"I KNOW it's you, Ricardo; let me go!"
Ricardo did not reply.
"Come, let me go; you see I must hurry and carry the broth to mamma."
Ricardo still blinded her eyes from behind without saying a word.
"For pity's sake let me go, Ricardo! It isn't fair, after I have told who you were."
"In punishment for your not taking the joke gracefully, I won't let you go," said Ricardo, still clasping her eyes.
"All right, then; I admit that it's perfectly fair."
"Ah, that's another thing! if you submit, I will let you go. But you must pay a forfeit."
Marta, as soon as she found herself free, ran behind him with uplifted broom, so that he could not get hold of her; thereupon she went back and again began her task of brushing up the dining-room. She had not dressed for the day. She wore a loose red gown somewhat the worse for wear, and her hair was put up in a white redicilla. But there was one very strange thing about this girl; in an old morning dress, sometimes even ripped, and with her hair in disorder, she was prettier than when she put on her fine clothes. It may have been because her peculiar style of beauty was not best brought out by rich and splendid dresses as her sister's was, or because she was not used to wearing them (for it was rare for her to put on those which were bought for her), so that she appeared awkward and constrained when she went out; but at all events, on the street and at the theatre, Marta certainly attracted little attention, and remained entirely overshadowed by her sister's proud and splendid beauty. On the other hand, at home her graces were greatly increased; her motions were easy and unembarrassed; her eyes gained brilliancy and animation, and her whole body acquired a freedom which it lost as soon as she set foot in the street.
She swept without haste, firmly and easily, like one who always expects to finish in time, and she kept humming a march[26] very softly. She had no voice for singing or any great love for music, and all the exertions of her teachers and her liking for study struggled with this lack of musical ability. The masterpieces of music, and even the fantasías, réveries, and nocturnes, which Maria played on the piano left her cold and incapable of understanding their worth. On the other hand, she confessed with shame that certain operatic airs and many popular songs delighted her. Another thing she did not confess, though it was no less true: the bands which sometimes accompany funerals, and are, as a general rule, of the very worst sort, composed almost entirely of brass instruments, moved her deeply, even to tears. She almost never sang, but she was apt to hum softly when she was doing any work as now. From time to time she stopped to take breath, leaning for a moment on her broom, and after brushing back one or two curls which fell on her forehead, she went on with her task.
Ricardo appeared again in the door.
"Martita, are you still vexed with me?"
"If I am," she replied, between a frown and smile, "you had better make your escape, señor marqués, quick, before I dust you with the broomstick."
"But are you really vexed?"
"Certainly I am."
"Very well, then; I humbly ask your pardon," said Ricardo, getting down on his knees. "Give me all the blows you want, for I have no idea of moving."
"Come, get up, and don't be foolish! See how you are soiling your trowsers!"
"Though I should soil the very collar of my shirt, I wouldn't move until you pardoned me!"
"What a boor you are, Ricardo!"
"Many thanks!"
"Will you get up, child?"
"No; not till you pardon me."
"You must be serious, Ricardo!"
"We will speak of that by and by. Do you pardon me?"
"Yes; bother[27]! yes; get up!"
Ricardo arose, went up to Marta, and taking her by the arms and shaking her violently, exclaimed,—
"How very pretty you are, little one! I don't wonder that Manolito—Of course you understand me."
"This is a great way of trying to be serious!"
"I shall be in time. Don't you worry!"
"Very well; then let me have a chance to carry mamma's broth to her."
"Do you know, I have searched the whole house and not found a soul?"
"Mamma has not left her room yet, and papa and Maria are out."
"Maria is at church as usual, isn't she?"
"She only went to mass; she will be back soon."
"Of course," replied the young man, becoming suddenly serious and silent.
Marta finished her work under her future brother's grave and not very careful inspection.
"Will you wait for me? I'm coming right back."
Ricardo nodded assent; and while the girl was gone, he went to one of the balconied windows and began to drum with his fingers on the glass, casting a vacant, absent look at the neighboring houses.
Marta came hurrying in again.
"Come, go with me; I am going to put the linen away."
Ricardo followed the girl like a lamb into a bright room full of clothes-presses. It looked into the garden. In the centre of it was a table on which stood a great basket heaped up with white clothes just from the wash.
"Will you help me take down this basket and put it there, near that clothes-press?"
"Why didn't you put it a little further off?"
The basket was a huge one, and it was a tug to carry it to the place designated: while they were carrying it, they got into such a frolic that more than once they had to set it down. Ricardo with his efforts grew very red in the face, and this made the girl laugh until she had no strength left. She rarely laughed; but when the floodgates were opened, nobody could stop it. Ricardo, with his inclination to make fun, puffed out his cheeks and grew redder yet. All ill humor had completely disappeared. The basket made very little progress, and both stood bending over it and struggling with it, being unable to lift it an inch from the ground, the one splitting with laughter, and the other affecting a comic desperation.
"What a valiant soldier, to be vanquished by a basket of clothes!" exclaimed the girl, in the height of glee.
"I should like to see Prim or Espartero or even Napoleon himself here! This isn't a basket at all! There is linen enough here for an army!"
"Let go, then! If you didn't make me laugh, I could lift it by myself."
After much laughter, and no little bantering, the basket reached its destination. Marta opened the clothes-press, from which came the distinctive, fresh, penetrating odor of fresh linen. The girl for several moments breathed it in with delight, while she was transferring the pieces from one shelf to another in order to make room for the clean clothes that she was going to put away. Then she started to call Carmen—one of the maids—to help her, but Ricardo asked timidly,—
"Listen, child, couldn't I help to do it?"
"Oh! if you would like—"
"But it isn't for me to like. Pure gold though I were, preciosa, it is for you to command me, as queen and mistress."
"It won't do at all."
"It's no condescension on my part; you can put me to the test."
"Well, then, this time I command you to take the two corners of this sheet and stretch them out in that direction hard—not so hard, man, how you pull me! That's the way! that's the way! Now double it as I do—so—one corner over the other—good!—now stretch it out again—more, ever so much more—that's it! Now fold it again; pull it out once more! There, that'll do. Now come towards me,—let me have it; I can manage it now. Here's another. Take the two corners—shake it well and stretch it out. Be careful, for this one has a ruffle—don't tear it! These are mamma's and Maria's sheets."
"How it would shock Maria if she knew I were folding her sheets!" cried Ricardo, laughing.
