Maximina

"Hello! We aren't jealous, are we?"

"You would like to have me be, you silly fellow."

"Well, I confess that I should," said Miguel, taking her in his arms and giving her a little bite on the neck. "It seems to me that jealousy has made its appearance."

"Stop! stop it! you goose!" she replied, trying to escape from him. "Can't you behave, Miguel? Let me alone, Miguel!"

And after a violent struggle she tore herself away from her brother's arms, and ran angrily from the room, while her brother stayed behind, laughing.

In the days that followed it became evident that Maximina had won the good graces of every one in the house. Nor could it have been otherwise, considering her sweet, sensible, and modest nature. Nevertheless, Miguel could not help feeling somewhat annoyed that advantage should be taken of this, and that her wishes were not in the least consulted, but that the programme for the day—walks and drives, theatres, shopping and calls—should be laid out without even asking her if she would not prefer to stay at home.

This largely hastened his departure, and he selected a very large and handsome flat in the neighborhood. It was rather beyond his means, but he counted on making up the extra amount by cutting off superfluities.

It seemed as though she were indifferent to everything, and were unfavorably impressed by a luxury to which she had never been accustomed. From time to time she ventured timidly to say that such and such a wardrobe or sofa was pretty, but "very expensive!"

Miguel several times felt impatient at her indifference, but quick repentance seized him when he saw how much it affected her if he spoke curtly to his wife, and he merely rallied her on her economical tendencies.

What pleased Maximina most in these excursions was to walk with her husband alone through the streets; but still, in spite of all his entreaties, she could not bring herself to take his arm in the daytime.

"It would make me feel embarrassed; everybody is looking at us."

"What they are surprised at is, that I ever fell in love with such an ugly piece of humanity!"

Maximina lifted her big eyes to him with a timid smile, and looked her gratitude.

"I am surprised myself ... when I see so many pretty women all around; I can't imagine how you happened to choose me...."

"Because I am famous for my bad taste."

"That must be it."

Miguel with real feeling secretly gave her hand a hearty squeeze.

One night when they went out, Miguel, either through thoughtlessness or as a joke, did not offer her his arm. After a while Maximina, as though adopting an energetic resolution after long hesitation, suddenly took his arm. Miguel looked at her and smiled:—

"Holá! who taught you to take what belonged to you?"

The girl hung her head and blushed, but she did not let go.

La brigadiera found her step-son's wife very much to her mind, although she felt sorry that he had stooped so low; thus she expressed herself to Julia and her friends: she said nothing to Miguel, but she did not leave him in doubt as to her favorable opinion.

Nevertheless, he did not become any easier in mind, because he perceived that his step-mother was beginning to exercise over his young wife the same absolute and tyrannical power as over Julia, only, if anything, more openly, owing to the more gentle and timid nature of the former. Nor could he deny that affection in such people as la brigadiera is always in direct proportion to the degree of submission shown by those with whom they come into relationship.

One afternoon when Julia had just left their room, Maximina exclaimed in an outburst of enthusiasm:—

"How I do like your sister!"

Miguel gave her a keen glance:—

"And mamma?"

" ... I like her too," replied the young wife.

And in truth he did not regret it; it was not long before he became convinced of the wisdom of his decision, and congratulated himself upon it. It happened that one day after he had been superintending the arrangement of his new quarters, he met Maximina, and saw that her eyes were red as though she had been weeping. His heart told him that something had gone wrong, and he inquired with solicitude:—

"What is the matter? You have been crying!"

"No," replied the girl, with a smile. "I have just been washing my face."

"Yes; you washed your face, but you had been crying. Tell me! tell me quick, what was it?"

"Nothing."

"Very well, then," replied the young man, with determination; "I will find out."

And he did; Juana told him, though with some confusion of detail, what had taken place.

"Just listen, señorito; apparently la señora told the señorita several days ago that she did not like it for her to be so late about getting dressed, because there might be callers. Ever since, the señorita has got ready in good season, but to-day she somehow forgot about it, and la señora scolded her...."

"What did she say?"

"I don't know. La señorita did not want to tell me ... but she cried hard enough."

Miguel went to his room, flushed with anger.

The young woman sat looking at her husband with an expression rather of fright than of gratitude.

"But suppose no one made me cry.... I cried without any reason for it.... I often do so.... You can ask my aunt if that is not so...."

