"And what arrangements have you made about your house?... Are you going to dismiss the servants?"

"All except Pepe, the gardener, and César, the inside man."

"Have you packed yet?"

"No; I shall have time this afternoon and to-morrow morning."

"And your calls?"

"Really, Don Mariano, the only people with whom I am intimate are you here.... Three or four other calls, and I am done.... I shall send cards to the rest.... What I am most sorry about is, to leave the improvements in my garden unfinished, and the two pavilions in the corners just begun...."

"Don't be troubled about that, I will attend to it.... I will attend to it.... I will attend to it...."

He could say no more. Emotion choked him. Those pavilions had been Maria's idea before the engagement was broken, and this recollection brought in its train many others, all painful, in which his wife, his daughter, and Ricardo were mingled, bringing before his eyes the terrible misfortunes which he had recently suffered. He hastily arose and left the room.

"Then, sir," he said to himself tearfully, "you must accept the world and humanity as they are.... This girl whom I believed to be so tender-hearted.... What is to be done about it?... In woman exists only one true affection.... Can it possibly be that this child is in love with some one?"

Ricardo had no reason to be indignant at such a thought. But it is certain that he was indignant, and not a little. He tried to drive it away as an absurdity, and succeeded only in convincing himself that, not only it would not be an absurdity, but would not even be strange. But as he was downcast, indignation very soon gave way to sadness; deep, painful sadness.

"Aren't you sorry that I am going away?" he asked, with a sort of melancholy smile creeping over his face.

"Not if it is your pleasure to go...." replied the girl, not lifting her head.

His sadness and depression kept increasing. He felt a cruel desire to weep. He dared not say a word to Marta, lest she should notice his emotion. Besides, what reason had he to speak to her?... Such an unfeeling child!

He found himself in one of those moments of dejection in which everything appears clad in black, and he took a certain bitter delight in it; moment, in which one (if the expression be permissible) wallows voluptuously in sadness, endeavoring to add to it by unhappy recollections and expectations. He dropped his head on the pillow of the sofa, and shut his eyes, as though he were meditating. Our hero had been meditating deeply, deeply, for many hours. His nerves had been on the strain for a long time, and he began to feel the attack of a languor akin to faintness. He lifted his head a little, to prove to himself that he still had the power of motion, and he looked once more at Martita, who was still in the same position; but very soon he let it fall again. It seemed to him as if he were seized against his will, and kept lying there, without the possibility of moving a finger. He still had his eyes open, but they were as heavy as if the lids had been made of lead. At last he closed them, and fell asleep. That is, we cannot say that he slept, or only napped. It is certain, however, that the Marqués de Peñalta, thus stretched out, with eyes closed, seemed to be asleep, and his face looked so pale, there were such dark rings under his eyes, and his whole appearance was so lifeless that it inspired alarm.

"Now he gives her the benediction ... now ... now."

And at the same instant Don Maximo appeared in the door of the room, and said,—

"Whom is she marrying?"

"Jesus Christ! Come and see the ceremony!"

He desired to arise, but could not. Then the physician said,—

"Well, since you cannot move, I will go into the church, to see if I can persuade the people to stand aside a little so that you may see from here."

And in fact, he soon perceived that the congregation was making a sufficiently wide passage from the grating, so that he could see afar away, over the steps of the great altar, Maria's proud figure in bridal array. At her side stood another little human figure holding her by the hand. The bishop was giving them his blessing. It was no more Jesus Christ than it was a pumpkin! The person whom Maria was marrying was neither more nor less than Manolito Lopez, that most impertinent and uncongenial of urchins! He was like one who saw a vision! Could it be possible that a girl so beautiful and wise, would unite herself to this cub and leave him, who in every respect was a man abandoned to despair? The truth is, he had reason for serious and painful reflections. But just as he was getting deeper and deeper involved in them, behold the same Maria enters the room in the garb of a San Bernardo nun, and coming directly to him said, sweetly smiling,—

"Art thou sad because I marry?"

"Why should I not be?"

"Fool," says the young woman, coming still closer, "though I am wedded to Jesus Christ, yet I love thee the same as before."

Then Ricardo began to sigh and groan.

"Come, Ricardo mio, don't talk nonsense. How could I love this urchin?"

"Have you not just married him?"

"You must be dreaming; don't say any more absurd things.... Wake up, man—wake up ... or wait a little, I am going to wake you. But see in what a sweet way!"

And in fact, the beautiful nun came even closer still, and took his face between her dainty hands with an affectionate gesture. Then she brought her own close to his slowly, and gave him a warm and prolonged kiss on the brow.

