Maximina

"I owe ninety thousand duros; I am viscount, and hold my head high; I make portentous wagers at baccarat; one of my ancestors blacked King Felipe's boots; I am as good a whip as the head coachman; and a few days ago another viscount and I 'fleeced' a wise man at Vallehermoso; I wear such extraordinary pantaloons that passers-by are obliged to turn round and look at me; and I am in love with a ballet-girl of the Real."

It is idle; humanity is determined not to recognize the importance and seriousness of the reasons wherein these distinguished young men take pleasure in despising it.

Don Alfonso, naturally more cautious and more experienced by his residence in foreign countries, understood that it was expedient to flatter this whim, but at heart he professed the same ideas. That precept of the Krausist philosophy very much in vogue at that time, "Regard humanity not as a means, but as an end," was for him a dead letter.

After the calamity of the Retiro, though his pride was wounded to the very quick, he was able to hide it completely; and if he no longer made his appearance at Miguel's, it was not owing to his resentment, but lest Maximina, now on her guard, would take some violent measure that would compromise him.

Maximina, on meeting him, turned crimson, and it cost her great effort to calm herself, but fortunately Miguel did not notice it.

Saturdays he always breakfasted at la brigadiera's. On the first Saturday after Miguel's departure, Julita, though she usually took breakfast with Maximina, came home in honor of her cousin, and because it was no longer possible for her to hide the passionate love which she felt for him. During breakfast time he was as jovial and amusing as ever; nevertheless, Julita's loving eyes were able to detect in his gestures a peculiar excitement, as though his mind were preoccupied. Naturally she attributed it to what most concerned her; to the love constantly growing more tender and ardent which her cousin manifested toward her. When they had finished, he asked her in a careless tone:—

"Is your piano teacher coming to-day?"

"Yes; at four."

"Then," said he, still more indifferently, if possible, "you will not return to Maximina's until you have had your lesson, I suppose."

"Of course not ... there is no need of making the journey twice," replied la brigadiera.

They went to the sitting-room, and Julita sat down at the piano with Alfonso at her side. The charming girl struck an opportune forte which drowned out the tender words which her cousin began whispering in her ear.

"Julita, your eyes shine so to-day, that if you wanted to set my heart on fire, you could do it this very instant."

"Pedal! pedal!" cried the girl, laughing; and she quenched the dandy's last words with a deafening crash.

"Julita, I adore you; I love you more than my life...."

"Pedal! pedal!" exclaimed the girl again, and she did not allow him to finish. But after a few moments of this rapturous amusement, Don Alfonso exclaimed, raising his hand to his forehead:—

"Oh, how unfortunate!"

"What is it?"

"Why, my uncle is going to Seville to-day, and I have not yet been to the notary's to arrange my mother's papers."

"Oh, you snipe! Hurry! go and get them; you have time."

"Oh, if it were merely a question of getting them!... I must look over a good part of them, and add my signature."

"Run, then, lazybones ... run!... You may be sure that your mamma will lay your negligence at my door."

Julita said this, pretending to be angry, but without being able to hide the pleasure that the supposition caused her.

"I was going to spend such a delicious afternoon! And now to have to go to a notary's office to eat dust and make my head ache!"

"Go, go! The first thing to do is the first thing to be done!... At any rate, you were in a fair way of telling a good many fibs this afternoon...."

"Honest, genuine truths, cousin divine!"

Don Alfonso's berlina was waiting at the corner of the street, according to the orders that he had given the coachman. He lighted an Havana and as he slammed the door to, he said:—

"To the Riveras'."

Still the same frown, a sign of intense questioning, which had appeared on his brow when he said good by to Miguel at the Ateneo, now furrowed it again, perhaps deeper and darker than ever.

"At six, as always, at the Swiss restaurant," he said to his driver, as he dismounted from the landau.

And with slow step, his face a trifle pale, he entered the doorway of Miguel's house, and mounted the staircase.

He rang the bell vigorously, like a familiar and honored friend.

Plácida came to open for him.

"Señorito, it is good to see you!" she exclaimed, with the sympathy inspired in maid-servant by visitors when they are handsome men.

"Holá! little one," said the caballero, in a condescending tone, giving her a little pat on the cheek; "your master in?"

"But don't you know that the señorito went last Monday to Galicia? It is plain enough that you don't often soil the staircase of this house with the dust of your boots."

"La señorita?" asked the fine gentleman, with an absent-minded gesture, at the same time depositing his cane and hat on the rack.

"She is sewing in her boudoir.... Shall I take up your card?"

"There is no need," he replied, starting with a firm step toward the parlor, and opening the boudoir door.