"Nonsense! we are going this very moment."

"Oh, Miguel! for Heaven's sake don't do so."

"Yes; let us go!"

Maximina threw herself into his arms, weeping.

"Don't do this, Miguel! don't do this! Quarrel with your mother for my sake? I would rather die!"

The young man's anger cooled down a little, and at last he agreed to say nothing about his vexation, though it was decided that they should go on the following day and sleep at their new rooms.

This was done; but la brigadiera was not blinded to the facts, and she easily saw through the motives that led Miguel to hasten his departure. It is needless to say that from that time Maximina in her eyes lost a large part of her appreciation.

The carpets were laid in their apartments in the Plaza de la Santa Ana, but as yet there was little furniture; only the dining-room, one dressing-room, and their chamber were in order, and that not entirely; chairs were scattered about over the rest of the house, and this and that wardrobe and mirror were as they had been left.

Maximina wanted to make the bed herself, but alas! the mattress was so heavy that she could not turn it. Seeing that she was getting flushed with exertion, Miguel took hold and helped her get it into shape, laughing heartily all the time, though he could not have told why. Now it happened that our young couple had forgotten some of the things that were indispensable for living; among others, the lamps. When darkness came on, Juana had to go out in all haste to buy candles and a few candlesticks, so that they could see to eat their supper.

This first meal all to themselves was delicious. Maximina almost always had a tremendous appetite, which she felt to be a fault, and tried to hide it, so that she was apt to leave the table, still hungry. But now, with only her husband present, and thinking that he would not notice it, she put on her plate as much as she wanted. When they were through, Miguel said:—

"You have done well! you have eaten much more than you did during the days that we were at mamma's."

Maximina flushed as though she had been detected in doing something wrong. Instantly perceiving what was passing through her mind, Miguel came to her aid:—

"Come now; I see that you did not eat there because you were so timid.... You must know that nowadays it is considered fashionable to eat a good deal.... Besides, there is nothing that gives me so much pleasure as to see any one have a good appetite; especially if I am fond of that person! Consequently, if you want to give me a pleasure, you must try to keep it up.... As far as poor stomachs are concerned, mine is sufficient in one house."

"Get one for yourself, and not for me.... You will see I am going to sit down on the floor, for I like it better."

No sooner said than done; she sat down gracefully on the carpeted floor.

Her husband looked at her and smiled.

"Well, then; I am not going to get the chairs at all; I don't want to do otherwise than you do."

And he sat down by her side in front of the fireplace, the flames of which lighted up their smiling faces. The husband took his wife's hands, those plump hands, hardened but not injured by work, and passionately kissed them again and again. The wife did not want to be less affectionate than her husband, and after a little hesitation she took one of his and raised it to her lips. This little touch of innocence delighted Miguel, and he laughed.

"What makes you laugh?" asked the girl, looking at him in surprise.

"Nothing ... pleasure!"

"No; you laughed in a naughty way.... What were you laughing at?"

"Nothing, I tell you.... It's all your imagination."

"But I tell you that you were laughing at me! Have I done anything amiss?"

"But don't you see.... I am not a lady! and you are my husband!"

"You are right, ..." said he, kissing her; ... "you are right in all that you say. Always do what your heart prompts you to do, as just now, and you need not fear of making any mistake."

The bluish flames danced gayly over the top of the coals, rising and disappearing every instant, as though they were listening to the words spoken by the young couple, and then hurrying off to report them to some gnome of the fire.

From time to time a bit of burning cinder would break off from the glowing mass, fall through the grate, and come rolling down at their feet. Then Maximina would wait till it had cooled a little, pick it up in her fingers, and toss it into the coal-hod. The only sound to be heard was the heavy rumble of carriages driving to the theatre. The conversation between husband and wife kept growing more and more lively and free. Maximina gradually lost her feeling of timidity, through the effect of Miguel's constant endeavors, and she summoned up her courage to ask him about his past life. The young man answered some of her questions frankly; others he did not hesitate to parry. Nevertheless, the young woman gathered that her husband had not been altogether what he should have been, and she was terrified.

"Ay, Miguel! how could you ever have been audacious enough to kiss a married woman? Aren't you afraid that God will punish you?"

The young man's face instantly darkened; a deep, ugly frown furrowed his brow, and for some time he remained lost in thought.