"Why, yes; the sheets themselves are. Mamma and she like very fine ones, and have theirs made of batiste; but papa and I like them coarser. I can't bear fine sheets; I slip about in them and can't get settled. We are careful not to put any kind of ruffles on papa's, for the touch of starch tries his nerves, and the rustling keeps him awake. It's a hobby of his. Just imagine when he is travelling, and at some house they put on sheets with trimmings, he takes the trouble to pull the bed to pieces and put the ruffling under the mattress at his feet. I don't like them either, but if I find them on, I put up with them. Papa has a good many hobbies. Every night he has to go asleep with a cigar in his mouth. I walk up and down near his room until I see that he is asleep, and then I go in very gently and take the cigar from his mouth and put out the light.—Don't pull so hard, for my arms ache already. The truth is, I make you do very improper things for a military man; isn't that so?"
"Don't you believe it! At college, and even after we left, at boarding-houses we had to do much worse things. How many buttons have I sewed on in my life! And how many times I have patched my trowsers when they were worn through!"
"Really?"
"Certainly!"
Marta was sincerely astonished. She could not understand that a man should have to descend to such duties when there are so many women in the world, and she asked particularly about his college life,—how they were treated, what they ate, at what time they went to bed, who attended to their rooms, who did their washing and ironing, were their mattresses hard or soft, did they drink wine, how many times a week they gave them clean towels, etc., etc. Ricardo answered all her questions, giving a circumstantial account of his college habits with the fulness of one who has very fresh recollections, and is not bored in recounting them. From college customs he passed to his adventures, relating those which might be told to a young girl, and amusing himself above all in painting in the darkest colors the tribulations of freshman year[28] and the cruelties practised upon them by the seniors,[29] who compelled them to spend whole nights making cigarettes of sand so as to learn to make better ones of tobacco; in the street they would make them sit down on the stone seats and not let them get up till they gave them permission; they seated them at table, even though they had dined, just for the fun of the thing; those who were weakest would vomit or faint; one fellow who ventured to rebel against a galonista they kept for six months face to face with a stone wall, during all play hours, until he was taken ill with jaundice and almost died. One Sunday afternoon, while he was in the hall with five other freshmen[30] reading a novel, two seniors came in and beat them furiously with cudgels until they were tired out, and gave him a painful cut near his eye.
Marta listened with profound attention, showing in her face all the phases of indignation. She pulled with greater and greater force on the sheets, and folded them any way, without taking her eyes from the narrator's. From time to time she exclaimed, "But, good Heavens,[31] that is abominable! Those men are crazy; why didn't you tell the president about such cruelties?" Ricardo could not persuade her that it would have been useless to rebel or tell the colonel, since hazing[32] was a traditional custom in the college which the officers did not care to root out. To all his reasonings she replied, "Well, I would have gone to the colonel, and if he had not made it right for me, I would have run away from college."
"Come, don't be excited, Marta, over what I went through. The men who suffer this way do the same thing. Now I am going to tell you something that took place between me and the colonel. After I became lieutenant—"
And changing his tack, he began to tell amusing adventures and jolly incidents, which smoothed out the frowns on the girl's face, and finally made her laugh heartily. Gradually the basket was emptied, and its contents were transferred to the clothes-press, which still exhaled its fresh and somewhat pungent odor of newly washed clothes. This odor filled the whole room, and gave it a refreshing perfume of health and cleanliness pleasanter than any perfumery or pomade. It was the perfume which always clung about Marta, as her father said, and seemed especially created for her. When she went alone to open the cloth-presses, she took a great delight in putting her head into them, and burying it in the clothes, enjoying the coolness of the linen against her face, and breathing with keen pleasure its healthful aroma. The light pouring through the white tulle of the curtains, the ceaseless chatter and the merry laughter of the young people filled the room with joy and animation; it was called the "ironing-room," for all the linen of the house was ironed there. The walls not occupied by the clothes-presses were painted a plain white.
Carmen burst into the room like a hurricane, crying,—
"Señorita Marta, Señorita Marta!"
"What's the trouble?" asked Marta, in alarm.
"Menino has got out, señorita!"
Marta dropped the sheet which she had in her hands, and exclaimed in astonishment,—
"Has got out?"
"Yes, señorita; as I was just going through the gallery, I looked at the cage and found the door open and the bird gone!"
"Come along, come along!"
And all three rushed to the gallery. Indeed, Menino had flown away. By an incredible piece of carelessness Marta, when she fed him, and hung him up to enjoy the view of the garden and the singing of the other birds, had left the cage door open. For three years Menino had been under the young maiden's care, and during all this time he had showed no sign of cherishing plans of escape; on the contrary, hitherto the little hypocrite had always shown, as far as possible, that he did not care a straw for liberty, and that he had renounced it willingly for the sake of his dearly beloved mistress. For a long time he had been in the habit of coming out of his cage to eat chocolate with her; he would perch on her shoulder, peck softly at her hand to show his affection, hop about here and there over the furniture, and when it was time to retire, he would go back into the cage, meek as a lamb. By every presumption he was a happy canary, who regarded the loss of liberty as compensated by the care and attention of such a lovely girl, and by the permission to peck her rosy cheeks whenever he pleased. And aside from these more or less spiritual enjoyments, for which more than one lad in the town would have made stupendous sacrifices, and looking only at the material aspect of existence or bodily comforts, it must be laid down as a fact that Menino lived in his cage like an archbishop, with every want satisfied, supplied with hemp-seed on one side, with canary-seed on the other, at one time treated to lettuce, at others to lumps of chocolate, at others to crumbs soaked in milk; indeed, to ask more was to offend God. And as for neatness and cleanliness of habitation, he had just as little cause for envying any one; every morning Marta herself cleaned it out, leaving the cage like a mirror. But contrary to the general belief that he found himself perfectly satisfied, and would not change places even with the director of the mint, Menino was certainly waiting impatiently for a chance to escape; he had allowed himself to be overwhelmed with melancholy, his character had been soured, and his bile excited by lack of exercise. If he had not gone out to breathe the fresh air on the day least expected, he would have dashed the top of his head against the bars of his cage.
