OUR way that afternoon lay towards the cottage of Tonet, where some refreshment was prepared for us. This Tonet, a regular Moor according to his eyes, his complexion, and his teeth, was a wonder at preparing paellas and playing on the flute. Whenever it occurred to us to go and visit him, he received us with the gravity and courtesy of a feudal señor. Scarcely opening his lips, he made himself understood to his wife and children by signs, had chairs brought for us under the arbor, and soon afterwards he used to serve us figs, dates, chufas, and fresh cinnamon cakes, with which his pantry was always provided. When we had let him know we were coming, as on the present occasion, he offered us ice cream, rich with vanilla and filberts. He was a meek, sad man, seeming careless of all things. He was never joyful, but liked to see joyousness in others. On Sundays and on many afternoons when his work was done early, he would come out and sit down alone in front of the cottage and play softly for a while on his flute. He did not do it for his own pleasure; it was a lure, nothing more. Little by little he drew to his own cottage the young people from all the cottages round about, and a dance was improvised. His eldest son, a boy of fourteen years, played on the taboret and was almost as grave and silent as he. Both passed hours, one blowing and the other beating his instrument, serious, melancholy, with eyes fixed on space, and heeding neither much nor little the noisy dance that their music evoked.
Sabas, who was of the party this afternoon, marched abreast with me as we were making our way across the fields of high Indian corn, already bursting into ears. The first subject that he proposed for my consideration, sucking his pipe and spitting at regular intervals, was of a nature essentially critical. Why did his brother-in-law persist in keeping up this estate with so little of it under cultivation, and at so much expense, when by so little effort it could be made productive? Every one of the constituent elements of this proposition was separately examined by a rigidly mathematical method. To do so he formulated in the first place certain definitions, clear, distinct, and luminous. What is an estate for recreation? What is a productive estate? What is an estate of combined pleasure and utility? After this he laid down certain axioms as profound as they were indisputable. All that is productive ought to produce. To attain an end one ought to employ means. Man is not alone in the world, and ought to consider his family. Vanity should not influence human actions. One-sided propositions immediately followed with their premises and corollaries; then he would go on to the end gently, but with invincible logic to prove the proposition on which hung the following corollary: Emilio is an active and enterprising man, but at the same time a careless fellow.
Satisfied, with good reason, by the method and intuition and the logic wherewith the Supreme Being had so highly favored him, Sabas continued sucking and spitting with dizzying rapidity. The second subject which this lucid soul attacked this afternoon directly concerned me.
"Come, tell us, Ribot, have you never thought of getting married?" he asked me after a long pause, taking out his pipe and fixing a scrutinizing gaze upon me.
I confess I felt disturbed. I understood that the depths of my soul were next to be sounded, and trembled, perceiving that this transcendent critic was disposed to exercise his scalpel on me.
"Tss! Sailors think little of that. Our life is incompatible with family pleasures."
"Sailors, when they arrive at a certain comfortable condition and have reached an independent position like you, have the right to retire peacefully and enjoy a comfortable life," he replied with the gravity and firmness which marked every utterance that came out of his mouth.
How did he know that I had reached an independent position? Solely by his marvellous intuition, for I had given nobody an account of the state of my affairs. I admired such tremendous penetration from the bottom of my heart, and was humbly disposed to find out how much more he knew about me.
Sabas meditated several minutes. And while he meditated, sucking his pipe, his cheeks sunk in a supernatural manner. The energy that he expended upon that tobacco smoke was such that I was persuaded he must be swallowing it.
At the same time the intensity of his reflections influenced in like manner the secretion of his salivary glands.
"Why should you not marry my cousin Isabelita?" he said to me suddenly, with that brusque and peremptory accent which characterizes men who rule their kind by their power of thought.
Isabelita was walking on with Matilde in front of us. I grew pale, fearing she might have heard these serious words, and frightened and confused, murmured some incoherent words.
"Yes," proceeded the critic, "my cousin is a very nice girl, very modest, and more, she admires you extremely."
"Admires me!" I exclaimed, amazed. "And for what does she admire me?" I asked candidly.
Sabas laughed noisily, coughed, and got rid of his nicotine.
"She will tell you that when you are alone with her, hand in hand."
"You do not understand me," I returned, nettled. "What I wish to say is that I do not see anything in myself to be admired by anybody. And as for Isabelita, I have always believed that she had dedicated all of her admiration to Castell."
"That is nothing special. A man with eight million pesetas is an admirable being. But the admiration, in this case, will not bring any practical result. All the world knows that Castell keeps the mother of his children, and no young lady of good family thinks of him. With you the case is different; it would be possible for it to be quickly carried to a satisfactory solution; and my opinion is that you ought to leave your steamboat and try at once for this elegant craft. Isabelita is sensible, modest, well-educated, diligent; she is accustomed to the strict economy of a house where they turn a dollar over a hundred times before parting with it; an only child, and heiress of all her father's money. And my Uncle Retamoso owns more than people imagine. Who ever can tell exactly how much money a Galician has? Probably while he lives you would not have a right of five centimes; but what does that matter to you? In the first years of marriage you can keep yourself well enough on your capital, and when necessities grow greater, and certain additional things become necessary, you can make a raise on your prospects as his son-in-law, enough to carry you over until a certain joyful event——"
Other wise reflections poured like busy and knowing bees from the mouth of that extraordinary man. In my life seemed gathered together all the loose ends of existence, all its aims fulfilled, and the quintessence of human relations extracted.