At last, looking at the fire, he said, in a rather hoarse voice:—

"If such a thing happened in my case, and I knew of it, I am certain what I should do.... The first thing would be to turn my wife out of doors, whether it were night or day, the moment I found it out...."

Poor Maximina was startled at such an outburst, as brutal as it was unexpected, and she exclaimed:—

"You would do well. Heavens! how shameful for a woman to be so brazen!... How much better it would be for her to die!"

The frown vanished from Miguel's brow; he looked tenderly at his wife, and feeling that such a talk was both useless and out of place, he kissed her hand, and said:—

"Why should we need to talk about the evil things that are done in the world? Fortunately, I have found a means of salvation: it is this hand; I will cling hold of it and be sure of being true and pure all my life long."

"You ought to ask forgiveness of God."

"I ask forgiveness of God and you, too?"

"As for me, I freely grant it."

"Then God will, also."

"How can you know that?... Ah, how foolish I am! I had forgotten that you went to confession only a few days ago."

"Yes; that was the way," said Miguel, who had likewise forgotten about it.

Afterwards, they talked about their domestic arrangement, their furniture, and the servants that they needed to hire.

"What is it, Maximina?" he asked, quickly turning over.

The girl's only answer was to throw her arms around him, and burst into a passion of tears.

"But what is it? Tell me quick! What is the matter?"

Choking with sobs, she managed to say:—

"Oh! I just had such bad dreams!... I dreamed that you turned me out of the house."

"Poor little darling!" exclaimed Miguel, fondling her tenderly; "your mind was impressed by what I said last evening.... I was a stupid blunderer!"

"I did not—know ... what it was—How I suffered, vírgen mia! I thought I should die! If I had not waked up I should have died!... But you are not stupid.... I am, though!"

"Well, we both are; but calm yourself," he said, kissing her.

In a few moments both were sound asleep again.

Unusual silence reigned in the editorial rooms. Nothing was heard except the scratching of steel pens on paper. The editors were seated around a great table covered with oil-cloth; two or three, however, were writing at small pine tables, set in the corners of the room.

"Tell me, Señor de Rivera, was not the motion determined upon for the eighteenth?"

Miguel, who was writing at one of the special tables, replied without lifting his head:—

"Señor Marroquín, I can't advise you too often to be more discreet. Try to realize that all our heads are in danger, from the humblest, like Señor Merelo y García's, up to the most stately and glorious, like our very worthy chief's."

The editors smiled. One of them inquired:—

"And what has become of Merelo? He has not been here at all yet."

"He can't come till twelve," replied Rivera. "From ten till twelve he is always engaged in plotting against institutions in the Café del Siglo."

"I thought that he was in Levante."

"No; he goes there last from two till three."

The first speaker was the very same Señor Marroquín of perpetual memory, Miguel's professor in the Colegio de la Merced, a born enemy of the Supreme Creator and a man as hirsute as a biped can possibly be. This was how he happened to be here:—

One day when Miguel was just finishing his breakfast, word was brought to him that a gentleman was waiting to see him in the library. This gentleman was Marroquín, who in his appearance resembled a beggar; he was so poor, dirty, and disreputable. When he saw his old pupil, he was deeply moved, strange as it may appear, and then told him with genuine eloquence that he had not a shilling, and that he and his children were starving to death, and at the end he begged him to find a place for him on the staff of La Independencia.

He gave him the letter, and Marroquín presented himself with it at the general's house; but he had the ill fortune to go at a most inopportune moment when the general was raging up and down through the corridors of his house, like one possessed, and calling up the repertoire of objurgations for which he had been so distinguished when he was a sergeant.

The reason was that one of his little ones had drunk up a bottle of ink, under the impression that it was Valdepeñas. Whether oaths and invectives have any decisive influence upon events or not, we are unable to state; but the general used them with as much faith as though they had been a powerful antidote.

The victim was leaning his poor little head against the partition, shedding a copious flood of tears.

"What have you brought?" roared the count, casting a wrathful look upon Marroquín.

"This letter," replied the poor man, offering it with trembling hand.

"Vomit!" roared the general, with flaming eyes.

"What?" asked the professor, timidly.

"Vomit, child, vomit! or I will shake you out of your skin!" bellowed the illustrious chief of Torrelodones, seizing his son by the neck.... "And what does the letter say?"