As our young people stood under the cage, they deliberated briefly what to do. Marta was heart-broken. It was decided that Carmen, with the laundress and the gardener should scour the garden, for they thought that from lack of practice he would not fly very far at first; meanwhile Marta and Ricardo should make a thorough search through the house in case he had remained inside, flying through the halls as he had done once before. Marta acted as guide, and they immediately began to look through the suite of rooms next the corridor, a great square chamber with two sleeping-rooms leading from it, in which she and Maria, when they were children, had slept with their respective nurses. The paper on the room represented hunting-scenes, which used to make a great impression on Marta when she was small, especially one illustrating a dying stag, conquered by half a dozen ferocious hounds. Then they passed through several rooms designed for the guests who visited the house; they inspected the girls' rooms, they went down into the kitchen, which was in an entresol, and returned up stairs without any success. Then they visited Don Mariano's library, which was a magnificent room with two balconied windows facing the plaza, decorated in severe classic taste; great leather armchairs, rich tapestries, an ebony writing-desk, and bookcases of the same wood; on the walls hung a few family portraits, painted in oil. Marta always felt in this library a sensation of happiness and well-being which she did not enjoy in the other parts of the house; in this sensation there was a delicious union of reverence and tenderness wherein were blended all her childish recollections, which overflowed with this exclusive, eager, and absorbing love, such as cause the unreasonable anger of children when the nurse tears them from the paternal arms, and the yearning to go to them when they are held out to invite them. As soon as she had strength and skill enough to put his room in order, she never allowed any one else to do it. In the morning she always spent half an hour of delicious ease and comfort, dusting the huge chairs, which cost her a great effort to move from their places, and making Don Mariano's huge bed. She felt happy in that solemn patriarchal chamber. The colossal bookcases, the table, the chairs, the pictures, and the dignified figures of the tapestries fixed on her a silent, benevolent gaze in which she felt as it were alive, her father's great, protecting shadow.
Ricardo halted lazily before a portrait:—
"Is that your aunt? How much you resemble her! What a pity she died so young! She was a very fascinating woman."
"I should like to resemble her. She was very tall, and I am short."
"What difference does that make? You are like her, very much like her. And that is natural, after all, for you are like your father, and you are an Elorza from head to foot. What huge bookcases Don Mariano has! there's enough here to keep one busy a good while."
"Still, Maria has read the most of them."
"And you?"
"Oh, I don't read very much. I am very lazy. Papa says I don't like the black," replied the girl, with her frank smile, and looking a little ashamed; then she added: "But look, Ricardo, it isn't absolutely true, what papa says; though I don't care much for books, some of them please me; but one doesn't get time to take them up. I don't know how I manage not to have an hour for myself. Sometimes it's one thing, sometimes another."
"Confess, little one,[33] that you don't like them, and I won't say any more!"
"If you like, I will confess it; but it isn't true. I like some of them."
"How about Menino?"
"Ay! yes! come, come!"
They went to the next room, which was Doña Gertrudis's, and this alone was proof positive that no sign of Menino was there, though occasionally she had in her head such a singing, as of a whole nest of birds, that it prevented her from resting. Therefore they went to the next room, which was Marta's. It was a room which seemed lined with mirrors, since everything in it was polished, from the wooden floors to the railing of the balconies; whatever was not varnished by the cabinet-maker was rubbed bright with cloths. Marta's great hobby which gave her the most joy and the most trouble was keeping things bright. Her exaggerated love for cleanliness had quickly brought her to the point of trying to put a shine on all the articles of furniture in the house, and more especially those in her own room. Every day, aided by the maid, she rubbed them with a dry flannel, polishing them with unwearied zeal, until you could see your face in them. Then, all out of breath, sometimes dripping with perspiration, her hair in disorder, and her cheeks ablaze, she lifted the flannel and stood awhile contemplating her work, the lovely scintillations made by the light in the polished surface, with a genuine inward satisfaction, with almost mystic enthusiasm. The household made much fun of her, which caused her to hide herself while performing this task, and induced her to lock her room to everybody. Ricardo had never been in it. And so without any thought of Menino he began to inspect it with bold, inquisitive attention; he gazed at the pictures, halted in front of the toilet-table, opened the bottles, felt of the curtains, and even went into the bedroom to see the bed, uttering exclamations of astonishment at the perfect order which he found everywhere, and especially at the wonderful polish of all the furniture.
"What a pretty room you have, child. It's like a silver cup! What a lovely white little bed!"
"Ricardo, don't be inquisitive. Go away; come, Menino isn't here!"
The girl felt annoyed by the young man's curiosity. Every woman of gentle birth feels a certain modesty, if we may say so, in regard to her room, for the reason that there clings about it something like the essence of her very self which she hesitates to let a man approach; but in Marta's case, in addition to this modesty, there was a sense of shame in having her stubborn, childish fancies brought to light, like that of keeping things bright, that of placing the bottles of her dressing-table in a sort of symmetry worthy of an altar, and other such things which served her family as subjects for merriment at dinner time. Consequently she tried to push him out by main force.
"Come Ricardo; there's nothing to see here. Come along, come along!"
"Do let me, niña, do let me have a look at this charming room! How exquisite!" And putting his nose to the bed, he said with great seriousness, "It smells like Marta!"
"Will you be quiet, you foolish fellow!"[34]
"It may not give you any trouble to keep your room in this way, but let me tell you, child, I couldn't keep it so if my life depended on it. If you were to see my room, Martita!"
"Yes, yes, it must be fine! You always were a disorderly fellow.[35] But come, dear, come; let us go!"
"We'll go whenever you please. My room is a stable compared with this; but just consider that it's open to dogs and cats, the gardener, with his dirty feet, the coachman, with the smell of the stable, and, in fact, to every living creature. It is not my fault."
From Marta's room they passed through various other apartments, the dining-room, the parlor, the gallery of the court, another private room, and a few others, without finding Menino anywhere. As they were standing in the midst of a passage-way without knowing whither to turn, an idea suddenly struck Marta, and she said,—
"Let's go to the terrace; we haven't been there yet."
