinary visitor.

By these manœuvres he deceived himself, and was convinced that he had deceived the servants....

Maximina did not fancy having the guest. She was so happy living alone with her husband! Nevertheless, with her usual docility to his wishes, she said not a word, nor showed in her face any sign of dissatisfaction.

While Miguel was away from home, Mendoza spent his time with her, but whole hours passed without their exchanging a dozen words. The young girl of Pasajes was not a very deep thinker. And Mendoza, as we know, was in the habit of keeping to himself the good things that came to his mind. Still she watched him closely out of the corner of her eyes, and afterwards gave her husband the benefit of her impressions. Though she tried to make the best of them, it was evident that they were not very flattering.

"It seems to me that Mendoza hasn't pleased you very well."

Maximina smiled, and said nothing.

"Well, he is an unfortunate."

"I imagine that he is not as fond of you as you are of him; that nothing in the world is quite as important as himself."

Both were silent for some time after these words. At last Mendoza, without lifting his eyes from the floor, and evidently disturbed, began to speak:—

"I believe that if you were willing, the matter might be arranged without asking money of any one.... Eguiburu will be satisfied if only your name is endorsed, and he will furnish all that is necessary each month...."

Miguel looked at him keenly, while the other stood still with downcast eyes; then he said, with a laugh:—

"You are indeed a man of happy ideas! If you die before I do, I shall be able to take your skull, and say more complimentary things than Hamlet said about Yorick's."

Then he suddenly grew serious, and began to pace up and down the room with the letter in his hands. After a while he stopped in front of his friend, who was still standing in the position of a whipped schoolboy, and said:—

"And who is going to guarantee me the general paying those thirty thousand duros?"

"The general is a man of honor."

"Eguiburu, as you well know, will not be satisfied with such money; he wants either gold or silver."

"Besides, the count has many wealthy friends; some of them, as you well know, are compromised in this movement, and if the whole debt of the paper were put upon any one of them it would be paid."

The matter was discussed for a long time between them; Miguel in his ordinary jesting tone, Mendoza with his imperturbable gravity, and showing no impatience, but holding firmly to his reasons.

When, on the next day, he told Maximina what he had done, she said nothing, and went on working at the edging which she had in her hands.

"What do you think about it? Did I make a mistake?"

Maximina lifted her sweet, smiling eyes.

"Do you ask me? I know nothing of business. Besides, for me, whatever you do is always right."

Miguel kissed her, and was convinced—that he had committed a great piece of folly.

A few days later, when Mendoza and Miguel were alone in the library, the prescript told his friend a secret that filled him with astonishment.

"I have something to tell you, Miguel...."

"What is it?"

"I am going to be married."

"How glad I am! Let us know who the unfortunate being is who has had such bad taste!"

"Very good, very good, I congratulate you."

"As soon as her year of mourning is over, which will be within five months, we shall be married. She is a very agreeable woman.... Now that I have become intimately acquainted with her, I am persuaded that all the gossip about her is pure fiction; the poor lady is the victim of a few fools who, out of disappointed jealousy, have given her a bad name."

Miguel's eyes flashed angrily; he imagined that these words were directed against him, and he had a ferocious sarcasm on the tip of his tongue; but he succeeded in suppressing it, feeling that the situation in which his friend was putting himself was some excuse for him.

"And if you did not think so you would do very wrong to marry her.... I have heard it said that Lucía has a snug little fortune; is that so?" he added, allowing it to be clearly seen what were, in his opinion, the motives of such a marriage.

Mendoza, though rather obtuse, perceived it, and replied angrily:—

"I don't know, I'm sure.... I met Lucía at Borell's, and from the very first I was delighted with her. She is so refined and so full of noble sentiments. The poor woman was obliged to marry a man old enough to be her father; it would not have been strange if she had gone astray; nevertheless, she succeeded in preserving her...."

"La Señora de Borell can say that it was she who made this match. You can't imagine how much she loves Lucía, and what a high opinion she has of her."

"It is said that Don Pablo's fortune has been greatly diminished in these last few years; but as more came in from America than was spent in Spain there ought to be a good income, and half of it belongs to Lucía in her own right. On the other hand, her children are young, and the income of the whole estate must suffice for them for many years."