While my future was thus being discussed, although I found myself embarrassed by the new perspective offered to my view, I had, none the less, enough largeness of mind to admire the logic of his discourse, his surprising wealth of figures, richness of diction, turns of expression, subtle and logical distinctions, and the perfect links of his chain of reasoning. The breathing world, I believe, held no secrets from this man, and the mechanism of his reasoning worked with the exactness of a chronometer.
When we reached the cottage and were seated to partake of the refreshment that had been prepared for us, Emilio, who was near me, asked me in an undertone:
"Then it is decided that you are going to leave us to-morrow?"
"There is no help for it. The boat is due any moment now."
"What a pity!" he exclaimed in a melancholy tone; and placing one hand affectionately on my shoulder he added: "Do you know, you rascal, that we are getting used to you!"
I was moved by his words, and more yet by the cloud of sadness that darkened his cheerful, sympathetic face. I kept silence. He did the same. Throwing himself back in his chair, he remained unlike himself, thoughtful and melancholy. At last he turned to me and said, almost in my ear:
"If you would take my advice you would give up your sea-faring life, which, say what you will, is a little risky, and marry and settle down. Why be always alone? Do you never think of old age, and how sad it would be to pass the last years of your life in the power of self-seekers, without children to make bright your home, without a wife who of herself brings order and comfort?"
"But I am an old fellow already," I answered smiling, but sad in the depths of my soul, "I am thirty-six years old."
"That is a good age for a man. And then, by your looks and strength and suppleness, you are only a boy. I know," he added, casting a mischievous glance towards the place where Isabelita was, "a girl of eighteen Aprils who would marry you in preference to all the young bucks of the city."
"Bah! this girl would laugh if you should propose to her a man double her age."
"Don't you believe it! Because you know it already, I will tell you in confidence that Isabelita admires you."
"But, man——"
"No, no. I know particularly that she admires you."
The thing was serious. This unexpected admiration made me anxious and timid. I could not see my face in a mirror, because there was none there; but a glance at my shaggy, brown hands and at my feet, neither small nor especially well-shod, made me unable to divine the nature or extent of my charms.
Well, well, the least that a man can do when, with reason or without, he finds himself admired by a girl, is to pass her the plate of olives and ask her if she likes them. This is exactly what I did a little after I had had it brought to my notice that I had fascinated Retamoso's daughter. She pricked one with her fork, and at once her lovely face was covered with blushes, as if she had pricked my heart. I was not sure, but I figured that the next thing after this was to serve her a bit of sausage. The same blushes dyed her brow for this hash as for the olives. The consecutive repetition of this physiological phenomenon filled my spirit with alarm. My gallant sentiments grew so animated that I did not stop offering her entertainment at very short intervals for some time. I think that if she had taken all I offered her that afternoon, medicine would have been powerless to counteract the effects of my attention, and that angelical being would have spread her wings for heaven, the victim of an indigestion.
Once started on the downward path of soft nothings, I did not hesitate to sit down beside her and let her know that she had wonderful eyes, indescribable; cheeks that were smooth, rose-colored, indescribable; hands little and shapely and charming and—also indescribable. The knowledge of these facts caused her profound surprise, to judge by the look of incredulity that appeared upon her countenance. She told me that truly I knew very well how to go on, and that only a rascal of a sailor, accustomed to flatter women all along the coast, could find such a proceeding possible. Saying this, she grew redder than a cherry.
The conversation went on for some time in this sweet and pleasant fashion, as if we were playing at fencing in a comedy, and while it lasted the blood ebbed and flowed constantly in the face of Isabelita. I outdid myself, as the critics say of bad actors in the journals; that is, I was jolly, smart, full of chaff, and absolutely stupid. Our chat attracted the attention of the rest, and I could see that they looked at us with curiosity and glanced mischievously at one another.
I don't know now what fatuity made me do it, but I begged Tonet to play on his flute, and I proposed that, when the company came, we should dance together. She accepted readily, and laughed a good deal (was it at me?) when we were thus matched. I invited Isabelita, that's sure, and I began jumping about with her like a rattle-pated student, and I was not long in discovering that in a little while everybody was watching us attentively. My agitation was not calmed by this. However, I went on hopping about at a great rate, while everybody applauded, crying vivas, and looking at us with laughing eyes. Only the silent Tonet and his immobile son fixed theirs upon us as grave and melancholy as if they wished to remind us of the nothingness of all things human, and the brevity of existence.
Cristina, who until then had been quiet, and on whose brow I could see the lines marked by the scene of the morning, now began quickly to wake up a bit. Her face was so lively that everybody admired it. They had not seen her like that in years. Doña Amparo declared that since she was a little girl, when her playfulness and tricks had caused her mother more than one start, Cristina had not frolicked in such fashion. We encouraged her, applauded her, threw her chufas and almonds until she began to show a wish to dance also. Emilio and her mother would not let her, on account of her condition. But nonsense and witticisms kept on issuing from her mouth, splitting everybody's sides with laughter. She had a lively wit, and she got her words off with a brusque naturalness that gave them a great effect. Some things that she said seemed to me a little dashing, but I admired her so much that I did not mind them. When anyone talks a great deal of nonsense, it is almost impossible to keep within strictly prudent limits.