The terrace was now only a large hall tiled with marble and covered over with stained glass. It was called the terrace because it had been one in former times; but Don Mariano had had it closed in with glass a few years before, transforming it into a handsome, fantastic room in Moorish style, where he went to drink coffee on summer evenings with his daughters and friends. It was for the most part unfurnished, having only in one corner three or four small marquetry tables and a few rockingchairs. When our young people reached this hall, they found it flooded with light: the sun, that morning leaving his long seclusion, came forth bright and warm, resolved on visiting all the corners of the city; and when he found the thousand crystals of the Elorza terrace, not caring to see anything better, he passed through them and revelled inside with a lively, eager pandiculation which occupied the whole circuit of the room. It was a magical sight. Thousands of rose, green, yellow, purple, gray, and blue lights burned within it, pouring over the floor, the ceiling, and the walls, and dissolving into an infinity of tints, delighting and dazzling the eyes. Over the mosaic pavement fell a shower of blinding rays, reflecting up in a delicate, many-colored vapor; and these rays were crossed and interwoven in the air, making a flame-bearing web, subtile and beautiful, through the interstices of which passed the intangible scintillations of other rays more diaphanous, from which arose a vapor still more aerial. And these veils of dust, of rays, of scintillations, and of colors, stretching one behind the other, in spite of their transparency scarcely allowed you to see with vague indefiniteness, as through a mist, the crystals and arabesques of the windows. The sun squandered his treasures of light and color like a Turkish pasha within the walls of some chamber in the East, proving once more that when he endeavors to make a brilliant and fanciful decoration with them, there is no stage director with all his spangles, Bengalas, and curtains who can equal him.
Our young people, entirely forgetting Menino, stopped an instant in surprise at the whimsical, magical work of the light; and without saying a word they entered the hall and went to the centre with the slow, uncertain step of one who goes into a bath. In point of fact they stood submerged and inundated in a luminous vapor wherein all possible colors were floating.
"How beautiful the terrace is to-day!" said Marta at last.
"It seems like a room in an enchanted palace. It would be more appropriate if, instead of us, a Moor in a white turban stood here, and an odalisque covered with brocade and precious stones. How many capricious effects of light! Wait a moment, Martita; step into this ray of rosy light. If you could see what a peculiar expression it gives your face now! You look like a gypsy,—a daughter of the desert."
Indeed, that light turned the girl's fair complexion to brown, kindled it with a sunset tinge, and animated it with the ardent, cruel expression of southern natures. All the innocence of her eyes, all the purity of her maidenly form were lost under the power of that perverse, luxuriant flame, which transformed her into another being, fiery, and at the same time voluptuous, and certainly far from her own true nature. Ricardo understood this, and said,—
"No! that color does not suit you. Come into this one!"
And he drew her under a ray of greenish light:—
"Heavens! you look like a dead person! No, no; that's just as bad! Here, try the yellow color; that goes well, but it makes you ruddy, and brunettes ought to stay brunettes,—I mean dark-haired people,—for of course we know that your complexion is light; come, try the blue. Oh, superb! wonderful! How beautiful you are, child!"
The young marquis was right. Blue, which is the most spiritual, the purest, and the sublimest of colors, was admirably adapted for Marta's bright face. The sun-ray fell on it like a caress from heaven, bathing it sweetly in a diaphanous light. Her long black hair assumed a purplish tint, while the adorable oval of her face and her firm, mellow neck were softly tinged with a heavenly blue. The delicate line of her regular features acquired an ideal perfection, and her whole countenance was transfigured with an angelic expression of beatitude.
Nevertheless, there was a certain exaggeration not in good taste in that rapturous, celestial expression given by the blue light. It was not the true Marta, ingenuous and modest in her looks as in her features, but a different Marta, affected, theatrical, and fantastic. Ricardo finally declared that no light was so becoming to her as the natural.
"And Menino!"
"It's true; we had forgotten him. But where shall we go now? we have looked everywhere."
"Let us go to Maria's room; perhaps it has flown up there."
"It does not seem to me likely; however, let's go there."
They mounted to the tower, but without any better success; neither in Maria's room nor in Genoveva's did they find any sign of the canary-bird. Ricardo felt a peculiar emotion in entering his lady-love's room, and Marta did not fail to notice it. He became graver and more silent, and began to examine with interest everything there, moving the articles, opening the scent-bottles, and even pulling out the drawers, so that the girl felt obliged to interfere.
"Don't meddle with her things. When Maria comes and sees her things tumbled up, she will be angry."
"And what if she is?" replied the young man, with a touch of asperity.
"The blame will be thrown on me."
"All right; then tell her that it was mine, and that'll settle the matter."
He stepped into the bedroom, lifted the bed-curtains, took up the books from the dressing-table, laid them down again, and finally pulled out the table drawer. In it were a number of articles laid away, but he thrust in his hand, pulling out one more extraordinary than the rest. It was a large leather cross, full of brass brads on one side, and with a cord to attach it to the neck.
"What is this?" he asked, turning it over and over in his hand, with amazement.
"Put it back, put it back! for God's sake, Ricardo! Maria will be very angry."
"Horrors! What an abominable thing! This must be a cilicium."
"It may be; but put it back, put it back for Heaven's sake!"
The young man threw it violently into the drawer again, with a gesture of scorn and disgust,—
"Maria has become crazy. It is an abomination, and there's no good in it."
"Don't say that; it's wrong. Maria is very religious,—"
"Religious! religious!" muttered the young fellow, angrily. "So are you, and you don't have to perform these penances—"
"Don't compare me with Maria!"
Ricardo began to pace up and down the room excitedly and without speaking. Then he returned to the chamber, and pulled out the leather cross once more, examining it with more care.
"It seems to me that these nails form letters. Look! Can you make out what they say?"
"No; I don't see anything; it's your imagination."
"Yes, yes; there is an inscription on it. But, however, I don't care to bother with deciphering it. All these things are only absurdities. Come, child, come along! Let every fool have his folly!"
And shutting the drawer angrily he left the chamber, followed by Marta. As they were passing by one of the windows of the boudoir, the girl uttered a cry of surprise and joy,—
"Look, look! Ricardo! Look! there's Menino!"
The young man hurried to the window, and saw, on the roof of the house, not very far away, Menino himself, hopping about with delight, and full of pride and stateliness.
"What a rascal! And so that's where he's gone! We must catch him. Where do you get out on the roof?"
"Not here; we must go down to the house first, and climb up through the skylight."
"Come on, then!"
They left the tower, and after crossing several rooms, they mounted the garret stairs leading from one of them. It was extremely dark, and the young man met with much difficulty. On the second step he received a tremendous knock.
"Oh, of course you aren't used to it. You'll hurt yourself; give me your hand and I'll guide you."
He took the girl's hand, which was small but firm and solid like an Amazon's; it was not so satiny as Maria's, for her work about the house had hardened it somewhat; in compensation it had the lovely smoothness which testifies to health and good blood. It was not feverish either like Maria's, but was always cool and moist and ready for any emergency, like those of a daughter of the people.