Miguel kept insisting on this point, as he saw that it annoyed his friend, and he wanted to retaliate on him for what he had said just before. He showed so much annoyance at this ill-assorted marriage, when in the evening he told Maximina about it, that she could not refrain from saying:—

"Why are you so put out about it? Even though Perico marries for money he is not the first one who ever did such a thing. The only thing that surprises me is, that this lady consents to marry seven months after her husband's death."

As Miguel could not well tell his wife the reasons why he was indignant, since he was trying to keep from her the knowledge of certain social evils, and on the other hand he was afraid that the jealousy which she had once shown at Pasajes might be renewed, he suddenly calmed down and turned it into a laugh.

He was talking one day with one of the maids, and his solemnly benevolent face made it evident that he was not at all insensible to the girl's black and roguish eyes; and she, on her part, was not less attracted by the guest's healthy physique and fresh, ruddy face. While she was arranging his room and constantly turning round to reply to his remarks, he was sitting in an easy-chair with his feet stretched out and with a newspaper in his hand.

"How glad I should be, señorito, to have you gentlemen succeed!" said the girl, after a long interval of silence.

"Succeed in what, Plácida?"

"In getting control of the government ... go along!... and rule."

"I don't concern myself with such things," rejoined Mendoza, becoming suddenly serious.

Mendoza, by this time quite livid, leaped from his chair, and without replying, left the room, reeling, and hastened to Miguel's study.

"What's the matter?" asked Rivera, seeing his friend's excitement.

"Nothing," replied Mendoza, in a feeble voice, dropping into an easy-chair, and covering his face with his hands,—"only my head is not safe on my shoulders!"

"That's what I have always told you; it is quite too big!"

"Let up on your jokes, Miguel! The thing is very serious. It is already known that I am hiding here in this house, and when it is least expected they will come and take me."

"Who told you all that?"

"Plácida.... The shopkeeper down stairs knows all about it. Just imagine, who won't know it by this time!... I cannot stay here another day; I must find another retreat. The best way would be to leave Madrid."

Under other circumstances Miguel would have dissuaded him from this resolve, because he was perfectly convinced that his friend was in no danger in one place any more than in another; but for the reasons above suggested he took pains not to hinder him.

After a little discussion it was decided that Mendoza should make his escape that very afternoon, because they were more watchful at night, and might get wind of him. His idea was to-go to Las Ventas del Espíritu Santo disguised as a water-carrier, and from there, if there were danger, he would leave Madrid by the Northern Railway: Miguel agreed to get him a pass.

After spending an hour in making up his disguise, touching his cheeks with vermilion, dishevelling his hair, soiling his hands, etc., our revolutionist went to the library, with his cask on his shoulder, and stood before the looking-glass.

"I recognize myself!" he exclaimed, with such a look of anxiety that Miguel and Maximina laughed till their sides ached.

There was a perfect delirium of clapping, of waving cigars and hats; all the bull-fighting amateurs vied with each other in embracing him; he was carried triumphantly to his carriage, and sent back victorious to Madrid: on the next day the newspapers, in their reviews of the entertainment, raised him "to the very horns of the moon." El Tabano, a most dignified paper, dedicated exclusively to the interests of bull-fighting, declared that he showed blood and modesty; and this eulogium, in spite of its brutality, for some reason or other made him stagger with delight.

He spent a feverish, wakeful night, though his soul was caressed by a thousand brilliant visions. When morning came, he gave himself up to cleaning his long knife, and while he was occupied in this most noble task, he had the ineffable satisfaction of receiving, on a silver salver from the committee, the ear of the bull which he had slain.

The servant, after receiving an unheard-of fee, told him, with his heart bowed low in admiration:—

"What immense pleasure, señorito! Tato was nothing to you!"

"Pish! You must not flatter, my dear; you must not flatter," replied Enrique, with affected modesty; "El Tato was a great bull-fighter!"

"Yes.... I don't recollect very clearly, but it seems to me that I saw you on the plaza."

"Come now, if it hadn't been for me putting myself right on the horns of the bull, Don Ricardito would have been hooked yesterday afternoon at the second baiting.... Bad beast that was! They'd once before baited him in the village, so the pastor told me. That one of yourn, señorito, was a very lively little bull, very brave, and at the same time very gamy. Your stabbin' of him was very unusual."

"Pish! Perfectly regular, perfectly regular...."

"Magnificent, Don Enriquito! magnificent! Only it was a pity that you hurried the least leetle bit as you rode by him!"