"This is all right," said Sabas in my ear, seating himself beside me. "Now you have a chance to strike while the iron is hot. Get in with my uncle. Talk to him about the subject that will butter your bread."
I laughed, but took no further notice. I went on paying court to Isabelita with everybody's good will. I mistake—Doña Clara looked at us now and then with eyes whose expression was a trifle more severe than usual, and she sniffed her Roman nose when we chanced to take a little luncheon of chufas. I do not know but I may be wrong, but two or three times I had a notion that I heard her murmur the English word, "Shocking!" This would have been nothing strange, for in difficult places this illustrious matron preferred the Anglo-Saxon language to her native idiom. That which I can fearlessly affirm, and nobody will contradict, is that I saw her eat more than a kilo of chocolates, and that this operation, however vulgar in itself, did not make her lose one atom of her majesty.
The hour arrived for us to go back to the house for our carriages, to return to the city. But at the moment of starting to walk, Cristina felt very badly. I saw that she grew pale and put her hand several times to her head and heart. The sal-volatile of Doña Amparo was of no avail; neither was the orange-flower water nor the Melisa water, nor other remedies that, like faithful friends, accompanied this nervous lady everywhere. Cristina begged us to leave her alone a moment with Tonet's wife, who would bring her a cup of tila. A quarter of an hour later she came out of the cottage, serene, but with reddened eyes. The nervous crisis had ended in tears.
The sun had already disappeared when we started on our walk through the fields of Indian corn and the little fruit orchards. Calming my dashing gallantry and stifling the gush of vanity that had burst forth in my spirit at the supposed admiration of Isabelita, I remained silent and sad. As I was walking apart in company with her and Matilde, I did my utmost to hide it; but seeing that this was impossible, and fearing that they would notice my mood, I made a feint for the purpose of falling back to walk alone. I was displeased with myself. The gallantry of that afternoon seemed to me a treason to my true sentiment, to the sweet and delicate love that I guarded like a treasure in the depth of my heart. I could not but think with disgust that I had descended to the most trivial cheapness. I was afraid, with good reason, that Cristina, whose regard and esteem for me had seemed increasing, would despise me from that hour, and this thought hurt me deeply.
Since her indisposition she had not turned towards me or looked at me, nor spoken a word to me. Luck made it so that she could not help speaking. She had forgotten her watch and left it in the cottage and wished to go back for it. I quickly anticipated her. When I returned with it, she waited for me, a little apart from the others.
"Thank you," she said, with a hard, cold face, and tried to rejoin the rest.
Whoever has experienced the pangs of love will believe me when I say that that gloomy countenance gave me inexpressible joy.
"Listen to me a moment, Cristina; I have something to say." I spoke with a voice not quite under control.
"You may say it," she replied, looking over my head at the horizon, and in a glacial tone that, for a like reason, warmed instead of chilling me.
"I wish to beg advice of you and I scarcely dare. Did you notice that this afternoon I paid a little more attention to your Cousin Isabelita, as if I were courting her?"
"No. I have noticed nothing," she answered, more sharply still.
"Because this is the truth—and I venture to say it, it is only because of the great difference in age between us—I only did it because Isabelita admires me."
She gazed at me stupefied, as if she suspected that I had gone mad.
"At least this is what I have been informed in turn by Sabas and Emilio."
"What idiots!" she exclaimed, her lips smiling, understanding my meaning. "They are capable of making sport of everything. Fortunately you are a man of sense, and take no stock in such nonsense; and if not, you would stop at my poor cousin."
"In this case, I have, after all, taken certain steps towards winning her good will, and before going farther I wish to obtain your approval."
"My approval!" she exclaimed, agitated, and with a choking voice. "But what need have you of my approval? I have no part in the matter. Beg it of her parents."
"Before begging it of her parents I desire it from you. I know that you have no direct interest in the matter, but it has to do with your cousin, of whom you appear to think a good deal, who has distinguished me with her esteem, however little merited. Nobody can give me true counsel in this case better than you; so I beg it of you, in the name of our good friendship, as a favor which I shall appreciate all the days of my life."
She remained silent for some time.
We walked on together through the high-growing corn which made even dimmer the fading twilight.
I watched her out of the corner of my eye, and it seemed to me that I could detect slight, almost imperceptible, changes sweep over her face. Soon her brow contracted and her lips moved several times before a sound escaped them. At last she said in a trembling voice:
"It makes me very happy that you have made your choice at last. Men ought not to live alone, and especially those who, like you, have an affectionate, indulgent temperament, and know how to appreciate the delicate heart of a woman. Isabelita is almost a child; I can tell you little about her character. You will take it upon yourself to form her. But I can assure you that she knows how to fulfil the duties of a housewife. She is industrious, careful, economical; and under these qualities are hid others that will show themselves. She is very pretty, too."
"You have forgotten the one which makes her dearest and most attractive to me."
"What?"
"That of being your cousin."
Her beautiful face darkened; she frowned and replied in a sharp tone:
"If you do not care for my cousin for herself, if you would take her as a toy to distract you from other illusions, or, which would be worse, to follow and nourish them in secret, you would commit a great sin; and I should in such case advise you not to think of her, but to leave her in peace."