"It is from Señor Rivera, asking a position on La Independencia for one who admires you."

"Can't you? Then put your fingers in your mouth!.... Señor Rivera knows perfectly well that there is no position vacant; everything is full, and I am tormented to death with applications.... Let me see you stuff your fingers in, you little rascal, or I will do it myself!"

"Drops of light! How felicitous that is, Rivera! how felicitous!"

"She was a woman capable of making life Oriental for a time."

"That is it! Taking refuge with her in a minaret, breathing the perfumes of Persia, letting her pearly fingers caress our locks, drinking from her mouth the nectar of delight!"

"I am delighted, Señor de Floresta, to see that you are consistent. Let us put a stop to it, nevertheless. You have been having an attack of phrases on the brain, and I fear a fatal termination."

The editor smiled in mortification and went on with his work.

A slender young man, with prominent cheek bones, almond-shaped eyes, and awkward gait, came in, making a great confusion, and humming a few strains of a waltz; he went up to the table where Miguel was writing, and giving him a slap on the shoulder, said, with a jolly tone:—

"Holá, friend Rivera!"

Miguel, without looking up, replied very solemnly:—

"Gently, gently, Señor Merelo! gently, we are not all on a level!"

The editors roared with laughter.

Merelo, a little touched, exclaimed:—

"This Rivera is always making jokes.... Now, señor, ..." he went on to say, flinging his sombrero on the table.... "I have just this moment come from the tariff meeting at the Teatro del Circo...."

"Well, Don Gabriel Rodríguez, Moret y Prendergast, Figuerola, and our chief; but the one who made the best speech was Don Felix Bona."

"Man alive! and what did he say?"

"Well, he began by saying that he ... the most insignificant of all that were there...."

"Señor Merelo! and is it possible that you did not protest against such a statement?" asked Miguel from his table.

Merelo looked at him without seeing the force of his remark; but finally feeling the hidden prick of sarcasm, he made up a disgusted face and went on, affecting to scorn it:—

" ... That he had come there to speak in the name of Commerce at least...."

"But, friend Merelo," interrupted the ex-curate, who greatly delighted in poking fun at the reporter, ... "you surely ought to have protested against his claim to humility."

Merelo could to a certain point put up with Rivera's raillery, since he recognized his superiority, but the priest's went against his nerves. And so, full of wrath, he put his hands together after the manner of priests during mass, and intoned:—

"Dominus vobiscum!"

A general laugh went round among the editors. The curé flushed up to his ears, and, greatly disgusted, tried to shoot the same jest again, only winging it with a sharper point; but the reporter, who was not remarkable for his ingenuity, kept replying:—

"Dominus vobiscum!" And his intonation was so comical and clerical that the newspaper men had to hold their sides with laughter.

A scene of confusion and tumult arose in the office, lasting several moments. A number of men laid hold of Don Cayetano, who, with the exchange scissors in his hand, declared in an angry voice his intention of ripping Merelo open.

The latter, who did not care a rap for such a threat, roared to his companions to let him go: he would not put up with such blackguard language from any one. But his friends knew well that this was sheer rhetoric, and they clung to him all the more watchfully.

At last they succeeded in calming down the angry disputants, and the storm was followed by a calm that lasted for a quarter of an hour, during which all silently gave themselves up to their writing. At last Miguel looked up and asked:—

"See here, Señor Merelo, when do you expect to go to Rome?"

"To Rome?... What for?"

"To obtain pardon for the sin of having laid hands on a sacred person. You can't get absolution here."

A new shout of laughter ran through the office. The priest, in a fury, flung down his pen, took his hat, and left the room.

The editors of La Independencia lost much time in such skirmishes of wit, and our friend Rivera was almost always at the bottom of them.

Among all these, most attention was attracted by a young man, not as yet regularly attached to the staff, hideous, rickety, but well dressed, who was accustomed to write papers on literary criticism, always signed with the pseudonym Rosa de té, or Tea Rose. He was very severe on authors, and always felt it his duty to give them sound advice about the art which they practised. Time and again he assured them that this thing was not human, that was not like life, and the other was not in good form. He had a great deal to say about life, which, in his opinion, no author knew anything about, nor about women either. Only Rosa de té had a correct notion of the world and of woman's heart.