"I hurried?" exclaimed Enrique, flushing. "Man alive! it seems to me you have about as good an idea of bull-fighting as the lining of my trousers!... Don't you dare to say that I hurried!"

His modesty, which was "only fastened with pins," was quickly lost. The servant, seeing the ill-effect of his criticism, was anxious to amend it.

"No; but certainly it was a superior skirmish; and it makes no difference whether it was done quick or slow."

And Enrique opened the door to let him out, and slammed it behind him, muttering:—

"The devil take the stupid fellow! Ricardito must have given him that idea about hurrying.... That rascal had better be ashamed of himself, and not let Felipe Gómez hold his bull by the leg."

And fully persuaded that the stain on his rival's honor could not be wiped out by all the perfumes of Arabia, he remained tolerably calm. The reading of the journals, and the presence of the bloody ear, mute witness of his courage, finally restored him to complete tranquillity.

But one thing afterwards occurred to disturb his peace of mind, and that was the way of preserving his trophy. If it were left in its present state, it would soon become offensive. Should he put it in alcohol? Then the hair would come off, and it would be turned into a piece of ugly gristle. Should he have it mounted? He would have to go out and make inquiries. He made up his mind to go immediately after dinner to Severini, the great taxidermist of San Jeronimo Avenue.

At dinner the talk turned on the bull-fight. Don Bernardo had already been informed by the newspapers of his son's prowess; and though secretly, at the bottom of his heart, he was flattered by the applause that he had won, he did not fail to appear stern, and to chide him, although not as severely as sometimes.

"Come now, Enrique, let this be the last time that you make a public exhibition of yourself in this way. You know that I do not like to have a son of mine play the rôle of torero, even though he do it well."

Enrique understood well that his father was not really angry, and was assured of the truth of the old adage, "Success pardons all dubious steps."

It was half-past three, and pretty hot. Our lieutenant (for he had been promoted) was walking along the Calle del Baño, dressed in the latest style, in Prince Albert coat tightly buttoned up, light pantaloons, patent leather boots, and a sombrero with a peaked crown.

It was his idea to dress himself so in place of his ordinary "b'hoy's" fighting garb, so as to give greater force and relief to his portentous sword-thrust of the day before. He walked slowly, with the assured and overweening gait of a man satisfied with himself, casting keen glances at those whom he passed, to see if they recognized him, and puffing forth great clouds of smoke. Never had he felt so happy in body and mind.

At the door of a "dairy" a young girl was seated with a book in her hands. Enrique, as he passed, glanced at her, and the philanthropic feelings which he felt toward every living thing caused him to pause a moment and gaze at her with smiling eyes. The girl looked up with her big black eyes, the expression of which was half proud and half mischievous, and after staring at him for some time, she again gave her attention to her book, showing marked indifference.

Enrique stepped up in front of her, and stopped, saying in mellifluous accents:—

"What are you reading, my beauty?"

The girl again raised her eyes, and after staring at him sharply, replied:—

And she dwelt long on the last word.

Enrique was a little confused, but he stood with the smile still on his lips. The girl again buried herself in her book. After a while she raised her head once more, and said vivaciously, in an ironical tone, in which her irritation was expressed:—

"Walk in, gent, walk in...."

"A thousand thanks, sweetheart," replied Enrique, entering the shop, and standing just behind the girl.

She turned around to look at him, with a haughty gesture, and said very gravely:—

"Man, I like you for your cheek!"

"And I like you for your sprightliness."

"Indeed! Since when?"

"Since I saw you from the corner of the street."

"Ay, how kind of you! And you knew as much as that, and kept it to yourself!"

"Why, whom could I tell it to?"

"To your grandmother, my son."

"I haven't any; my grandmother died when I was a baby."

"What a monkey!"

"No; I used to be homelier than I am now."

"Didn't your papa have to teach you during vacation?"

"I don't remember.... Zounds! Do you consider me so ugly?"

"Why should I deceive you?... Ugly? why you are uglier than sin!"

"How witty and how delicious you are!"

"When did you ever taste me?"

Manolita was a chula or "gal" in her behavior, in her gestures, in her dress, in the pronunciation of her words, and in all that she did; but she was a very charming chula; and that is no miracle, for there are girls like Alexandrine roses in these blessed streets of ours.