"Will he have socks enough?" she was asking herself, at that moment. This had been a serious anxiety to Maximina ever since her husband's departure. "Eight pairs aren't sufficient, can't be sufficient, if he changes them every day, as he usually does. In that country I believe they don't wash clothes very often. Ay! Diós mio! and if it should rain, and he get his feet wet! how could he change them two or three times a day as he does here?... I am sure that it would never occur to him to buy some new ones.... He is very thoughtless!"

The door-bell rang. As she raised her head, her eyes met Don Alfonso's.

It is difficult to conceive the surprise that Maximina felt at that sudden apparition, and the surprise and terror that took possession of her. She turned pale, even livid, then her face grew crimson, then once more pale; all in the space of a few seconds.

Saavedra shut the door, and offered her his hand with perfect ease and self-possession.

"How are you, Maximina?"

She could scarcely articulate her answer. Her hand trembled violently.

"What does this mean? You are trembling," said the caballero, retaining it a moment in his.

She made no reply.

The young wife's features were contracted by a smile which seemed rather like a face of terror. Her eyes expressed the same dismay. She tried to say something, but her voice died in her throat.

"The last time that I spoke with you, Maximina," the Andalusian went on to say, after he had taken a seat at her side, "I was bold enough to give you a hint of what was passing within my heart. Perhaps I was foolish; but the step has been taken, and I cannot retrace it. I must complete to-day what then I did not do more than indicate; I must express to you,—although it is very difficult—the love, the idolatry that you inspire in me, the terrible anxieties which I have been suffering for more than a month, the state of genuine madness to which your cruelty has brought me...."

Maximina continued speechless. She looked like a statue of Desolation.

"I am going to tell you all, all! You will pardon me, will you not, lovely Maximina?"

And the audacious caballero pronounced these words with his insinuating, mellow voice, at the same time gently laying the palm of his hand on the back of Maximina's. She withdrew it as though she had touched a vile animal; and leaping to her feet, as though pushed by a spring, she ran to the door, and hastened into the parlor.

The truth is, that among the many attitudes which he had imagined that Miguel's wife might assume, Saavedra had never thought of such an one. He expected repulses, indignant phrases, even insulting words, and he was prepared to meet them with a cold and careless mien; he expected to be commanded to go on the instant, he expected the threat that she would shout, and he was likewise prepared with what to say to calm her immediately; finally, in the depths of his heart, his presumption flattered him by saying that Maximina could not long resist his attraction and his fame as a seducer. But these strange, inconvenient flights, this mute terror, surprised and somewhat disconcerted him.

The audacious and astute caballero, in saying these last words, in reality bent his knee, and seized one of the young woman's hands. But she snatched it away with surprising bravery, and glanced around with a face full of terror, as though seeking for aid. Then she went like a flash to Miguel's study. Don Alfonso followed her, likewise running. The young woman took her stand behind the table, and once more cast upon him that timid and uncertain glance, in reality like that of one insane.

Miguel had left open on the table his shaving case, and the razor that he had used lay on top, also open.

By a refinement of affection Maximina had been unwilling to touch these objects or to allow any one else to do so, but left them till his return. She quickly seized the razor, and laying it to her throat, she said in a hoarse voice:—

"If you touch me again, I will kill myself! I will kill myself!"

These were the first words that she spoke during the whole scene, though it lasted several minutes.

"I will not touch you; don't be afraid." And then he added with an ironical smile, in a tone overflowing with spite, "Come, come! where it is least to be expected there arises a Lucretia. If I were an artist, Maximina, I would paint you this way with your arm raised, and would send you to the exhibition. The razor is a trifle prosaic, but that is the fault of the times. Lucretias nowadays, instead of an embossed dagger use their husbands' razor!"

Perhaps the rejected seducer would have gone on flinging at his expected victim other coarse insults and cowardly jests like the above, but at that instant Maximina's quick ear caught the soft and delicate voice of her little one, who was just waking up in the sleeping-room; it was so slight a sound that only a mother could have heard it at that distance.

She threw down the razor, and exclaimed, "My heart's delight, I am coming."

She flew like an arrow past Don Alfonso. If he had attempted to stay her flight, she would certainly have knocked him over with the impetus that she had and her muscular development.

The caballero had no thought of doing any such thing. What he did was to turn on his heels, take his hat, and set out to dissipate his ill humor and vexation on the Castellana.

"Oh, I would kill myself sooner than tell him!"

And the faithful wife, at the mere thought of it, shivered with horror.

"The first part of my plan has 'gang agley'; now let us see if I shall be luckier in the second," said Don Alfonso, on leaving Miguel's house.