The young marquis did not think of making these observations, for he was going along, intent only on not falling. They reached the garret,—feebly lighted here and there by a few very tenuous rays of sunlight which filtered through the cracks in the tiles. After they had gone quite a distance, Marta dropped his hand, saying,—
"Wait here; I am going to open the window."
And nimbly hurrying ahead, she ran up a half-dozen steps which led to the skylight, and threw open the door. A burst of intense, bright, comforting sunshine suddenly invaded the whole garret, dazzling our young hero.
"Here is Menino! Here's Menino!" cried Marta, enthusiastically, as she stood on the top step. "He's very near! Menino! Menino! Come, tonto, here! here! Don't you know me?"
Menino, who was only six or eight steps away when he heard his mistress's voice, bent his head gracefully, as if to listen. The sunlight, falling full on him, bathed his yellow plumage, making him contrast so vividly with the red-colored roof that he seemed like a bit of living gold. He hopped thrice or four times, as though he were going to Marta, and said, Pii, pii.
"Do you want me to try to get him?" asked Ricardo.
"No; hold still a moment; he seems to be coming of his own accord. Menino, Menino! come here, pretty one; come here, come!"
Menino came two or three hops nearer, and seemed to be cocking his head to listen. I don't know what then passed through his brain; something low, and base, and shameful, it must have been, according to the morality of his species, for, forgetting his mistress's tender attentions, her ceaseless caresses, the many bits of chocolate shared with her, the feasts of biscuits, and his overflowing dishes of canary-seed, he cleaned his feathers in her presence with perfect indifference, several times repeated his pii, pii, with affected laziness, and spreading his wings, he launched into space, flying out of sight amid the foliage of the neighboring gardens.
Marta uttered a cry of grief.
"My stars, he has gone!"
"Has gone?"
"Very far?"
"Out of sight."
"Then, sir, he's gone for good!"
Ricardo mounted to the window, and following the direction indicated by the girl's finger, he looked and looked again, until his eyes pained him, without seeing the slightest sign of anything resembling a canary bird. When he looked at Marta again, he saw a tear rolling down her cheeks.
"Aren't you ashamed to cry for a bird, tonta!"
"You are right!" replied the girl, trying to laugh, and wiping away the tear with her handkerchief.
"But I felt as much affection for him as for a person; yes indeed, for three years I have been taking care of him!"
THE dew of grace kept falling copiously on the soul of the eldest daughter of the Elorzas. The Christian virtues flourished in her like mystical roses replete with fragrance, and with the impatience and ardor which characterized all her actions, she continued to mount one by one the rounds on the ladder of perfection leading to heaven. Her deeds of charity and humility not only filled those who lived near her with astonishment, but were bruited about the whole town, serving as an edifying example for young and old, and as a theme of conversation among the clergy. Her fasts and penances, always growing more frequent and severe, increased the enthusiasm and seraphic joy of her soul; but at last they had a naturally weakening effect upon her health. Her delicate constitution began to rebel against so much mortification of the flesh, and to protest at every instant by pains, sometimes in her heart, at others in her stomach, at others in her head, and yet she endured it all with enviable resignation, and did not let it discourage her saintly endeavors. She suffered frequently from fainting fits in which she remained long unconscious, and from severe convulsions; some days she could not retain the food that she ate, and on others she complained of acute headaches. Don Maximo began to prescribe preparations of iron, sea-baths, and wine of quinine, and this treatment brought about some improvement, but not much; the doctor finally declared that unless she entirely changed her mode of life, these attacks would not cease; but it was impossible to persuade her.
Maria began to notice with a secret pride, of which she tearfully accused herself to her father confessor, that she inspired admiration and something more than respect among the people; that when she went along the street, many saluted her with words of praise, and when she was at church, all the faithful gazed at her with peculiar persistence. Through the mouth of the servants many such flattering phrases came to her ears, as that her virtues were worthy of the most venerable priests and the most pious souls of the community, and, as she perceived a certain sweet savor in them, she forbade their being repeated to her. Many ladies consulted with her on matters concerning their consciences, and she was appointed teacher of a Sunday-school for adult women, to whom she began to explain the doctrine and moral precepts of Christianity with so much clearness and eloquence that nothing else was talked about. On the second Sunday the hall granted by the board of magistrates[36] in an old convent was crowded not only with servants and working-girls, for whom the institution had been founded, but also with the most distinguished ladies in town, desirous of seeing for themselves what was reported of the young woman. And indeed they had to agree that she had decided gifts for teaching,—an artless, animated discourse, manners free from conceit, and unwearied patience. The girls made notable progress under her direction. Not satisfied with this, she asked and obtained from her father permission to use a pavilion which he had in his garden, and there she gathered every day a dozen orphan children, whom she taught to read, write, and say their prayers, giving them an education suitable to their sex and social position. The extreme gentleness with which she treated her scholars soon won their love, and even their adoration.
From every side our virtuous heroine received unimpeachable evidence of the great regard in which she was held, but more especially in the society of the devout and saintly, among whom she was considered as a brilliant beacon kindled for the advantage of religion. In the age of unbelief, whereunto we have attained, the spectacle of such a beautiful, well-educated, and illustrious maiden, consecrating herself exclusively to the practice of the virtues and religious deeds, could not fail to have a heartfelt influence on the morals of the town.
One morning, as she was leaving the steps of the altar, where she had just received holy communion, her face presented such a sanctified expression that a woman left the throng, and, kneeling before her, asked for her blessing. Maria, disturbed and perplexed, would have refused, but finally she had no other escape than by yielding to her entreaties. On another occasion, as she was going through one of the suburbs with Genoveva, a poor woman, who was standing at the door of a wretched hovel with a dying child in her arms, begged her to take him into hers and offer a Pater Noster for him; Maria did so to satisfy her, but protested that she was a miserable sinner, to whom God could not listen. The child, however, had scarcely felt the tender caress of her lovely hand before it began to smile, and in a few days was entirely restored to health. This miraculous cure, proclaimed by the grateful mother, made a great noise among the people; whereupon the house of Elorza was besieged by a throng of women who came with their sick children to ask Maria to take them in her arms and bless them. As this partook of the nature of wonder-working, according to report, Maria hastened to consult her confessor whether she ought to continue yielding to the entreaties of these afflicted mothers; and the priest, after taking a day to reflect, replied that he saw no harm in it, but, on the other hand, believed that it might redound to the advantage of the faith. "How is it possible," asked Maria, "for God to be willing to perform miraculous deeds through the medium of such a low and sinful creature as I am?" And the confessor replied that it showed great audacity to think of searching the high purposes of God, and that she should abstain from making such irreverent remarks; that God chose whomever He pleased to manifest His sacred will, and that, at all events, even though no miracle took place, it was never wrong to attribute to the power of the Almighty the blessings which we experience both in soul and body. Maria accepted this reasoning, and endeavored, by all the means at her command—by prayer, humility, and penance—to make herself worthy of these incredible favors which God gave into her hand.