Her face was oval, rather pale; her eyes were black, with pink circles under them; her hair was also black, and she wore it in ringlets around the temples; her teeth were white and small, and set close together; her expression that mixture of grave and scornful which is natural to every chula who has not as yet "gone to the dogs."

"Why did you say that you were going to finish your walk this moment?"

Enrique had not said any such thing.

"Before going I wish you would give me a glass of milk."

Manolita got up solemnly from the chair, leaving her book in it, and went to the counter, and without saying a word filled a glass with milk, put it on a plate, and set it on one of the three or four marble tables that were there; then seeing that Enrique did not sit down, but stood motionless in the middle of the shop, following all her movements, she paused suddenly, and said in that ironical tone that never left her lips:—

"I did not mean that, my beauty. In the house there might some harm happen to me; but here! here I seem to be in glory merely looking at you!"

"Señorito, you need lime juice and not milk!"

"May be!... How much is this?" he added, after he had drunk up the milk, and looking at Manolita with a smile.

Two jets of blood instantly gushed from his sufficiently capacious nostrils, which was proof positive that Manolita's hands were not made of wax, though they were handsomely shaped. At the sight of blood her courage became even fiercer, like a lioness of the desert, and it was a narrow escape that she did not tear him in pieces with a tin dipper, for she clutched it in her fists, and held it over him a long time.

"Ay, how 'diculous! What has got into me?... What were you thinking about, you lisping idiot?... You made a mistake, señor. I'll smash in your great goat face if you don't get out of here quicker'n a wink!..."

Enrique was wiping his nose with his handkerchief, murmuring:—

"Diablo! Diablo! How you made it bleed!"

Still it must not be imagined that this act in the least infringed on the dignity with which the handsome chula had clothed herself: on the contrary, it made it more lustrous and illustrious. And while the lieutenant was washing his nose, carefully snuffling up the water, she, casting glances of Olympic scorn at his occiput and muttering threats, went and sat down once more at the door with her book in her hands.

The hemorrhage having been checked, after drying his face with his handkerchief the lieutenant left the shop; but as he passed by Manolita he had the impudence to say:—

"Good by, my beauty; I shall not lay it up against you."

It would be impossible for any one to conceive that Manolita lifted so much as her eyes, much more that she replied to him.

Enrique went to the Imperial with his nose rather red, possibly a little inflamed, but as happy as though nothing of the sort had occurred. The thought of the chula and the buffet that she had given him was driven out of his head by the congratulations of the bull-fighters and a dispute that lasted all the afternoon as to whether it is permissible or not for the espada to have a boy at the entrance to attract the attention of the bull when he charges at close quarters.

The lieutenant smiled, calling to mind only the pleasant part of yesterday's episode; it was one of his peculiarities to see all the things of this world in the most hopeful aspect.

"Ah, there is my little chula! caramba! if she isn't witty and saucy!"

And with a honied smile on his lips, he walked leisurely to the "dairy," puffing out vast volumes of smoke, and carrying himself like a man whose happiness cannot be disturbed by a buffet more or less.

When he came near the young woman, he stopped just as on the day before. The chula looked up, and scanning him with angry eyes, said:—

"Have you come back for another?"

"If you are anxious to give me one...."

Enrique's dog-like face expressed such pure satisfaction, and had grown so fearfully ugly in expressing it, that the chula could not prevent a smile breaking out on her face.

And bending over, so as not to compromise herself, she said:—

"Come, come, go your way."

"Don't be spiteful to me, Manolita, but forgive me!"

"That's a great note! I am not a priest to grant absolution!"

"But you can impose penance."

"No such thing! If I did, though, it would be with the dipper in such a way that you would not care to show your ugly phiz around here again."

The chula, during this exchange of compliments, was becoming softened. Enrique, after respectfully asking permission, was allowed to enter the shop, and sit down to drink a tumbler of milk.

"Oj, oj, oj.... Trrr, trrr, trr.... Is there a marquis in my shop? blast him!"

And he flung another glance around the room without having any objective point for it, as though there were no living beings in it.

Then, with perfect calmness and care, as though he were performing one of the most delicate operations of art, he crushed the hat between his hands until he had made it as flat as a pancake; and having done this, he flung it through the door into the middle of the street with no less delicacy and care.

Enrique suddenly grew as red as a pepper; then instantly turned pale; he leaped hastily from his seat like a new David, full of the impulse to meet the Goliath in battle; but Manolita restrained him, making no end of expressive signs going to show that the giant was not at heart a stern man. Then Enrique left the shop, a very disgusted man.