Uttering these words, she hastened on and joined the others, leaving me alone.
When we got into the carriages to return to the city, I was melancholy, too wrapped up in serious meditations to go on playing the boy with Isabelita. Under pretext of a headache I found a place alone at the back, and to support my pretext I did not go up to Martí's house, but retired to my hotel.
At eight o'clock in the morning I heard the cheerful voice of Emilio, who came into my quarters like a hurricane, threw open the windows, and sat down on my bed.
"You can't go to-morrow, Captain!" he cried, laughing, and pulling my beard to finish waking me.
"Why?" I asked sleepily.
"Because to-morrow you are going to be god-father to a little girl more beautiful than the morning star."
"What! Cristina——?"
"Yes; Cristina was taken ill after you left us. We thought that it was to be like her afternoon indisposition; but she, who ought to know, begged us to send for the woman she had engaged for the case. I was afraid she might not succeed, and sent for the doctor; but Cristina would not consent that he should come into her room. When the woman took charge of her, the poor—Oh, what courage, what suffering, Captain! Not a groan, not a moan. I walked about dead, torn to pieces, praying God that she would scream. I don't understand suffering without a sound. I am appalled by temperaments like Cristina's, that not one complaint escapes in the worst of pains. At two o'clock in the morning my brave little woman came through her trouble, making me father of the prettiest, healthiest, cleverest little one the sun of Valencia ever shone on. I'm sure of it, although I have not yet seen it."
He got up from the bed, took several turns in the room, came back and sat down, got up again, and went through a series of evolutions that showed the delightful agitation of his spirit. I felt deeply moved too, and congratulated him with hearty words. When he stopped at last, I asked him:
"So you do me the honor of being god-father?"
"It will give me great pleasure if you will accept. To tell the truth, I thought first of Castell. You don't mind, do you? Enrique is more than a friend and brother to me. It would be the natural thing. But I will tell you privately, Cristina opposed it. Religious scruples, do you see? Enrique professes such upsetting ideas and declares them with such excessive frankness, the ladies cannot forgive him. It is all because he is not a practical man. He might hold all the notions he liked if he would keep them a little more to himself when he is among women. As for me, I laugh at his materialistic ideas. Enrique a materialist, when there is not a more generous man in the world! Because, in spite of his great talents and his wonderful powers of illustration, do you know, Enrique is a child, a heart of gold!"
As he uttered these words with an accent of conviction, he shook his black, curly head in a way that made me want to laugh and to weep at the same time.
"And what does Cristina say to the substitute?"
"When I proposed your name, she was delighted."
I was delighted too, hearing this. I dressed hastily and marched off to make the acquaintance of the new star. The next day we went to church, and I performed my duty with emotion, yes, bursting with pride. Later I took the train for Barcelona, promising my friends to return soon to visit them, and to make the visit permanent by settling my camp in Valencia.
I THOUGHT this matter over, and my purpose became fixed during my voyage. I found that, although not rich, I had enough to live comfortably on; and when I returned to Barcelona I offered my resignation to the shipping house.
I cannot clearly explain the sentiments whose tumult at that time filled my soul. Confusion reigned therein. Intense love for Cristina, the angelic beauty and innocence of Retamoso's girl, the desire for repose and for a comfortable and tranquil life that all men feel on arriving at a certain state, and the sharp prickings of conscience that questioned my right to obtain it under such conditions, struggled together within me. But there was one sentiment which, however silenced, was stronger than the others—the ardent desire to be near Cristina, to live in her intimate circle, and never to lose sight of her charming face. I held no thoughts against the peace of her heart or the honor of her husband, but only to be happy enjoying her presence all of my life.
In this mind, neither saint-like nor criminal, I took the train for Valencia two months after I had left it. In a train that passed mine in a station on the way, I caught a glimpse, through a window, of the silhouette of Sabas, and near it the red head of a woman who was not Matilde.
"Sabas, Sabas!" I called.
When he saw me, he saluted me affectionately with his hand. The lady who was beside him also smiled cordially; I did not see why, for I did not know her. I remained puzzled. I was doubtful if I had not been mistaken. Was it really Matilde? I was not long in finding out.
I reached Valencia before dark. After leaving my things at the inn, I hired a conveyance to take me out to Cabañal, where I knew that Martí was now installed. I was anxious to consult with him about my plans. As I drew near the country house I felt my heart beating violently. This roused anew my sentiment of honor. "Are we like this?" I said to myself scornfully. "While thinking of binding yourself by a sacred fetter, of offering yourself to an innocent young girl, you cannot control your impulses! You are going to press the hand of a friend, to make him your confidant, your kinsman, while still your spirit is not cleansed of traitorous thoughts!"
The family was assembled in the dining-room. I observed at once a certain sadness and unusual gravity on their faces. They all wore long faces, filled with a consternation that alarmed me excessively. Martí embraced me, however, with his accustomed cordiality, showing sincere delight at my arrival. I gave my hand to the others and, coming to Matilde, I said to her, without stopping to think:
"So you are a widow? I saw your husband in a station. We had no chance to speak, but we greeted each other."
I had not finished uttering these words before I was stupefied by her beginning to weep bitterly. She pressed my hand convulsively and, between the sobs that rent her breast, said:
"Thanks, Ribot! Many thanks! My husband was running away with the young lady."