Gradually, through the renunciation to which she was compelled by her pious life, all the ties that bound her soul to things earthly began to be relaxed. At first she shunned all worldly recreation and amusement, such as balls, theatres, and promenades, where she used to shine by her beauty and elegance, and she came to the point of abhorring them. Then she abstained from certain proper recreation, such as singing and playing secular music, taking part in games of cards, walking in the garden, being present at tertulias at her home; in her craze for crucifying the flesh, she went to the extreme of not gazing often at the landscape from the windows of her room, and of depriving herself of breathing the scent of the flowers and the perfume of her colognes. Still, however, and for some time, she took pleasure in dressing elegantly; this arose from a reflection that she had read in a French devotional book, counselling young people not to neglect the neatness and adornment of the body, since God took delight in seeing them beautiful and knowing that they adorned themselves for Him alone. At the same time that she grew more and more to hate the pleasures of this world, she crushed out in her heart the sentiment of love towards human beings, even towards those who were nearest and dearest to her. Understanding that if one would love God, he must free himself from earthly affections, since no other is worthy of entering into a heart consecrated to the Creator, she constantly struggled against her love not only for her betrothed but also that for her parents and sister. She ceased those frequent outbursts of affection which she used to lavish on them all and which had always proved the tenderness of her affectionate spirit; when she met her father in the morning, she no longer threw her arms around his neck and covered him with caresses; she no longer revealed to her sister the secrets and sorrows of her heart; she kept everybody at a distance by a cautious reserve veiled in sweetness and humility. The Señorita de Elorza compelled herself to follow literally the solemn words of Jesus: "If any man come to me, and hate not his father, and mother, and wife, and children, and brethren, and sisters, yea, and his own life also, he cannot be my disciple."[37]
The fervor which constantly died away, as far as human beings were concerned, burned like a sweet-smelling incense on a lofty altar, to an object infinitely more worthy of it. Her heart could not remain inactive; she had to love, for it was the law of her being; she had to overflow with enthusiasm for something on which she should engage her thoughts every instant of her life, and offer continual sacrifices. Maria could not desire anything or love anything, without feeling herself stirred by a consuming fervor. When she was a child, she had loved another little girl of her own age, a child of dark complexion, with great, cruel, black eyes, and she loved her so passionately that she became her willing slave; the little black-eyed girl, the daughter of a poor mechanic, treated her with the authority of a queen and mistress, demanded from her all the playthings that she possessed, compelled her to submit to all her caprices, humiliated her whenever she felt like it, and oftentimes abused her in word and deed, without the affection of her enthusiastic friend being diminished in the least. On one occasion, when the two were ironing a doll's skirt, the cruel little girl said, in a disagreeable tone of mockery, "If you love me so dearly, why don't you put this hot iron on your arm for me?" Maria, without a moment's hesitation, pulled up the sleeve of her dress, and laid the heated iron on her arm, making a terrible burn. On account of other such actions as these, which had attracted Don Mariano's attention, he drove this unworthy friend out into the street, and forbade her ever darkening the door of his house again, a prohibition which broke his daughter's heart with grief.
When a heart is to this degree inflammable, its constant tendency is to take fire and be consumed with some extraordinary love; and if the object is not at hand, it seeks for it as one athirst seeks the fountain of crystalline water. Maria had sought hard for it and found it,—a love pure and immortal, sublime and marvellous; love for a God who crushes the stars to powder and enters the enamored soul like a gentle lamb. This love, which took more and more violent possession of her soul, was not only manifested in almost incomprehensible deeds of humility and mortification, but also escaped continually from her lips in passionate phrases, which winged themselves away like timid birdlings to take refuge in the sacred heart of Jesus. At first she had prayed with respectful worship, with soul and body prostrate, terrified rather than melted, like one who makes a declaration of love; but according as she understood, by a thousand manifest signs, that Jesus replied to her passionate affection and returned it with increase, she found greater freedom and eloquence in her words and a more enduring felicity in her whole being.
The happiest moments of her life were those which she consecrated to prayer, which in her case was a sweet colloquy of two lovers, incomprehensible for those who have never fathomed the secret depths of the divine love or tasted the delights of the mystical union. By dint of holding converse with God, of communicating to Him her most occult thoughts and feelings, of confessing with tears each day the most trivial spots on her conscience, she succeeded in bringing about with the Almighty a sacred familiarity, full of joy and consolation. At the twilight hour, after she had ceased from the pious tasks which kept her busy all the day, she was in the habit of retiring to her room to enjoy at her ease the sweet delights which Jesus granted to her fervent prayers as a recompense for the labors and humiliations of the day.
One calm, quiet evening, toward the end of winter, Maria found herself in her room, prostrate in prayer, before the image of Jesus. All the blinds were open to let in the slowly fading light. From the one that looked inland could be seen the wide stretch of level meadows, and the gentle hills on the horizon bathed in a purple vapor, which grew thicker and thicker till it changed to mist. From the one facing the river could be seen its tranquil surface, motionless as though all that sheet of water had been suddenly changed to stone; near El Moral were four or five low sand-hills called appropriately Los Arenales, which, struck by the last rays of the setting sun, gleamed like mighty topazes. Not the slightest sound disturbed the silence of the boudoir, which at that moment, by reason of its gloom and loneliness, was like a great confessional.
For a long hour the young woman had been communing with the Beloved of her heart, and no earthly thought had made its way into her enraptured spirit. Never had she felt herself so abstracted and lifted above the flesh, above mundane interests. All the life of her body had gone to her heart, which beat with unwonted violence. She kept her eyes closed. After she had repeated all the prayers that she could remember, some of them composed purposely for her, she allowed her lips to rest, and abandoned herself to a delicious meditation in which her imagination wandered away as if in a boundless field enamelled with flowers. Both her confessor and her books of devotion counselled her to think often on the bloody passion and death of the Redeemer, and so she had done until she was filled with grief and burdened with tears. In her mind she saw that agonized, grief-stricken face of Jesus nailed upon the cross, those dying eyes lifted, wherein still burned the eternal love and compassion of a God. When she saw him going toward Calvary, laden with the heavy cross and stumbling, once, again, and yet again, overcome by fatigue, not finding in the bloodthirsty faces of those who surrounded him one look of sympathy, she felt her throat contract and her breast choke with sobs. She had been present at all the agonies of Christ, one after the other, from the memorable night in the garden until the moment when he closed his eyes forever between the two thieves, the victim of the perfidy of men. The sublime words of pardon which he uttered as he died rang in her ears like a promise of heaven and a hope of seeing him once more, haloed with glory, in the other life.