"Father, the hat belonged to this gent, and he was a customer."

"Hold your tongue, you! Do you understand?"

And in order to reinforce the significance of his wish, he gave the girl a slap.

But Enrique heard neither the daughter's amiable explanation nor the father's gentle reply; all he thought of was to straighten out and arrange his hat.

In fact, he did not return ... until the next day; but he went dressed de corto, that is to say, in short jacket, tight pantaloons, and sombrero.

"See here, señorito, are you going to the slaughterhouse to skin something?" asked Manolita, as soon as she saw him in that rig.

And then began their skirmish of love-making; he making use of all the honied words at his command, she replying to each loving phrase with a proud, tierce parry.

Enrique was not foiled by that, and he was right. By the example of her young girl friends and companions, and by her rude training, the chula was armed with a tough bark full of thorns; but God knew well, and Enrique likewise knew, that at heart she was a poor girl, good, industrious, long-suffering, ignorant as a fish, and more innocent in certain respects than might have been supposed from her speech and behavior.

As day after day went by, Enrique, constantly visiting at the "dairy," enduring the freshnesses, the pushing, and occasionally even the slaps of this gentlest of chulas, when he went beyond the bounds of reason, spent his time very pleasantly in the toils of his love.

At first he had a few unpleasant encounters with the brute of a father; but afterwards they became great friends as soon as the dairyman discovered that the señorito knew a thing or two about bulls, that he had himself taken part in bull-fights, and was a great friend of the most famous espadas, to whom the plebeians of Madrid offer fervid worship.

When he came into the shop drunk, Enrique would take his hat and go, and the other was not in the least offended at him for it; in this way he avoided any collision with him. He spent not less than two hours every afternoon talking with Manolita; in the evening, after the shop was closed, he escorted her to the cafés to collect for the milk that they had used during the day; he would wait for her at the door while she settled her accounts with the proprietor.

What were Enrique's intentions when he first began this flirtation? They could not have been more perverse and insidious: he expected to ruin the chula and afterwards back out of it, but after he had known her a month Manolita had him a prisoner at her feet, as tame and obedient as a mountebank's dog, and this (let us say it to his credit, since we have said unkind things of him) because he had a noble heart and felt sorry for the poor girl's fate, so sorry, indeed, that he made up his mind to marry her.

He spent several days pondering over this resolution, and then took courage to open his heart to his mother.

Doña Martina was annoyed beyond measure, all the more from remembering her own former position as laundress; but as she was a woman of excessive meekness, and Enrique was like the apple of her eye, she quickly took his part, although she could not bring herself to speak to her husband about it, since she knew his temper, and was perfectly assured that he would tear things in pieces rather than consent to such a match.

Finally the lieutenant, not having the courage to speak to his father, determined to write to him, and leave the letter on his table.

Don Bernardo did not answer, nor did he show the slightest sign of having received it; after a few days Enrique left another on the same spot with the same result.

"Fine recommendation mine would be!" replied Miguel. "If you want your father to kick you out of the house you could not find a better way."

"Don't you believe it; my father is fond of you—much more than he ever gives you reason to believe. That is the way with him ... stern in appearance ... but very affectionate at heart."

Miguel smiled, feeling respect for that judgment of a good son, and still he continued to decline the office; but Enrique insisted so strenuously, and with such fervent words, almost with tears in his eyes, that at last, though not with very good grace, Miguel consented to call upon his uncle and talk over the matter with him.

On the day set for the visit Enrique was waiting for him, walking up and down the corridor in a state of agitation easy to understand. When the door-bell rang he was the one that opened it.

"How pale you are, my friend!" exclaimed Miguel.

"My heart beats worse than if I were going to fight."

"Poor Enrique! Make up your mind that even if my meddling turns out ill, as I predict it will, you will not hesitate a moment to hang yourself on the beautiful tree that you have chosen!"

"See here, I can't wait for you in the house. My head is like a furnace; I must have some fresh air.... I will wait for you at the Imperial."

Vincente received him with the affable gravity characteristic of him, and was amiable enough to give him a circumstantial and entertaining account of how the pipe that brought water to his wash-basin had, for a number of days, been afflicted with a small break, which had made it leak so that it had almost ruined a tapestry of the Catholic kings; but fortunately it had been discovered in time, and after a long search they had succeeded in finding the wretched leak.