From the very beginning of his criticisms, he endeavored to put the author in the prisoner's box, while he himself mounted the judge's bench, wherefrom he would ask questions, administer blame, lay down the law, and make sarcastic and humorous flings.

This young man had greatly pleased Miguel, who always called him the priest (sacerdote), because he had many times in his articles made use of the expression "the priesthood of criticism."

Rosa de té, so bold and scornful in his treatment of poets and novelists, was a very Job in the patience with which he bore the raillery of Miguel and the other editors.

One day, however, he had the misfortune to write a biting review of a poet who was one of Rivera's friends. Rivera was angry, and called him an ignoramus and a stupid lout to his face, and the poor Rosa could not get up to defend himself. When Mendoza came, Miguel, still vexed, said to him:—

"Now, see here, Perico, why do you allow this stupid baby to write literary reviews, and all the time make the paper ridiculous?"

Mendoza, as usual, made no answer. But Miguel insisted.

"I want you to explain to me why it is...."

"Then they are very dear!"

Although Miguel did not care much for politics, he worked diligently on the paper. The revolutionary atmosphere had sufficiently condensed itself, and no young man could escape its feverish and disturbing influence.

The Conde de Ríos was at last banished to the Balearic Islands. Mendoza suddenly disappeared from Madrid, leaving a letter to his friend Miguel, telling him that he had made his escape because he had been informed that the police were going to arrest him, and asking him to take charge of the paper.

Such a letter as that caused the brigadier's son no little amusement, because he was convinced that the administration had no thought of troubling the poor Brutandor.

Nevertheless, he actually took the chief editorship of La Independencia, the nominal direction of it being, as always in such calamitous times of persecution, under the name of a silent partner.

And, in order satisfactorily to fulfil his trust, he began to attend the so-called círculos políticos, and above all the committee-room of the Congress of Deputies, which was then, is now, and ever will be, probably, the workshop where the happiness of the country is devised. So when he went there for the first time, he could not overcome a feeling of respect and veneration.

At the sight of the stir and agitation which reigned there, our hero could not help comparing that chamber and the corridors around it to a great factory.

Others would come out of the chamber of sessions and sit down on a sofa to think over the speech which they had just heard, or would join some group of members warmly discussing some question which, owing to a modesty that did them honor, they had not cared to take part in during the session.

Others would cluster around the entrance and anxiously wait for some minister to pass, so as to recommend to his attention some matter of general interest to his family.

All this reminded Miguel of the bustle, the noise, and the tremendous activity that he had witnessed in an iron foundry at Vizcaya. There as well as here men were moving in opposite directions, each one attending to his task; they were a little less respectably dressed, and their necks and breasts were somewhat more tanned than was the case with the representatives of their country; but this was because there was rather more heat in the foundry than in the salón de conferencias. In place of letters and other documents, the men there were lugging bars of red-hot iron in their hands, and they passed them on from one to the other just as the deputies passed on their papers.

Unquestionably the system of heating is better understood in the salón de conferencias than in the foundry at Vizcaya.

Our hero enjoyed one of the purest satisfactions of his life in becoming acquainted with a personage of so great importance in politics, and he made up his mind to go on and gradually know them all in the same way. He used to go round from group to group, listening attentively to the discussions that were taking place among the most distinguished leaders of men. It was his duty to acquaint himself with their opinions and plans, so as to conduct his journal dexterously. He was surprised by some of these private debates, but especially at one which he overheard a few days after he entered the salón de conferencias.

In the centre of a large and crowded group there was a lively discussion going on between a minister and one of the leaders of the opposition concerning a certain article in the constitution of 1845, in which punishment by property confiscation is prohibited.

The minister held that this prohibition was not absolute; that in the article were shown the causes for which a citizen could be deprived of his property. The leader of the opposition screamed like one possessed, arguing that such was not the case; that there were no such causes, and no such things. Both grew very red in the face, and almost reached the point of getting actually angry with each other. Finally the minister asked energetically:—

"Now we will see, Señor M——; have you ever read the constitution of 1845?"

"No, sir, I have not read it, nor have I any desire to!" said Señor M——, in fury.... "Have you read it yourself?"

Señor R—— was an old gentleman, smoothly shaven; and when he heard his name called, and perceived that all eyes were turned upon him, with a smile that was half malicious and half abashed, he said:—

"The truth of the matter is that I myself cannot remember having read it through!"