That afternoon, while his eyes were wandering at haphazard over the throng of carriages flying up and down the Castellana, he was deeply engaged in concocting the most odious and villanous plans, which we shall shortly find him carrying into execution.

During the days that followed, he began to show more attention and love to his cousin than ever, spending long hours in her company. This sudden ardor on her lover's part was sufficient to turn Julita's head completely. The asperity of her restless and ardent temperament had already for some time been changing into mildness. Don Alfonso, owing to la brigadiera's blameworthy carelessness, had got into the habit of taking certain liberties with her, innocent enough in themselves, but extremely dangerous. When he had made her his slave, he asked her one day:—

"Julita, do you want to marry me?"

"What a question!" exclaimed the girl, growing crimson as a poppy.

"Well, then, let us have it understood that you accept me as your husband."

"You have told me with those sharp eyes of yours ever since I knew you! You can't deny it, Julia!"

"Tonto! tonto! you insufferable fellow!" exclaimed the girl, trying to be angry.

"Let us not speak any more of that. That matter is settled. In the first place, we have both agreed, La Señorita Doña Julia Rivera on the one hand, and Don Alfonso Saavedra on the other, that we wish to enter into wedlock. Now then, how to carry our project into effect? I have already reached the twenty-fifth year of my age—if you did not know it before, you know it now." (Julia laughed.) "Consequently the law authorizes me to marry whenever I wish, without my mother's consent. Still this permission is indispensable for me, in the first place, on account of the frantic affection which she professes for me; on account of the duty that I owe her of not going against her wishes or causing her a grief which the poor woman does not deserve; and in the second place, through a selfish consideration, which is likewise of much weight. I have been a wretch, Julita; a prodigal who has in a few years run through the fortune that I inherited from my father. The result of that is that I now find myself at my mother's mercy, and she, be it said in the interest of truth, has not hitherto been niggardly toward me. But as you can easily imagine, I don't know what might happen if I married against her wishes. Now then, I confess with shame, I am not used to working, nor even if I wanted to work should I know what to set my hand to. So then, we must tell my mamma, if we are to get married. To-morrow I will write her, and if, as I have no reason to doubt, she has no objection to our marriage, we can immediately set the time for it."

Don Alfonso took it for granted that their marriage was settled, and even spoke of it as though it had already taken place. The talks which they had during the four days which elapsed between the letter and its answer were almost all concerned with the preparations to be made for the wedding,—what they would do after they were joined, etc. Julia waited impatiently for the mamma's answer from Seville. As for la brigadiera, as Don Alfonso was her right eye, she had never taken her into consideration at all. By his advice she had not said a word to her about it as yet.

At last the letter came.

Would that it had never come! Saavedra entered his aunt's house with his face pale and dark lines under his eyes, and with a mortal sadness depicted on it. In order to accomplish this theatrical effect he had spent the previous night in a drunken spree. Julia's face changed when she saw him; then instantly she knew by intuition what news he had brought. When they had taken their seat together by the piano, the place where they had carried on almost all their secret conversations, the caballero exclaimed in a tone full of sorrow, and hiding his face in his hands:—

"How unhappy I am, Julita!"

She was silent for a few moments, and then said:—

"Your mother does not consent to our marriage,—is that it?"

Don Alfonso did not reply. Silence reigned for some time. Finally Julia broke it in a trembling voice:—

"Don't take it so to heart, Alfonso. Instead of helping me, you take away my courage."

"No, no," the young girl hastened to say; "I do not feel that it is an insult. All I feel is that I cannot be yours."

Saavedra gave her a fascinating look of love, and pressed her hand warmly.

"Mamma does not speak unkindly of you. If she had said anything that could be construed as derogatory to you, I should know well how to reply to it. It will be better for you to read her letter for yourself," he said, taking it from his pocket.

This letter had been written by Saavedra himself, counterfeiting her penmanship and sending it to a friend to be mailed back from Seville; it was a document remarkable for its ingenuity. Julia's name was not mentioned in it; the mamma deeply lamented, because she had dreamed of a brilliant match for her dear boy; he well knew who she was. This had been the hope of all her life, she had pledged her word, and all the relatives were counting upon it; finally, that as now she was getting old and feeble, this disappointment would certainly cause her death.

The effect caused by this letter on the young girl was exactly what its author intended. Instead of quenching the fire, it made it burn all the more fiercely; jealousy was the principal fuel in this case.

"Who is the woman whom they want you to marry, Alfonso?" asked Julita timidly, while big tears rolled down her cheeks.

"I don't know, I don't know, let me alone!" he exclaimed, with a gesture of despair.