Then he told him another story, no less interesting, about a curious system of bells which he had invented for communicating with the servants and the coachman. Finally, the oldest son of the Señores de Rivera, manifesting a generosity which was as honorable to him as to his cousin, brought from a closet a small ivory triptich, which he had recently bought at El Rastro. It was an exquisite work, a real jewel, as its owner declared, although somewhat the worse for wear. After both of them had looked at it and admired it, Vincente, as he was returning it to its place, and trying not to burst out laughing, said:—

"And do you know what Señor de Aguilar would be willing to give me for this triptich?"

"I haven't the slightest idea."

"Just imagine, Miguel!... a Trajan! Think of it! he wanted to take me in with a Trajan."

And Vincente, unable longer to contain himself, laughed till the tears ran.

"You want to speak with papa, do you? Now see here, he's engaged in going through his gymnastic exercises; but I'll take you to him, at all events."

"Gymnastic exercises?" exclaimed Miguel, in surprise.

"It was prescribed by the doctor because he had lost his appetite; do you see? He did not eat a mouthful, and even now he takes very little. He has been sallow and weak this two months, so that you would scarcely know him."

On entering his uncle's stern and gloomy room, Miguel was, indeed, surprised to see the change that had taken place in that excellent gentleman's physique; the strange garb that he wore contributed in no small degree to give him a sinister and terrible appearance: he wore nothing except a gauze shirt, through which could be seen his lean and bony frame; also full trousers of drilling, in which his shins could scarcely be made out. His face, always broad and lean, seemed more fleshless than ever; the yellowish complexion, the sad and glassy eyes, and, as his razor never ceased to perform its devastating work, his mustache had come to be only a slight speck beneath his nose.

His library had been turned into a gymnasium; there were parallel bars, a few pairs of dumb-bells on the floor, and a number of iron rings swinging from the ceiling.

When Miguel went in, his uncle was going through his evolutions on the parallels; he had the opportunity of watching him at his ease, and it pained him. Seeing the rapid and astonishing decline, he could not help saying to himself:—

"It must be that my uncle has some grievous sorrow."

"Good afternoon, uncle."

Don Bernardo dropped to the floor, and gazing with bleared, vacant eyes, replied:—

"Holá! What brings you here?"

"Go ahead, uncle; don't let me interrupt you. How do you find yourself?"

"So, so. And your wife?"

"She is very well; go on, go on!"

Don Bernardo gave a jump, and again perched on the parallels.

"You can tell me what you want; I am listening."

Miguel looked at him a moment, and perceiving that the best thing to do was to attack the business in hand directly, and without any beating about the bush, he began to say:—

"I have come to talk with you on a subject which probably will be irksome to you, ... but I got myself into it with over-haste, and I have no way of retreat, but must fulfil it as well as I can.... Enrique has told me of his desire...."

Don Bernardo dropped a second time.

"Not one word about Enrique," said he, stretching out his arm imperiously.

Miguel felt annoyed by such haughtiness, and said ironically:—

"What! have you decided to blot him out from the memory of men?"

"Enrique is a fool. After annoying me to death all his life with his follies he wants now to finish his career by bringing dishonor on his family."

"I have always understood that one who does some vile act dishonors his family.... But, however, since you do not wish to talk about Enrique, we will not. He is of age, and he will know what it becomes him to do."

He said these last words with the intention of preparing his uncle for what might take place.

Don Bernardo made no reply: he descended from the bars, and after getting his breath he mounted them again, and began to practise the "frog movement." As Miguel did not immediately take his departure, he renewed the conversation, saying:—

"It seems to me that you have grown rather thin since I saw you last, uncle."

"Yes!" replied Don Bernardo, pausing, and sitting astride of the wooden bars. "But you will see me much more so. There is a reason for it."

"Does your stomach trouble you?"

The caballero was for a moment motionless, with eyes fixed, and then said in a tone of deep melancholy:—

"I suffer in my mind."

And he took up his exercise with more violence than ever.

Never had Miguel heard from his uncle's lips any reference to his innermost feelings; in his eyes he had always been in this respect a man of iron. Thus when he heard that tender confession, it seemed to him as though he were in a dream.

"I see that Enrique, of whom I am so fond, is the cause of your troubles.... But you have two other sons, who must be the source of unalloyed satisfaction."