At first these discussions and his constantly growing acquaintance with the great engine of politics entranced him; but afterwards, when he came to know by sight, and even have the honor of a personal acquaintance with almost all of the grandees of the kingdom, and had learned from their lips not a few of the secrets of governing nations, he had the sentiment to comprehend that he was beginning to weary of it all; most evenings he preferred to take a book of Shakspere, Goethe, Hegel, or Spinoza, and sit down by his wife's side, and read while she sewed or did her embroidery, rather than wander up and down the corridors of Congress, and listen to the dissertations of Señor Tarabilla and other distinguished men.

He would look with distracted eyes at the throng of deputies, journalists and politicians tagging at their heels, and their feverish activity, their agitation, and their eagerness had not the slightest power to inspire the lazy fellow with the noble desire of laboring for his country, and contributing in some way to its happiness.

At times, not having anything to think about, he would amuse himself in seeking for resemblances between the men whom he saw and those whom he had known before. His attention was particularly attracted by a deputy, a custom-house director, who bore the closest resemblance to a certain fisherman of Rodillero, named Talín. He had known Talín under particularly sad circumstances. One of his sons had died of measles, and he had not a shilling in the house with which to bury him; the poor man had to carry him in his arms to the cemetery, and dig the grave himself. A few months afterward Talín was lost in a famous gale which has figured in more than one novel. And how closely this deputy resembled Talín! They were as like as two eggs.

When he was weary of these exercises of imagination, he would call Merelo y García, and make him sit by his side, and delight in hearing him relate with characteristic vehemence all the gossip from behind the scenes, if it is not irreverent to compare the lobbies of Congress with the flies of a theatre.

Merelo was at that time the phoenix of Madrid noticieros and the envy of the other newspaper proprietors, who had more than once made him overtures of increased salary to get him away from the Conde de Ríos; but Merelo, with fidelity that could not be too highly praised (and therefore he did not cease to praise it), had remained firm in his resistance to all temptations.

There was no one his equal in covering in a moment a dozen groups, in finding out what they were talking about, what they had been talking about, and what they were going to talk about, in gliding between the deputies' feet and discovering the most inviolate and carefully guarded secrets of politics, in worrying foreign envoys with questions; audaciously approaching the ministers, in tormenting the subordinates, and in "cutting out of every one whatever he had in his body," sometimes by suavity, at others by force.

Merelo was thus better known than the postman in all official centres and more feared than the cholera. When he made up his mind to find out about anything, neither sour faces nor rude replies could daunt him; he was proof against all rebuffs. It was told of him that one time when the Minister of State had just come out from a very important diplomatic meeting, Merelo met him with the question:—

"How now, Señor F——? is the matter of the treaty settled or not?"

The minister looked at him with curiosity, and asked:—

"What journal are you editor of?"

"Of La Independencia," replied Merelo, with a genial smile.

"I might have known it by the impudence which you show," retorted the minister coolly, turning on his heel.

The General Count de Ríos used to tell at his receptions, with the tears of delight, of one famous exploit which Merelo's especial gifts had allowed him to accomplish.

That evening La Independencia printed the following:—

"It seems that the preconization of the bishop-elect of Malaga, Señor N——, first cousin of the President of the Council of Ministers, meets with opposition in Rome."

The President read this notice as he was going to bed, and he was greatly surprised, as he afterwards confessed to his friends, because the report of the Pope's opposition to his cousin's confirmation had been telegraphed to him by the ambassador. Racking his memory, he recalled the fact that that afternoon, after reading the telegram, he had been followed along the lobby of Congress by a shadow, and that the shadow was waiting when he had come out of the wash-room. The President instantly guessed how the cat was let out of the bag, and burst into a roar of laughter. "That was a good joke," he exclaimed, as he put out the light.

And indeed he had scarcely taken his seat before the tribunal, when, zas! the professor of physics said to him in a wheedling accent:—

"Señor Utrilla, have the goodness to explain for us the theory of the pendulum."