"Tell me, Alfonso: I am very anxious to know."

"What difference does it make who she is? I hate her, I detest her."

"At any rate, I want to know what her name is."

"Is she young?"

"Much older than you are: she is at least twenty-five or twenty-six."

"Is she pretty?"

"How do I know? What difference does it make to me whether she is pretty or homely?"

"But is she pretty?"

"They say she is; but I tell you that it makes no difference to me."

The girl was silent for a long time; her heart beat violently. At length she said in a melancholy tone, giving her lover an anxious look:—

"They will persuade you, Alfonso. At last you will agree to marry her."

The Andalusian caballero looked at her with an angry face, and exclaimed with energy:—

"They might tear me in pieces before such a thing happened!"

"You cannot be perfectly sure of it," said she, looking at him with the same anxiety; "they will continue working at you, working at you; they will get you so entangled that finally there will be no way out of it but to yield."

"No, I swear to you, no! Come, don't speak any more of this, Julita, for this sort of talk annoys me very much."

For a moment the young girl's eyes sparkled joyfully. Then the same expression of unhappiness came back into them.

"I haven't any profession whatever," said the caballero. "If we were to marry, we should starve to death.... That is the result of having educated me for a rich man!"

"As for starving to death, I don't believe it," said Julita, her face deeply flushing. "Mamma and I are not rich, but we can live decently.... It is clear that for you who are accustomed to another sort of life, it would be very hard ... but ..."

"Oh, don't speak of that, Julia!" exclaimed the caballero, with the gesture of a man whose dignity was wounded.... "It is lowering me too much to believe that I could consent for you to support me.... But even if I were so low as that, still I could not do it, because I do not want to be my mother's murderer."

The girl said no more, and, as often before, the tears began to slide down her cheeks.

"Does your mother have any suspicion of what is going on?"

"No."

"Then be very careful. You know as well as I do how peculiar she is; if she had a suspicion that my mamma objected, she would spoil the whole business, and I should never consent to set my foot in this house again."

One evening, after quite a number of days had passed, the caballero came with his face brighter than it had been for some time. Instead of sitting down near the piano, the lovers went and stood in the bay-window. After painting things in very black colors as usual and lamenting a long time, Don Alfonso said to his cousin:—

"Is it so bad as all that?"

"Bad, no; but bold. It requires you to disregard certain social conventions and to show a great will power."

"Come, then, tell me. I am very curious to hear about it."

"Very well then, Julia; mamma, though you imagine her to be a hard woman, because of your childish recollections and because in reality she has a cold and serious exterior which prejudices against her, has a heart that is in reality very warm. She has given me unequivocal proofs of it, oftentimes forgiving me almost too quickly for very serious faults. Her character is as haughty as your mamma's; but these natures are easy to overcome; to make them yield it needs only that you humiliate yourself.... This is what I was thinking of last night:—If Julia had the courage to make a decided stroke and elope with me to Seville and present ourselves before her, I am certain that she would not hesitate to forgive us and grant us her blessing. No woman, however bad she is, would consent to let the daughter of her own cousin be dishonored."

"This scheme is madness. I cannot believe that you would propose to me such an atrocious thing!"

"This is the last thing that you ought to have conceived!"

"I have thought so much that it is not strange if it were the last thing that I did conceive. The project would be very audacious, violent, and repugnant to you, but not a piece of folly as you say; it is a certain, infallible means of attaining what we desire."

"Well, then, even if it is certain and infallible, I will not hear to it, do you understand?"

Don Alfonso did not give up conquered. He continued to argue the point, not losing his calmness, adducing reasons, mentioning various examples which he had already prepared, and in a thousand skilful ways overcoming Julia's scruples. But even when the girl found herself cornered, captured in the net of her lover's sophistries, she suddenly grew angry and exclaimed, "Well, even if it be as you say, still I don't like it, I don't like it, and that is sufficient!"

Julia, though endowed with a rash and impetuous nature, had an undisturbed conscience; she was a good girl and that was the very reason why this scheme deeply wounded her sense of propriety. Nevertheless, Saavedra kept constantly tormenting her with the hope of shaking her.

The afternoon was now declining; the boudoir began to fill with shadows. Don Alfonso had at last exhausted all the powers at his command, and was still far from attaining his end.

"Alfonso!"

"I know well that you love me—don't go to protesting.... But the fact is, that though we love each other very much, we are very unhappy and we find no way of escaping from it. What is left for us to do? Nothing but to part and never see each other again."

"O Alfonso!"