"I saw a red-headed lady beside him, but I did not think—" I stammered, abashed.
"Yes, yes, the young lady," she sobbed.
"Forgive me, but what has been said can't be unsaid; but, yes, she seemed young to me."
"She would like to seem young! She is more than thirty years old!" she cried angrily; "more painted and bedizzened than a doll in a bazaar. You should see her mornings on her balcony!"
Martí came to my aid, saying in low tones:
"She was the young lady in the company acting at the theatre."
"Ah!"
Everybody kept still and looked at the floor as one does when paying a visit of condolence. Nothing could be heard in the room but the increasingly poignant sobs of the outraged wife. The situation was trying, agonizing in the highest degree. Fortunately Doña Amparo had the happy inspiration to faint away, and this accident introduced an element of variety into the scene which we immediately improved. We ran to her aid. We opened flasks with shining stoppers. The dining-room was filled with the penetrating fragrances of the apothecary's shop. Tears, embraces, sighs, kisses. At last her equilibrium was restored, and she came to herself.
I thought I would lose my head in the odor of ether; but before this could happen Martí drew me from the room, and carried me off to his office.
"Did you ever see such a wretched affair?" he cried, shaking his head in immense annoyance.
"But what is it all?"
"Nothing; the other night he won three or four thousand pesetas at play, and he has gone gayly off to spend them with an actress."
"What madness! But he will come back!"
"I believe you; he'll come back when he has run through with every dollar, as he did the other time."
"The other time?"
"Yes; three or four years ago he eloped with a circus-rider. But then he carried off more money than this time."
I had no wish to seek for more details, for I saw that Martí was going to break down. There is nothing sadder than the sadness of a happy man. To distract him, I turned the conversation, and talked of myself and the projects I had under way. His face changed at once, and a cheerful smile played about his mouth.
"Bravo, Captain! At last you are going to be our own," he cried, hugging me until he choked me.
We talked the matter over carefully. At last we decided that, considering my age and character, I must not conduct myself like a youth, but with all due formality. After gaining the consent of Isabelita, which Martí seemed to think already assured, I must, before entering upon our relations, visit her people and talk seriously with them. This plan captured his imagination and he drove along assuredly. He cheered me, embraced me several times, calling me cousin, and promising me to help me all that he could, and promised, too, that Cristina would do the same.
We returned to the dining-room. Our cheerful countenances were in great contrast to the solemn and dejected ones there. Doña Amparo's eyes still showed the water-marks of their recent flood. Matilde—there is no saying how she was. Isabelita, who was staying with her cousins, received me with the same blushes, but without any great signs of rejoicing, which I attributed to the trouble her family was in. Castell was, as always, cold and disdainful. Cristina—I cannot express how I found Cristina. Her eyes had a strange sadness, which impressed me painfully. I at once imagined that she found herself bowed beneath the burden of some great wrong, and that this could be nothing else but the infamous gallantry of Castell. Perhaps he had narrowed the circle. Perhaps—oh, what a thought!
All at once I saw her eyes brighten with delight at the entrance of the nurse with my god-daughter in her arms. She was a beautiful rosebud, fresh, sweet, delicate, and probably, as that is the rule, dowered with marvellous intelligence. Martí would have testified to that with his blood.
To carry conviction to our minds, he found no more adequate means than to enter upon a series of mimic representations, certain of which had a surprising success. First he intoned a hymn of the Church with the voice of a precentor. The little girl at once began to put up her lips and burst out crying. Then he sang some sequidillas, and the youngster at once cheered up and began to bounce, trying to get down on the floor, doubtless to run away on all fours. He barked, he mewed, he crowed like a cock, and we understood at once that the little one had no lack of zoölogical notions, but had an idea of the classifications introduced in the animal kingdom.
Martí demonstrated the thesis in a way which left no room for doubt, and proud of the impression on the assemblage that his notable experiments succeeded in making, he considered it proper next to take the child from her nurse's arms and toss her up and down in his own like a bottle of ink. Maybe he imagined that by this method of concentration he would invigorate still more her psychic faculties. But he did not go on with this long enough to make her black. The little creature, not familiarized with his novel method, objected to it with loud screams and all the indignation of her soul. Cristina took her, did all that she could to hush her, and gave her again to the nurse, who was the one who really brought calm into her outraged heart.
Before we went in to supper, they obliged me to dismiss my cab. Castell would take me back in his own. I tried to get out of this, because the company of this gentleman grew constantly more distasteful to me; but it was not possible. Emilio, with his characteristic impetuosity and slight knowledge of men, gave the order to the coachman to depart.
They placed me beside Isabelita. Everybody would say that that was perfectly natural, and that I ought to have been whispering to her all the evening. Of this I have nothing to say. Perchance, if they had been asked if I should touch her foot gently with my own and fondle her hand underneath the table, some of them would have held a contrary opinion and would have discussed it more or less at length. But I, deciding that the majority would finally decide in favor of it, did not hesitate in anticipating the decisions of such a tribunal.