"No, Miguel, it is not Enrique.... Enrique has caused me some sorrow, ... but what I feel now has its source far deeper."

Miguel began to puzzle over what he meant, and was inclined to imagine that it might be some loss or diminution of his property.

Don Bernardo dismounted, leaned against one of the bars to rest, and rubbed his sweaty forehead with his handkerchief, heaving a deep sigh; then he took some iron balls and began to open and shut his arms with the solemnity that accompanied all his acts.

After a few moments' silence, which his nephew dared not interrupt in spite of the curiosity that piqued him, the old gentleman dropped the weights, and approaching him with his eyes fixed and open like those of a spectre, he said in a hoarse tone:—

"Forty years ago I married.... Forty years have I been cherishing a viper in my bosom! At last its poison has made its way into my blood, and I shall perish of the wound!"

Miguel did not understand, nor did he wish to understand, those strange words. However, he said:—

"I have always supposed that you were happy in your marriage."

"Uncle!"

"More correctly an Agrippina."

"But after forty years, when my aunt Martina is already old and venerable!"

"That makes her crime all the more odious."

"Aren't you blinded, uncle?"

"It has cost me much to believe it; but I can no longer have any doubt."

"I regret your annoyance from the bottom of my heart; but allow me to doubt it absolutely...."

"Do you know who the infamous wretch is who has dishonored my name," demanded Señor de Rivera, coming closer and speaking into Miguel's ear,—"This viper, also, I have warmed in my bosom!"

"Who?"

"Facundo! My fraternal friend, Facundo!"

"Señor Hojeda!"

"Not another word more!" exclaimed Don Bernardo, raising his arm majestically. "You are a member of my family; you are married, and I have told you my secret—to prepare your mind. A terrible catastrophe is threatening all our heads."

"But, uncle!"

"Not another word!"

Don Bernardo immediately grasped the rings, energetically raised his feet, and began to do "the siren."

"Fellow citizens: the cry of liberty raised in Cadiz re-echoes all over the peninsula. Citizens, be proud! be proud of the name of liberals! The sun of liberty has at last pierced through the fogs of tyranny which have dimmed it for so many centuries, and it shines more gloriously bright than ever before, ready to blot out the miserable traces of a deadly and spurious brood...."

These and other similar metaphors the hirsute Marroquín was shouting from one of the balconies of the editorial office of La Independencia. He was surrounded by about half a dozen red banners, and his face was distorted by emotion, and his hands were tremulous. At his side could be seen some of his comrades, all rather pale, though not as pale as he. Now and then the orator turned to them as though demanding their concurrence, and this was for the most part generously granted, all murmuring, in a low voice, at the end of each period. bravo! bravo! and other exclamations which imparted a new and powerful inspiration to the professor for continuing his harangue to the masses.

The masses, packed together in the Calle del Lobo, were listening with open mouths, and with their shouts and acclamations were likewise filling him with new spirit.

When at last all his astronomical metaphors were exhausted, and he had nothing more to say, he gathered all his forces and screamed in a stentorian voice:—

"Citizens! Long live liberty!"

"Vivaaaaa!"

"Long live the sovereign people!"

And now, having finished his discourse, he withdrew from the balcony.

A voice shouted from the street:—

"Down with property!"

"Abajoooo!"

The throng again started on its march, and in a short time Marroquín and all his comrades had joined it, raising aloft a tremendous blue standard on which could be read these words:—

"IMMEDIATE ABOLITION OF RELIGION AND THE CLERGY!"

All was tumult, noise, and gayety on that day, the thirtieth of September, in the capital of Spain. Brass bands marched through the street, playing patriotic airs; all the balconies (especial pains were taken that there should be no exceptions) were decked with variegated hangings; the church bells pealed forth a hypocritical jubilee; triumphal arches were built in all haste on the principal streets to receive the conquerors of Alcolea, the emigrés and martyrs of the revolution; numerous patriotic crowds rushed through the city, ready at any instant to listen to the words of all the orators, more or less improvised for the occasion.

The one which Marroquín had joined was not the least noisy and enthusiastic.

Miguel was informed of its exploits by his ancient professor, Don Juan Vigil, the chaplain of the Colegio de la Merced, whom he met a few days afterwards in the street.

"I was standing behind the blinds, and barájoles! I felt strongly like going down into the street and giving the hog a good basting!"