"Yes, Julia, yes; it must be: we must separate, and forever. Here all that we do is to torment ourselves cruelly. It is an infernal life to have happiness before our eyes and not be able to touch it. Before proposing this last recourse,—which is very harsh to be sure,—but absolutely indispensable,—I firmly decided to leave the country, in case you did not accept it. So to-morrow I take the train for Paris. I confess frankly I have not the strength to endure this tormenting situation."

The astute caballero ceased speaking. Julia likewise was silent: a melancholy pallor spread over her lovely face; her eyes were fixed wildly on a point of space, and she sat motionless as a statue. Don Alfonso left her in this situation a long time without disturbing her eager and anxious thoughts, though he kept looking at her. Her pallor kept growing more and more pronounced.

When he felt that the right moment had arrived, the wily seducer went to take his hat which he had laid on the piano, and returning to the girl, and holding out his hand, he said in a trembling voice:—

"Adiós, Julia!"

"Don't go, Alfonso. Do with me what you please. I am ready to follow you."

The caballero, after assuring himself that his aunt could not see them, long held her tightly enfolded in his arms.

"Boy, bring me a glass of límon.... Bring me two, do you hear?"

The banker was choking. He was a short, stout man, with extremely red cheeks. He unbuttoned his shirt collar and went on shuffling the cards, all the time snorting furiously, as though he were threatened by some apoplectic attack.

"Game."

The players made their play, laying their stakes beside the cards. A gloved hand placed a package of bills on one of them.

"How much of that do you bet, Saavedra?" asked the fat gambler, lifting his eyes which were full of terror and seemed to ask for mercy.

"All," replied the Andalusian caballero dryly.

"How much is there?"

"I don't know."

His tone was depreciative enough. However, the banker seemed not to mind it: he took the package and began to count it under the watchful eyes of the group of players who were gathered around the table, some seated, some standing.

"There are forty-one thousand reals."

"There is not enough in the bank," said one player, stretching out his hand for his stake.

"That is the end of it," said the banker, with ill-concealed dismay, throwing the pack down on the table.

Immediately he began to pay the smaller stakes, leaving Saavedra's till the last. When he came to him there were left only twenty-nine thousand reals.

"I shall owe you twelve thousand," said he, handing over all that he had.

Don Alfonso took it and thrust it into his pocket angrily. The game was over. The banker, mopping the sweat from his forehead with his handkerchief, went over to the Andalusian, who had taken his seat on a sofa, and was calmly reading a newspaper.

"You have fifteen thousand duros in your pocket, my boy."

"I don't know," replied Don Alfonso, without looking up.

"But I know: Villar and Gonzalez lost nine thousand, and we more than twelve thousand. All the rest put together did not take six thousand."

"Pish! it is quite possible," replied the caballero.

"Any one to see your face would say that what you carried in your pocket was fifteen thousand stones. See here, lend me thirty thousand reals, and that will put you in good humor."

Don Alfonso, without saying a word, took out his pocket-book, and gave him a handful of bills.

Don Alfonso took out his watch, and, after looking at it, smiled coldly, saying:—

"At this very moment I am going to run away with that same little girl. I am going abroad with her."

"I would not sell myself cheap," replied the other, without once thinking that it might be true. "But you would soon get tired of it. You and I are just alike; we are too old for such escapades."

"Good by, Gubells."

"Good by, my boy. Don't fail to be on hand to-night, for there is going to be a game of golfe."

"Haven't I told you that I am going to run away with that little girl?" rejoined the caballero, at the door, with the same cold smile on his lips.

"A nice little piece!... Come back as soon as you can ... won't you? and don't fail to bring the marquis if you meet him."

Saavedra slowly descended the carpeted staircase of the Círculo. As he went into the street it was already growing dark. His berlina was waiting for him at the door.

The carriage reached the Calle de Carretas, and drew up where its owner had commanded. Don Alfonso leaned back in one corner so as to avoid the glances of the passers-by, and waited.

Julia had been spending the afternoon at her sister-in-law's, for that day she happened not to have a piano lesson; she was all the time in a state of nervous excitement, which Maximina was not slow to notice.

"What is the matter? Do you feel ill?" she asked.

"No. What makes you ask? What do you see in me that is strange?" she demanded, full of alarm.

"Nothing, nothing! don't be disturbed. You are a trifle paler than usual, and there are circles under your eyes, nothing more."

"Oh, I think that I am a little nervous to-day."

Maximina smiled good-naturedly, supposing that she might have had some falling out with her lover, and so she ordered some tila to be made for her.

In spite of the deep antipathy which she felt for Don Alfonso and the strong reasons that she had for considering him a miscreant, she saw that Julita was so desperately in love with him that she could not bring herself to say a word against him.