At twenty minutes after ten I settled down in a corner of the dining-room where Retamoso's girl was, and where I could chat freely with her. I told her first that she was the only woman in the world who could make me happy; second, that by my frank and sympathetic character, and by my honorable intentions—and because of the voice I said it in—I deserved what would make me happy. In accordance with these things I was resolved that on the following day I would give an account of this matter to Señor and Señora Retamoso. It was then twenty-five minutes after ten.
Our deliberations continued a little longer. Castell was accustomed to depart at eleven, and he asked me politely if I wished to do the same. I agreed, as was proper, since the family would wish to retire, and we betook ourselves to the city. During the ride I had occasion to think once more that it was an error of nature that I had hair on my face, and that instead of a hat I should have covered my childish thoughts with a thick hood. That gentleman, penetrating into the secret laboratory of life, arranged the facts of being in his mind, taking pains to pit his ideas against my inexperienced reasonings; sometimes yawning, again smilingly pardoning my puerilities. Take it all together, he handled me so well that, in consequence, I could feel a real hood on my head. But that which stirred me up most was his gracious manner of considering me a man; and the recognition of this attitude towards me irritated me more than ever, and I swore between my teeth that I would never ride again in his cab, but would, instead, go on my own feet.
Next day, solemnly attired in a coat which had made the voyage to America eleven times and to Hamburg thirty-seven, I presented myself at the Retamoso house. It was situated on the Plaza del Mercado, not far from the Lorija, and was more substantial than beautiful, of modern construction, only one floor above the business rooms, with a plain front destitute of ornamental carvings, with three large doors and three little stone balconies. But it was much more spacious than its exterior promised. Its warerooms, occupying the corner part, were large and high as the salons of a palace. Great piles of codfish, barrels of flour and of alcohol, cases of sugar and cocoa filled it, forming narrow and intricate passages. Through these I went, half-suffocated by the distasteful odors of these products of overseas, and preceded by a clerk with a pen behind his ear, until I reached the back of the room, where there were three glass doors, giving upon a patio. Near one of these was a low railing of pine, painted green; in the middle, a single table and a big desk; and behind the table and the desk, a little man with an embroidered velvet skull-cap. It was himself, Señor Retamoso.
"Señor de Ribot! What good fortune is this?" he exclaimed, rising to come out of the enclosure, making numberless bows, and lifting his hand as many times more to his skull-cap. "To what do we owe the honor?"
"I wish to speak a few words to you," I answered, casting a significant glance at the clerk, who, understanding, disappeared in the zigzag passages.
The face of Señor Retamoso underwent an enormous change. The delight that had overspread it was swiftly succeeded by a deep sadness. It was as if a cloud had intercepted in an unexpected fashion the rays of life and warmth, withering and drying up that which a moment before had been joyous welcome.
"Very well. I will be with you in a moment," he murmured, re-entering the enclosure, carefully locking the safe and putting the key in his trousers pocket.
This done, he came out and, facing me, said in a glacial way:
"This good man thinks I have come to beg money," I said to myself, surprised at this change.
"The occasion of this visit," I said with hesitation, "is a little delicate. It is possible that you know."
"I know nothing," he declared, resolutely cutting me short.
"I meant to say it is possible that you have suspected——"
"I have suspected nothing," he said in turn, more dryly still.
A little irritated by these interruptions, I said with spirit:
"It is all the same. You are going to know now. It has to do with a certain sympathetic understanding established between your daughter Isabelita and me. As this sympathy might in time be transformed into affection, and be carried to the point of loving relations, I thought that I ought to consult the will of her parents. My age forbids flirtations or a clandestine courtship. Further, the friendship that binds me to Martí, in whose house I had the honor of meeting your daughter, and the kindness, however unmerited, with which your wife and you have honored me, oblige me to conduct myself frankly and loyally."
The round face of Uncle Diego resumed its first expression. The cloud that intercepted the rays of delight had been chased away.
"Oh, Señor de Ribot! What do I hear? I knew nothing. I had heard nothing. I am a poor man. Why not go to my wife, who understands it much better, and will know what I ought to answer?" he exclaimed smiling, all honey, lifting his hand to his embroidered skull-cap, and throwing back his leg so as to make a deeper bow.
"I thought of seeing both of you."
"Oh, Señor de Ribot! But why? Come, come with me. I will take you to the place where you can adjust this account. I know nothing about these experiences, but there is one in the house who knows more than Merlin. Take care, Señor de Ribot, take good care. Keep your stirrups. Whoever has to come to an understanding with my lady needs the use of his head."
Going on like this, he conducted me to a staircase, and by it we ascended to the principal story. Once arrived, he squeezed my hand hard between his own, and, in a falsetto voice, recommended me to look out for myself when talking before his wife, and not be disconcerted in her presence. He promised that he would help me all that he was able, but that I must not expect much, as he also felt constraint before Doña Clara.
"She is a deep woman, Señor de Ribot. When I say this, I say all."
Without freeing me, he led me to the door of a parlor, and gave two knocks upon it with his knuckles; the voice of Doña Clara was heard, saying:
"Enter."
Retamoso again squeezed my hand to encourage me, and we entered the apartment.