But at this moment her thought shunned the death scenes. Around her floated smiling, glorious forms, which filled her with a delicious joy such as she had but few times experienced before, accompanied by an unspeakable physical comfort. It seemed to her that she felt a most delicious sensation of warmth radiating from her heart even to her hands and feet, as though she were plunged in a bath of warm milk. At the same time soft fragrant hands held her eyelids closed, while a gentle breeze cooled her brow. The boudoir in the tower was filled with vague, subtle sounds, which her imagination transformed into mysterious harmonies. She was so beside herself that she could not tell whether she was in reality awake, although she had possession of all her faculties. Little by little she began to lose her power of volition; she tried to open her eyes and could not; she tried to separate her hands, which she kept folded, and she had no better success. A superior power held her in its sway, but so gently that for nothing in the world would she have broken those bands; it was a celestial swooning of her whole being, which carried her away into ecstasies such as she had never known before. Tears streamed down over her face like an exquisite ichor, bathing her lips with sweetness, and flowing from her lips into the very centre of her being, filling her heart as with a most gentle unction, as with a mighty perfume. This ichor intoxicated her and strengthened her at once, and she did not weary of drinking it. Its salubrious strength penetrated her emaciated body, bestowing on it an incomprehensible force. She entered into a life full and divine, where no pains existed; into an ecstatic lethargy full of soft delight, from which were born a throng of vague longings, like flowers opening for an instant and shedding perfume from their calyxes. The longings of her soul likewise spread and were quenched in the immense joy which took hold of her.
While her body was sleeping in this sweet hallucination of the senses, her mind was attent with a marvellous activity. Her memory was bathed in brilliancy, and her imagination, in precipitate flight, darted out into the universe. Instead of meditating on the death of the Lord, she thought with deep delight about his adorable life, and, completely enchanted, she reviewed all its occurrences, representing them with as much accuracy as though she had really been present at the time. First, she beheld Jesus at his birth in the grotto near Bethlehem, embracing with his sweet arms the Virgin's neck, and smiling at the shepherds and the Magi, who from far-distant countries came to adore him. She beheld him secretly transported to Egypt, crossing the deserts of Arabia, sleeping on his mother's lap under some tree or in the depths of some cavern. Then she found him in the porticos of the Temple of Jerusalem, seated in the midst of the doctors, though he was only twelve years of age, with his long golden hair curling in ringlets over his shoulders, and his white tunic falling in graceful folds till it hid his feet, astonishing them all by his more than human beauty as well as by the profound wisdom of his words. She contemplated him in his modest dwelling in Nazareth in the peace of an obscure and contemplative life, nourishing his divine spirit with the sublime truths which the Eternal Father vouchsafed him during his frequent solitary walks. Then she was present at his first ministrations through Galilee, and at the first miracle, with which he manifested his infinite power at the wedding of Cana. She accompanied him to Capernaum when, as he stood in a fishing-boat gently rocking on the waves, he addressed to the multitude gathered on the shore his discourse, clearer than the sun which shone upon them, sweeter than the evening breeze. She returned with him to Nazareth, where his stubborn, ungrateful countrymen were unmoved by his gentleness and power of speech and rejected him. She went to Bethany, where her name-saint Mary Magdalene and Martha her sister had the blessedness of giving him hospitality, and the former of sitting long at his feet and listening to his words. She saw him everywhere serene and beautiful, as he is represented by tradition, with his blue eyes of wonderful sweetness, his skin rosy and transparent, his beard pointed, and his golden hair parted in the middle and falling in waves on his shoulders. The numerous pictures which she had seen, not only of his divine person, but of the country where his ministrations had taken place, united to her powerful imagination, carried her back to the time of the Redeemer's life more vividly than one could conceive. But where her imagination most revelled was in seeing his entrance into Jerusalem followed by a multitude carried away by enthusiasm, amid hosannas and shouts of welcome; then his beautiful face, which almost disappeared amid the foliage of the palm-branches, assumed an expression of divinity, his eyes so gentle flashed with the effulgence of omnipotence, and he spread out his hands toward the city, granting it pardon in advance for its barbarous deicide. Oh, how her soul delighted in this fine, poetic scene where Jesus was given on earth a little of the adoration which was his due! If she had been in those happy places, she would have taken part in the cortege of the King of kings, and raised her voice in acclamation. The union in him of power and humility, of force and gentleness, filled her with enthusiasm and admiration.
She knew, however, that Jesus' triumphal entrance into Jerusalem was repeated daily in a mystic sense; that the divine Lord takes more pleasure in entering into the soul of his elect than into the ungrateful daughter of Zion; that love was efficacious against the absolute master of all things, and took pleasure in receiving whoever professed his name. But for this it was necessary to love him much, to love him in such a manner as to prefer pain and torment coming from his hand to the most exquisite delight of earth, to love him even to fainting and dying in his presence and falling prone at his feet under the majesty of his gaze; it was necessary to spend long hours watching for him in the depths of the sky, in the calm of the eventide, in the beauty of flowers, of birds, and of all creatures, at the bedside of the sick and dying, in the midst of sorrows and penances; it was necessary to let the hours pass in ecstatic prayer, feeling the tears stealing down, and the cheeks on fire; it was necessary to be obedient to all men, the humble servant of all men, to turn the mind from accepting all favors, even from one's parents, and to despise one's self, to be the beloved of Jesus. Thus, thus she loved him! How many hours of the day and night she had spent thinking of him! How many tears she had shed for his sake! How many times in the silence of the night had her soul gone forth, fired with sickness of love, like the bride of the mystic Song of Solomon, in search for the Lord and Master of her heart! And when she had, in this manner, sought for him, kindled with amorous yearning, she never failed to find him. On one occasion, having spent the whole day ministering to the sick in the hospital, she had felt at the hour of retiring such keen delight in her soul and body that she almost fell ¡n a swoon. When she humbled herself before any one, she felt an exquisite delight; in crucifying her flesh with sharp cruelties she had felt more pleasure than the world with its harassing joys had ever given. In this way Jesus began to return a thousand-fold the love which she professed for him, transforming in her case into comfort what to others was pain and penance.