The young girl likewise showed herself more tenderly affectionate toward Maximina than usual.

"Maximina, how good you are! how good you are!"

And she almost squeezed her to death in her arms.

"I wish I were. I should like to be good," replied the young wife, blushing.

"How much I would give to be like you, Maximina!"

"If you weren't better, you would be a pretty poor specimen."

"Oh! I am bad, Maximina, very bad!... But you will forgive all my failings, won't you?"

And struck by a sudden inspiration, she jumped up, saying:—

"I am going to the study to write a letter."

"Aren't you going to drink your tila?"

"Certainly I will take it; I will finish it afterward."

She went to her brother's writing-room, and began in all haste to pen the following note:—

"My dearest Maximina, my soul's sister: When you receive this, poor Julia will already have committed a great sin. I am going to Seville with Alfonso to beg his mother's permission for us to marry. Try to pacify ..."

"Julia, your tila is getting cold," said Maximina, laying her hand on the girl's shoulder.

Julia uttered a cry, and covered the paper with her hands.

Maximina stepped back in consternation.

"Excuse me; dear, you took me so by surprise," said Julia, smiling and very rosy.

"I am the one to ask pardon for having come in without knocking.... I did not think.... Go on, go on...." she added, with a mischievous smile that signified: "I know whom the letter is for!"

After she left the room, Julia finished her letter: ...

"Try to pacify mamma, and Miguel when he comes back. I think that in the end all will be satisfactorily arranged. Alfonso, though he is a little cold, is a perfect gentleman. Pardon and love your sister who takes her farewell of you alone.—Julia."

Don Alfonso had charged her again and again, and with great forethought, not for anything in the world to leave a written letter giving an intimation of where she was going. But by an impulse of her heart,—one of the many that are inexplicable,—it occurred to her to write to her sister-in-law, in whom she had perfect confidence.

"I am going now," she said, putting on a hat which had a thick veil to let down over her eyes. "It is dinner time already, and mamma will be expecting me. Just think! I have not seen her since last evening. I shall be back here again at ten o'clock."

They said good by at the door. Maximina gave her a kiss on her cheek as usual; she repaid it with a dozen so eager and affectionate that the young wife could not help exclaiming with a laugh:—

"How crazy you are!"

"Crazy? yes! and very crazy," she replied, as she went down the stairs, not turning her head.

Her kisses and the accent of those last words somewhat surprised Maximina, but she did not give much thought to them, and shut the door.

Juana was to accompany the young girl to her mother's. When they reached the street, it was almost night. On coming to the Calle de Carretas, the señorita said:—

Although the girl protested violently, she had no other remedy than to consent.

When they reached Lisbon, they took rooms at one of the best hotels. Don Alfonso promised his cousin to take her the next day to Seville. But a day passed, and then a second and third, and they did not depart. The caballero found one special pretext for postponing the journey. And this was that he had lost his luggage. He was waiting for the arrival of the telegram that he sent about it.

Julita during these days found herself in a state of great excitement, so that she passed instantly and alternately from noisy and unreasonable gayety to deep and extravagant melancholy. Sometimes she grew angry with her cousin and overwhelmed him with taunts and threatened to escape alone or to inform the police; then she would throw herself into his arms and ask his pardon. In the midst of the deepest sadness her lover would begin to mimic in grotesque fashion the accent of the maid who served them, and the girl would laugh like a lunatic. At other times she grew enthusiastic at the view of the bay and the royal palace of Cintra.

The wily caballero humored her with the most delicate and affectionate attentions. When she lost her temper, he would allow her to recover from it without saying a word; when she was sad, he would do everything to enliven her; when finally he saw that she looked contented, he would take advantage of such moments to go out to walk with her, giving her his arm as though they were husband and wife. They were regarded as a newly married couple by the people at the hotel.

"Do you know what I am thinking, Julita?"

"No; what?"

"That I am greatly delighted with this way of living with you!"

"But I am not," replied the young girl, dryly.

"Why, what objection do you have to it?"

"I object to living in a state of mortal sin; I wish to ask mamma's pardon and to be married to you."

"Now the very thing that I enjoy most is living in this extra-legal way. We are two birds flown from the nest and winging our flight through the air. How jolly it is to be so alone and so free! Could we possibly be happier because a dirty and ignorant priest had jabbered a few Latin words before us?"

Julita, on hearing this and noticing the somewhat mocking tone in which Don Alfonso spoke, felt a cold chill run down her back, and she dropped her arms which she had raised to arrange her hair. She stood a moment or two in suspense, and then turning her pale face toward him, she said deliberately, in an unnatural voice:—

"It seems to me that I could not have heard such coarse and vile words come from your mouth."