Doña Clara was discovered dressed in black, as correct and elegant as ever, seated in a leather chair, with a book in her hands. She took from her aquiline nose her gold-bowed glasses and let them hang suspended over her breast by their golden chain. She gave me her hand, at the same time casting upon me a look so imposing that, in spite of the valor wherewith her spouse had inspired me, I could do no less than tremble. Then she took her tragic figure up out of her chair and went and sat down in the middle of a sofa of green velvet, inviting us by a gesture to place ourselves in the arm-chairs that were on either side. We obeyed orders, and Retamoso, finding no more excellent resource as a preparation for the session than to rub his knees with the palms of his hands, looked at me meanwhile sadly and anxiously.
"Señor de Ribot," he said at last, "I beg you to tell my wife what you have just had the kindness to tell me."
"It has to do, señora," I said in a trembling voice, "with a delicate matter that I desire to submit to the approval of you both. So if I take the liberty of speaking of it to you, it is solely that, no matter what, it cannot be said that I lacked in showing the respect and esteem with which you inspire me. Between Isabelita and me an especial friendship, is beginning to take shape——"
"I know it," interrupted Doña Clara solemnly.
There followed a moment of suspense, then I went on:
"Isabelita, because of the gifts of character, innocence, and modesty which adorn her, deserves not only affection, but hearty admiration. I cannot, naturally, explain all the charm that she has for me since I have felt myself attracted towards her. I found courage to give her to understand this, and I flatter myself to think that she did not take it ill. Until now no bond has existed between us, except a sensitive attraction——"
"I know it," said Doña Clara once more, with the same solemnity.
I felt even more constrained. Retamoso gave me several encouraging grins, and taking breath, I was able to go on:
"From then until now I can affirm that there has been nothing serious between us. I could not do otherwise, as I would never think of aspiring without the permission of her parents. But however this inclination may seem unexpected, when I embarked for Hamburg two months ago, I carried the thought with me, and the resolution to strengthen this dawning friendship——"
"I know it," once more said Doña Clara with even more solemnity, if that were possible.
I remained mute and confused, giving up my disclosures, which the supernatural penetration of this lady left useless. But I could not help admiring the singular contrast between these consorts—he knew nothing, she knew everything.
Retamoso gave me several mischievous winks, making me understand that this was to be expected and had nothing surprising in it. Doña Clara, at the end of a short silence, held herself up still more erect, and blowing her nose in a manner to inspire a monkey with awe, said:
"Before going farther, I beg you to let us continue the conversation in English. The subject is so serious and delicate that it demands it."
I profess and have always professed a great admiration for the language and literature of Great Britain. On the little book-shelf of my cabin voyaged always the "Tom Jones" of Fielding, the "Don Juan" of Byron, and certain books of Shakespeare. But, in spite of this admiration, I had never supposed that it was the only idiom in which grave and delicate subjects could be treated. I did not seek, however, to oppose this fine philological stroke, nor to discuss the preference that the stern mamma of Isabelita showed for one branch of the Indo-European languages over its sister tongues, and hastened to yield to her request. With this the surprise, delight, and grins of Retamoso reached a climax. He put his finger to his forehead, arched his eyebrows, opened his eyes absurdly, and several times when Doña Clara could not see, being turned towards me, he lifted his hands to heaven, murmuring unheard:
"What a woman! What a woman!"
Doña Clara, without being at all set up by this idolatrous worship, let me know in guttural and emphatic English that nothing of all I had said, done, or thought had been hid from her, and that she knew also all that had been said, done, or thought by her daughter Isabelita. This declaration filled my mind with a feeling of littleness and limitation that ended by humbling me. In the impossibility, then, of supplying any facts she did not know, or of uttering one thought worthy of the intellectual height of this lady, I took upon myself the role of calming down, submitting my feeble reasons beforehand to her own.
After sniffing several times like a ship displaying its banner on weighing anchor in a port, and after fixing upon her nose her gold-bowed glasses to contemplate me for a while in silence, Doña Clara found it well to give me some account of her intentions. Isabelita was a child, I was a man. Laying down these two propositions, at first sight undeniable. Doña Clara logically deduced from them that it was necessary to be careful. A child does not generally know what she wants; a man is in duty bound to know. Further, it was impossible to put aside what I wished for.
"Señor de Ribot," Retamoso at this point interrupted, "will you be so kind as to put what my wife says to you into Castilian for me?"
This was done, and when he found out what was meant, he expressed noisy enthusiasm, exclaiming energetically:
"Just so! That's it! Exactly! That's it, that's it! Just so! That's it!"
Doña Clara did not pay the slightest attention to these words, and keeping her nose pointed the same way, submitted me to a long and careful examination. Although I was sufficiently upset, I answered her questions clearly, and had the satisfaction of noting certain slight signs of acquiescence that touched my pride. She examined my pretensions, and (as a result of the conscientious investigation concerning my conduct, which was carried to the extreme) Doña Clara declared at last, turning her head slowly towards her husband like a globe revolving on its axis, that I was "a decent person," a thing that I had never doubted in my most extravagant moments.
Every phase of the investigation was successively and faithfully interpreted by me into Castilian, so that Señor Retamoso could understand. Everything won from him the same warm approval, and was greeted with a salvo of "That's it's!" and "Just so's!"
Doña Clara terminated the interview by rising from the sofa, and with the same firmness, the same impassive calm and sang-froid, let me know that here would be my home, and that she would have much pleasure in receiving me whenever I wished to come. Saying this, she let her glasses drop by means of a clever and surprising jerk of her nose, and presented me her hand. I took it with the greatest veneration.