The cadet, rather pale, arose and looked with wild eyes at the professor's desk.... The algebra professor smiled ironically, as though he divined his confusion. Why had that old man taken such a dislike to him? Utrilla could not explain it otherwise than by envy; the professor had seen him at the theatre with Julita under his protection. He arose, and with uncertain steps went to the slaughter; that is, to the blackboard. With trembling hand he made a few ciphers, and at the end of fifteen minutes drew a deep sigh of relief, and returned to his seat. The professor of physics shook his head several times:—

"That is wrong, Señor Utrilla; that is wrong."

The cadet sponged out the figures that he made, and began the operation a second time. A second quarter of an hour, a second sigh of relief; more negative signs on the part of the professor.

"That is just as wrong, Señor Utrilla."

And Utrilla rubbed out his work again, and for the third time began to cipher; but now he was weak, confused, livid, persuaded that death was at hand.

"Still entirely wrong, Señor Utrilla," exclaimed the professor, in a tone of compassion.

The algebra man smiled mephistopheleanly, and said, with an affected accent in pure Andalusian:—

The gentlemen of the tribunal covered their eyes with their hands to hide their amusement. This sneer cut our cadet to the heart; he changed color several times in the course of a few moments.

"That will do; you are dismissed," said the professor of physics, trying in vain to put on a sober face.

The son of Mars retired, stumbling over everything in his way, as though he were blind; his neck was swollen, his Adam's apple preternaturally prominent, his heart boiling over with indignation and wrath.

As soon as he reached home, by the advice of the housekeeper he fainted away. His father, on learning the cause, instead of helping him, was furious, and exclaimed:—

"You might better die, you great good-for-nothing! This fellow has used up more of my patience and money than he is worth!"

Afterwards came the following family scene. When he recovered from his fainting fit, he was informed that his father and brother were waiting for him in the office on the first floor. Here our young soldier had to endure a new and grievous humiliation. His father attacked him in a rage, called him an imbecile and a blunderbuss, and showed him the book in which he had kept account of his expenses.

"For so many months of tutoring in mathematics, so much; drawing lessons, so much; dress uniform, so much; every day ditto, so much," etc., etc.

"The idea of a man having to humiliate himself from morning till night engaged in handling fat and lard in order that what he earns should be wasted by a fellow like this, in folderols and glasses of cognac!"

"It shall not be so any longer, Rafael! I swear it shall not!" roared the father. "After to-day this lazybones shall help you in the factory. There he will have a chance to learn how to earn his bread and butter!"

The ex-cadet was annihilated. He, a gentleman cadet in the most aristocratic corps of the army, to be suddenly transferred into the service of a candle factory! This for Utrilla was the height of degradation. He said nothing for a few moments: at last he spoke solemnly and deliberately in his deep bass:—

"If it has come to this, that my dignity must be lowered by making me a factory foreman, it would be better that I should be taken out into the field and shot down with half a dozen bullets!"

"Knocked down with half a dozen sticks; that's what you ought to have done to you, you good-for-nothing idler! Just wait! just wait!"

And the worthy manufacturer glanced angrily around the room, and seeing a reed cane leaning against the wall, he sprang to get it. But Achilles, he of the winged feet, had already darted out of the room, and in half a dozen leaps had reached his chamber.

Once across the threshold, he bolted the door with marvellous dexterity, and after listening breathlessly with his ear at the key-hole, in order to make sure that Peleus had not passed the middle of the corridor, he felt safe to give himself up to meditation.

But his sword was constantly thumping against the furniture and getting between his legs, and making it hard for him to walk; he took it off and flung it in military disgust on the sofa.

He came to the conclusion that two courses lay before him: one was to make his escape from the house, enlist in the army, and in this way fulfil the only vocation for which he felt any call; the other was to enter the factory and work there like his brother. It was necessary to make a decisive resolution, as became his inflexible and energetic character; and in very truth our ex-cadet, with an energy that has few examples in this degenerate epoch, promptly decided to work in the candle factory.

This important point having been settled, he became calmer, and could stop long enough to roll and smoke a cigarette.

One other thing, however, remained to be done, and this was one of great importance: to wipe out the insult which the algebra professor had given him during the examination. Utrilla argued in this way:—

If he remained in the army, the affront would not have been serious, because, of course, discipline forbids the inferior to demand satisfaction for insults from a superior; but once out of the corps and transformed into a civilian, the matter put on a different aspect—"Certainly very different!" he repeated, putting on a deep frown that was very imposing. "To-morrow I will settle this point."