This last consideration pierced so sharply into her spirit that it caused her to indulge in an infinitude of thanksgivings and blessings, which remained locked in her heart without issuing from her lips. Her lips were silent, motionless as those of the sphynx; for she did not dare to reproduce by the medium of sounds the ineffable thoughts that passed through her mind. She heard within herself a thousand sweet voices speaking to her, but she could not understand what they said; she felt as though she were lifted up by gentle arms which ceaselessly lavished caresses upon her, and she was conscious, though not by visual proof, of the presence of a supernatural being, consoling her with its power. Then she became suddenly convinced that the Lord loved her; she saw clearly with the eyes of the Spirit that the Bridegroom listened to the voice of the bride, and had no deeper desire than to take her to himself, to pour out upon her all riches and joys forevermore. Even now he was near at hand; she felt him at her side, and she was melted with desire to look upon him; but he showed himself not; he refused to yield to her warm, affectionate entreaties. As one who shows a dainty to a child and then hides it, and again brings it forth and once more hides it in order to stir his appetite, so the heavenly Bridegroom kept her in suspense and ravishment, kindling more and more her desire. The impassioned stanza of San Juan de la Cruz came into her mind:—
| "Ay! who else has power to mend me! |
| Prithee deign to make my humble heart thy dwelling; |
| I beseech thee now to send me |
| Faithful angels not incapable of telling |
| Truly all the longing in me welling!"[38] |
And a thousand times she repeated it mentally, with a sublime solicitude, in which it seemed as though her soul were going to burst forth through her lips. But her lips remained speechless; she wished to cry out, to break into praises of Jesus, to give vent to the passionate impulses of her breast, and it was impossible. She felt a strange oppression, torturing her with celestial death, which she would not exchange for a hundred lives.
A keen, eager, resistless desire suddenly took possession of her heart. Jesus, the King of souls, had granted to more than one favors which were terrible by their very grandeur and incomprehensibility. He had appeared to Saint Isabel after her prodigious deeds of charity and penance, and had said, "Isabel, if thou art willing to be mine, I also am willing to be thine and will never leave thee." Frequently he had come to Saint Catalina of Siena in her convent cell, had conversed with her, had walked with and many times had helped her offer up her prayers. He had taken Saint Teresa in his arms so that she could not move, and had lavished caresses and kisses upon her. If she might only win such regalement! Scarcely had this overweening thought been born in her mind before she was filled with fear, and felt such shame that she would gladly have had the earth open and swallow her up. "Oh, no, my God! Who am I to receive such a favor, granted only to the martyrs of charity and the seraphic virgins who shine in heaven like bright stars. Pardon me, Jesus mine, pardon me!"
But her audacious thought would not depart from her mind; it kept following her in spite of her strongest efforts to shake it off. She was unworthy of such glory, she knew well, but her yearning was the child of the love with which the divine Jesus had filled her heart to overflowing; thus not she but Jesus himself was the author of this desire. If he had not kindled in her his celestial love, and had not begun to pour out upon her favors as sweet as they were undeserved, such an absurd idea would never have entered her head. No; she asked not so great a grace, so great a consolation; it was enough for her that Jesus was willing to give himself to her, that she had a few particles of his immortal love. She should consider herself the most blessed among the virgin daughters of heaven, if at the end of long years of prayer and penance, of bitterness and tribulations, Jesus should allow her once only to touch her lips to his divine face. "O Jesus mine, is it sinful to ask this? Could such a base worm as I ever deserve a joy so infinite?"
She opened her eyes. Jesus, with his golden aureole shining amid the shadows, as it reflected the last melancholy light that came through the window, lifted his hands towards her, at the same time fastening upon her a profound, sweet gaze. Through her veins ran a sensation of chill, as though she were near to death; but instantly this was supplanted by another of such intense heat that it made the sweat start from all the pores of her body. She comprehended vaguely that an adorable mystery was taking place in her presence, and a holy fear seized her. The boudoir was wrapt in shadow: the windows seemed like great, colorless eyes gazing through the walls. A sweet, languid delectation took possession of her whole being, and overwhelmed her with bliss. Her fear vanished. She was filled with the certainty that she was loved by Jesus, that she was the bride-elect of a God. Tenderness, worship, joy, welled up in her bosom, and she could not take her eyes from the eyes of the Lord, drinking from them the mysterious, ineffable delight of glory.
Once more the desire came back to her mind. This time she promulgated it with words, the warm breath of which stole through her hands crossed before her face.
"Jesus mine, wouldst thou permit thy servant to touch her lips to thy divine person?"
Jesus bent forward still more graciously. Maria felt her hair stand on end, and her heart wanted to leap from her breast. His voice like music penetrated into the soul of the young girl, who believed that she was dead and translated to heaven.
Jesus had said,—
"Arise, my beloved, my fair one, and come."
"Lord, I am not worthy!" exclaimed Maria, with a cry at once of anguish and of joy.
Again Jesus said,—
"Thou art all beautiful, my beloved; there is no blemish in thee."
"My Jesus, thee I love above all things!"
"My dove, show me thy face, let thy voice sound in mine ears, for thy voice is sweet, and thy face is beautiful," replied Jesus, bending still nearer.
Then the girl, carried away by glory and enthusiasm, threw her arms about the knees of the Lord, and flooded them with her tears, saying, between her sobs, like the bride in the sacred book,—
"My soul melted within me when my beloved spake."
And little by little, her arms clinging to the body of Jesus, stole slowly, slowly upwards, till they were fastened around his neck. Her breath failed her, and she felt her memory, her imagination, and all her powers give way, fading into an immense, eager bliss, in which her whole being was plunged as in the purest ether. Her face drew near the Lord's. She touched with her cheeks the cheeks of the Bridegroom; she put her lips to the whiteness of his brow, to the effulgence of his eyes, to the coral of his lips.
And in the chief room of the tower, silent, buried in darkness, was long heard the sound of sobs and subdued kisses. At last, a human body, the body of the Señorita de Elorza, senseless, fell heavily at full length upon the floor. Genoveva, when she came in with a light, found her there still in the swoon, with eyes open and fixed, reflecting in her face a celestial joy.