"Why do you call them vile, child? All that I did was to give you my opinion without taking the trouble to consider whether it was good or bad," replied the caballero laughing.

"Hush! hush! Alfonso.... There are moments when my imagination is filled with ideas so horrible that if they stayed long I am certain that I should go mad and throw myself out of the window."

"Crying?" asked the caballero, approaching her.

The girl raised her eyes gleaming with fury and looked at him.

"Crying! yes!" she said in an exasperated tone. "And why not? What do you care for my tears? I wish to go home immediately! do you hear? I wish to go now ... this very instant."

"Calm yourself, Julia."

"I do not wish to calm myself. Why am I here with you, I should like to know? Do me the favor to take me home again. Though my mother should kill me, I wish to go to her instantly, do you hear?"

Don Alfonso made no answer; he wisely allowed a few minutes to pass so that she might recover a little. Then he said in a muffled and melancholy voice:—

"Well then, if you are already tired of me I will take you back to Madrid again.... I supposed that your love was a little more substantial.... I made a mistake. Patience.... My conscience does not reproach me in the least. Since we left Madrid I have done all that I could to treat you in a straightforward manner. Circumstances brought us here and have retained us against my will.... However, we will start as soon as you like. The truth is, we have waited long enough for that miserable luggage.... Now I am going to tell you something," he added in a broken voice. "If in any respect during these last days I have done anything to hurt your feelings, forgive me. I love you and regard you as my lawful wife, because you are in the sight of God and you will be very soon before men ... that is, if you accept me as a husband and do not return."

They became reconciled.

"Is it your wish that we go to-day?" asked Saavedra, after a moment, in an indifferent tone.

"We will wait till to-morrow.... Perhaps the luggage will come to-day," replied the young woman, anxious to make him forget her severe words.

"No, Miguel, no; my heart tells me that it cannot be arranged. This man is a villain. I did not heed your warning, and God has punished me."

Maximina was greatly upset to find that her husband was going to start that same evening for Seville. "No, no; I do not want you to go," she exclaimed, clinging convulsively to him.

"Maximina, this is not worthy of you," replied Miguel gently. "My sister has been abducted, and aren't you willing for me to go in search of her?"

"And if that man should kill you? You see he is capable of doing anything!"

"Why should he kill me? I am going to Seville merely to search for my sister. As I imagine that he will not refuse to give her up to me, I shall be back with her by day after to-morrow. The rest will be arranged afterward."

"Will you give me your word that you are going for no other purpose? That you will not provoke a quarrel with him?"

"I will."

The brigadier's son did not mean what he said. Who will blame him for that?

When the moment for his departure came, his wife, breaking into tears, obliged him once more to repeat his oath. Then holding him by the hands, she said to him:—

"Promise me also that you will be kind to Julia; that you will not say a harsh word to her."

With these two promises Maximina allowed him to go. Then she went to the window, and lifting her baby in her arms, showed him to his father, as though still further to compel him not to expose his life.

On reaching Seville, Miguel found that his sister and Don Alfonso had not been there. He called on Saavedra's mother, and was painfully surprised to learn that this lady had known nothing of the deed done by her son, nor even that he had been paying attentions to Julia. All Miguel's doubts vanished. Saavedra had eloped with his sister to make her his.... His mind refused even to express the word.

The first thing that he considered after he had grown a little calmer was to find where he had taken her, since they were not in Seville. It occurred to him that they might have gone to Cadiz, and taken a steamer from there. But after making some inquiries he found that this hypothesis was not supported. Then he determined to return, and ask at all the stations of the road if possibly any one there remembered seeing that couple, a very accurate description of whom he was able to give. He found nothing about them until he reached the station of Algodor.

There a porter remembered having taken from one car to another such a caballero with a young lady such as Miguel described. One sure thing—the caballero had given him the fabulous fee of a duro, and this in fact contributed no little to his having remembered.

"Are they at home, or have they gone out?"

"I have not seen them go out," replied the porter in Portuguese. "Does your lordship wish me to announce you?"

"There is no need. I am her brother. What number is the room!"

"Number 16, second floor."

With terrible emotion, such as can be imagined, the brigadier's son went into the hotel, and passed through the corridors until he reached the number indicated. He paused at the door to calm his heart, which was throbbing violently: he listened, and could distinguish his sister's voice. With trembling hand he lifted the latch and entered.

Julia, on seeing him in the mirror, gave that tremendous shriek of which we have spoken; then she turned and threw herself at his feet. Miguel gently lifted her, and took her to the sofa. Then with calmness he closed the door and advanced toward Don Alfonso, who was sitting in the easy-chair, with his legs crossed, and smoking a cigar with affected boldness, though he was extremely pale.