Oh! wonderful chance! Ricardo noticed with amazement, that just as she gave him the caress, Maria's face had suddenly changed into Marta's. Yes; it was her bright black eyes; her fresh rosy cheeks; her dark hair falling in ringlets around her brow. But her face seemed so sad and mournful that he could not do less than cry,—

"Marta, Marta! what ails thee?"

And the very cry that he made awoke him.

Marta still sat in the low chair beside the window, apparently absorbed in her work. And nevertheless, the young man, though awake, was sure that he had cried out. All that had passed was a dream; but neither the cry nor the warm, moist lips which he felt imprinted on his brow were imaginary; though he were killed, he could not be convinced of it.

What was it? What had passed?

He remained some instants looking at Martita, while he slowly collected his ideas. At last he decided to speak to her. The girl lifted her face which was flushed and disturbed.

"Did I not just cry out?"

"No.... I heard nothing."

Ricardo looked at her steadily and with surprise: "Why was that girl blushing so?"

"I was asleep, but I would take my oath that I cried out ... and I would also take my oath—such a strange thing!—that you gave me a kiss."

Marta's color, when she heard these words, suddenly changed from rosy to pale, betraying a profound consternation. Her tremulous hands could not hold her crochet work, and dropped it in her lap. At the same time her eyes rested on Ricardo with such an expression of fear, of tenderness, of supplication, of dismay, that he felt a strong shock, like that caused by an electric discharge.

It was the same look—the same that he had just seen in his dream.

Ah, yes; he saw all; he understood all.

He sprang up hastily from the sofa, and bringing his face close to Marta's, said to her in sweet, affectionate tones, but with innocent petulance,—

"Don't deny it, Martita; you just gave me a kiss!"

The girl raised her hands to her face, and broke into a passion of tears. A thousand emotions of fear, of penitence, of affection, of doubt, of joy, of anxiety, instantly crossed the heart of the young marquis who bent his knee before her, exclaiming in accents of emotion,—

"Marta, for God's sake, forgive my stupidity.... I am a fool!... I just dreamed such sad things, and they suddenly all ended so well!... I could not resign myself to let happiness escape so ... an absurd idea came into my head, inspired by the very idea of seeing it realized.... But no ... no! I cannot be happy on earth.... I was born to be unfortunate.... Luckily I shall die early, like my father ... and like my mother.... Forgive me that momentary folly, and don't weep.... Do you want to know what I was dreaming?... I am going to tell you, because perhaps it will be the last time that you will see me.... I dreamed ... I dreamed, Marta, that you loved me."

The girl opened her hands a little, and ejaculated with a certain wrathful, but adorable intonation these words, which were immediately cut short by sobs,—

"You dreamed the truth, ingrato!"

Marta listened. Tremulous, confused, she hid her head in her lover's breast, shedding a flood of tears. Ricardo pressed her closer and closer to his heart without wearying of repeating the same phrase,—the most beautiful phrase that God ever suggested to man. Once the girl raised her head to ask in low and tremulous voice,—

"You will not go now, will you?"

Little desire had Ricardo at that moment to go away! Not for all that was precious in earth and in heaven would he go away. His spirit did not dare to pass by even the window-panes, fearful lest it should lose the bliss in which it was bathed. Nevertheless, he had sufficient self-control to tear himself away a moment and rush to the door, crying,—

"Don Mariano! Don Mariano!"

The Señor de Elorza, alarmed, nervous as he had been for some time, came in haste, fearing some new misfortune. Ricardo's face, wherein shone the deep emotion which overmastered him, was not calculated to calm any one. What was the matter? Why did they call him?

"Don Mariano," said the young man, and his voice stuck in his throat.... "I have the honor of asking the hand of your daughter Marta."

"You will not abandon me, will you, my children?" entreated the venerable man, lifting his noble, manly face bathed in tears.

Ricardo pressed his hand more warmly. Marta clung to his neck more fondly.

There were a few moments of silence, during which all the angels of heaven swept through the room, which was bathed in the morning sun, and gazed with radiant eyes of joy upon that interesting group. But now Martita lifts her face a little from her father's breast, and, smiling through her tears, asks her lover coyly: "Will you dine with us to-day, Ricardo?"

"Yes, preciosa mia," replied the young marquis, falling on his knees, and kissing the girl's hands again and again; "I will to-day, and to-morrow, and every day forever!"

Marta hid her face again on the paternal breast! Her heart was so full of joy! The three shed tears in silence; but what sweet tears!

O eternal God, who dwellest in the hearts of the good! are they perhaps less pleasing to Thee than the mystic colloquies of the Convent of San Bernardo?

THE END.

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