Miguel could not restrain a smile as he remembered the slaps which, in days gone by, the priest had given him, and, lest the reason for his smile should be misinterpreted, he hastened to say:—

"Don't you remember, Don Juan, the caning which you gave me one day for having shouted during recess time, Viva Garibaldi?"

"Certainly I remember. And you did not thank me for it, I wager?"

"Not at all."

"That is the way! Do your best to inculcate in your pupils sound ideas of religion and morals, direct their steps in the path of virtue, correct their faults with paternal hand, and then when they become men they do not even thank you for all your vigilance!"

"Let us not dispute about that, Don Juan; for that I thank you with all my heart; but the canings, paternal as they may seem, I shall never feel grateful for—not a shilling's worth!"

"You have always been unjust toward Mendoza, Don Juan. More portentous things than that remain to be seen."

"I believe you, even if you don't take your oath on it. If these are the men by whom you expect to regenerate the country, I have no doubt that I shall see him very soon made into mince-meat."

And cursing the glorious revolution, and scorning in the person of Brutandor the whole confraternity, he took a most friendly farewell of Rivera, for whom he had never ceased to feel a genuine fondness.

He was happy in his home life, but not in the way that he had expected to be. For he had imagined before he was married that love and the joyful experiences which love would bring would be sufficient to fill his life absolutely and entirely, without leaving him time or desire for other things. And to discover that love occupied in his life a place apparently accessory or secondary, and that he was constantly occupied in other pursuits, some pertaining to his outward life, others to his studies and thoughts; that a slight disappointment would annoy him, and any inappropriate word vex him as much as before; that time and again he would return home from the café stirred up by some discussion, and his wife's caresses were not enough to calm him,—all this surprised him, and he was obliged to confess that domestic life had to take a place subordinate to other influences and pursuits.

Maximina herself had sometimes to suffer for the outside annoyances caused by others; when he was in an irritable frame of mind, it took a very slight annoyance to upset him; and although he was conscious of his unfairness, he nevertheless did not fail to speak his mind to his wife when the neatness of his room, or of his linen, or any trifling detail was not up to the mark.

In a word, as our hero suffered from the complaint, which among children is called mimos, or—what amounts to the same thing—as he was accustomed to see his wife constantly sweet-tempered, affectionate, and patient, it never once occurred to him that she could be anything else, and for that very reason he could not appreciate the value of that peace and home comfort which so many men seek in vain.

Maximina, on the other hand, enjoyed a happiness almost celestial. The presence of her husband, with whom she each day fell deeper in love, was sufficient to keep her in a state of felicity which shone in her eyes, and was manifested in all her words and movements. When he was in the house, she could scarcely take her eyes from him; she would follow him about wherever he went; she even liked to watch him when he was washing and dressing himself. Miguel used to make sport of her on account of this constant pursuit; occasionally when he was in bad humor he would say:—

"Come now, leave me, for I am going to get dressed."

And he would make believe shut the door; but she would respond with such beseeching eyes:—

"For Heaven's sake, don't drive me out of your room, Miguel," that he could not help smiling, and, taking her by the hand, he would put her down in a chair as though she were a child, saying:—

"Very well; but don't you move from there."

The only little clouds that crossed the horizon of her happiness was her husband's unreasonable fretfulness, which seemed to increase. Sometimes she would say, with tears in her eyes:—

"I was worried about to-morrow, because for the last five days you have been scolding me!"

Miguel, grieved as always to see her weep, fondled her, and would return to his usual serenity and content.

Nevertheless, there was one cloud larger and blacker than the others, and the cause of it was the fact that on the second floor of the same house lived the widowed Countess de Losilla with her two daughters of twenty-three and twenty-four years old, six and seven years older respectively than Maximina. Cards, bows on the stairway, and smiles from the balcony brought about an exchange of calls, and finally there sprang up a very cordial friendship between the young ladies and the bride.

Miguel enjoyed keeping up a glib conversation with her, and it amused him to see with what unrestraint and ease the girl slid over all obstacles, and what skill she displayed in making retorts, and giving her phrases the meaning that she desired.

And it must be said that when they came on dangerous ground they several times narrowly escaped a conversation of exceedingly questionable taste. When such a skirmish of wit began, Maximina used to walk up and down the balcony with Rosaura; although she smiled, it was evident that she did not approve. When she and her husband were alone afterwards, she said nothing about it, but the way in which she spoke of Filomena showed that she felt no great esteem for her.