"I have come at last," said Miguel, looking straight into his eyes.

"I see you have," replied Don Alfonso, puffing out a cloud of smoke.

"You will understand that...."

"You want to ask me to explain my conduct?"

"No; I do not care to qualify your conduct now. The only thing that interests me at present is to save my sister's honor. I come to demand that you marry her immediately or fight with me."

"I will neither marry your sister, nor will I fight with you."

"We shall see," said Miguel, smiling sarcastically.

"There will be no question about it."

"We will speak about the second afterward. As to the first: When I heard of my sister's abduction, I suspected that you had not undertaken it for any decent motive. Still I could not persuade myself that you would carry out your treachery to the point of being willing to make a lady who is of your own blood your mistress."

Julia uttered a groan. Miguel looked at her with compassionate eyes, and said:—

"Forgive me, Julia; I had forgotten that you were here."

"In declining to marry your sister," replied Don Alfonso, "I am not influenced by anything that could be construed in the least to her discredit. I grant that she is an excellent girl. The only thing is, that it never entered into my calculations to marry either her or any one else. This decision, which I made long ago, neither you nor any one else can alter."

"Is this your ultimatum in regard to the first part of my question?"

"It is."

"Very good; now we come to the second. I suppose that you will not refuse to give me reparation by means of arms...."

"I do refuse. I have injured you deeply; it would be a fine thing if I killed you besides.... And to allow you to kill me—frankly, I have just as little notion."

"There is one infallible means of making you fight: I will slap your face in public."

Miguel made a scornful gesture.

"I know that this does not terrify you; but let us reason about it: What advantage would it give you to die? Would it wipe out your sister's dishonor? It would not only not wipe it out, but it would deprive her of the only support that she has in the world. Then let us suppose—and it is much to suppose—that you killed me. Your sole advantage would be in publishing the disgrace which now with a little caution can remain unknown."

Don Alfonso and Miguel both spoke in low tones, so as not to be heard from the outside; but the gestures and accent of each, and especially of the latter, were so energetic and excited, that they very well took the place of loud words. Julia sat on the sofa, motionless, and with her head bent low.

"Do you imagine that I am going to accept this logic with which you wish to avoid the unpleasantness of exposing your life? Have no such thought, even though there were one probability against a thousand of killing me, it would be a pleasure for me to face you with sword or pistol. How far the set resolution that I entertain of dying or of killing you goes to put us on an equality, you know perfectly well. Therefore drop these arguments worthy only of a coward, and be kind enough to expect to spend as painful hours as those which you have taken so much pains to make us suffer."

"I see that you mean to insult me. Do so with impunity; I grant you the privilege.... But I warn you not to let an ill-sounding word pass your lips in public."

Saying these words, he leaped like a lion upon Saavedra, who had risen to his feet, expecting some such move. Before he could raise his hand, the Andalusian seized him by the arms, and brutally hurled him back into the middle of the room, so that he reeled. Miguel was just on the point of springing at him again; but at that instant he found himself held by more gentle arms—those of his sister, who, with her face distorted, her eyes flashing, her voice choking with sobs, said:—

"No, Miguel, no; you cannot measure yourself with this man. After what I have just heard I should prefer a thousand times to die, or to spend my whole life in disgrace, rather than to marry such a monster."

"Let go of me! Let go!" cried Miguel, trying to free himself from her arms.

"No, my brother; kill me, put me into a convent, but don't expose your own life.... Remember Maximina and your little son."

Don Alfonso at the same time stretched out his hand, and said calmly:—

"Before beginning a disgusting scene, unworthy of two gentlemen, such as we are...."

"Of a gentleman like this! you are no gentleman," exclaimed Julia, giving him a furious look and clinging to her brother.

"Well, then, I will kill you like a dog," said Miguel, whipping out a revolver from his pocket.

"If you kill me (which I shall take good care that you do not do)," retorted Saavedra, drawing another revolver, "you would go from here straight to jail, and your sister would remain forsaken."

Miguel stood for a moment in doubt; then he shrugged his shoulders with a gesture of sovereign contempt, and said, as he put back the pistol:—

"You are right. The truth is, that as a knave you are quite up to the standard! Come on, Julia, come! I am ashamed to spend any more time wasting words with this vile wretch."

And taking his sister around the waist, he drew her from the room.

Don Alfonso watched them as they disappeared: he listened until the sound of their steps was lost; he also shrugged his shoulders, put back his revolver, and, while he arranged his necktie before the glass, previous to going out, he muttered with a diabolical smile:—