"Permit me, Señor de Ribot! One moment, one moment, no more!" exclaimed Retamoso, who, following our example, had also risen. "I have not the knowledge that my wife has, nor do I understand foreign tongues. So I am not sure that I understand all that you desire. It seemed to me that I understood that there is something between you and Isabelita."
"Are we still there?" I said between my teeth, looking at him with surprise and anxiety. As for Doña Clara, she cast a look upon him that might have ground him to powder.
"Yes, señor," I replied shortly at last.
"Bear with me, Señor de Ribot. I am a little slow of understanding, and especially in matters so fine as these. Yet I believe I understood (pardon me if I mistake) that you desire our permission to pay court to her. Pardon me, for heaven's sake, if I do not express myself like you two."
"Yes, señor, I desire your authorization to confirm my relations with Isabelita."
"Precisely! That's it! I see that I am not mistaken. Well, then, sir, I am agreeable to all that Doña Clara has said, and if she had said more, I should be still more agreeable. You already know my opinion of you, Señor de Ribot. When there is a head in the house capable of giving useful advice in all affairs, why bother one's head discussing them? Only I desire that in this nothing is promised on our side. For the present, nothing is settled. If later, Señor de Ribot, we are of the same opinion, and all come to an understanding, we shall be able to talk in another fashion. My wife has already talked in another fashion, and I have not cut her short; but you understand me, señor?"
I understood perfectly that this crafty Galician, before giving his word, wished to find out exactly how much I was worth. I let myself be imposed upon by the ruse. I accepted what he proposed, saying that my visit was not an official one, but merely a simple call of courtesy and respect, and that I desired that they should retain their liberty, as I retained my own.
"That's it! Just so! Nothing is settled."
Doña Clara had maintained her rigid and immovable position while we were talking, gazing into space over our heads in an attitude solemn and disdainful; nothing would give an idea how grandiose it was, except the Minerva of Phidias on top of the Acropolis, if by chance this work of the antique pagan master had been preserved intact until our time. She remained thus until I, taking myself to the stairway, disappeared from her horizon. Retamoso went down stairs with me, took me as far as the door, pulled off his skull-cap, and uttering a thousand oh's and ah's, pressed both my hands with inexplicable tenderness, and said in my ear, as he dismissed me, "It is understood, Señor de Ribot, that nothing is settled, isn't it? My opinion is that nothing should be settled."
My good Martí laughed not a little when I related to him the details of this interview. He congratulated me warmly, and, carried away by his fanciful optimism, he sketched out twenty plans, each more agreeable than the last, for my future. I was to become very rich, and be associated with him and Castell in a steamboat line whose direction should be my charge. I should also have a part in the business of the artesian wells when they began to strike water. In regard to the canals from the river, he expressed sincere regret that it was impossible at present to give me anything to do. I replied that that did not weigh on me; I would try to live without it. My resignation moved him so much that he finished by saying, running both hands through his tresses:
"I shall be very much annoyed if, after all, we don't find a way for you to get a show in this business, for it is going to be the best thing ever done in Spain before to-day."
When what had taken place was made known to Cristina, she showed herself more affectionate and kind to me than usual. I observed, none the less, on her face a melancholy expression that she tried in vain to conceal. She made a visible effort to appear gay, but at the best she seemed a bit absent, and her great black eyes were often fixed upon space, revealing deep absorption.
I stayed to supper with them. We were at table, besides the married couple and their mamma, Isabelita, Castell, and Matilde, with all her children, who entertained us very much. The deserted wife, whose eyes were now always red, smiled sadly, seeing the tenderness and enthusiasm with which these little creatures inspired me. There was not lacking someone—I think it was Doña Amparo—to hint that I was going to be a most affectionate father, which caused Isabelita a veritable suffocation of blushes. This color came back several times during supper, because Martí thought well to season it with more or less transparent allusions to our future kinship. Above all, when he opened a bottle of champagne, and, lifting the goblet, drank to the wish "that Captain Ribot would cast anchor in Valencia for life," the cheeks of his cousin did not set fire to the house, because, fortunately, there was no combustible material stowed near them.
When we rose from table to take a turn in the garden, I offered my arm to Cristina. I had a lively desire to talk with her, to sound her soul, which seemed to me to be disturbed. Before seeking refuge in another port, where the fate that was controlling me was drawing me, I ought to know that it was the will of God; but never, never could I forget that dream of love. This was the truth. Although I had made heroic efforts to drive it away, thinking of other scenes, other joys, other duties, it returned persistently to charm my nights and to disturb my conscience.
I had already taken her hand upon my arm when Castell, coming up to us and making a little bow, said:
"Have we not arranged that this evening I was to be your escort?" At the same time he cast upon her a particular look; it was threatening, and did not soften the cold smile that played about his lips.
Cristina responded with a timid glance and hastened to release my arm from her own, saying in an altered voice:
"Thank you, Captain Ribot. Enrique had invited me before——"
And they departed down the stairway. From above, when the light of the vestibule fell upon their faces, I could see that Castell was talking to her with an angry gesture, as if he were making recriminations, and that she was excusing herself with the greatest humility.
Oh, God! the veil that had hid the truth from me was swiftly torn away. That man must even now be her lover. All the blood in my veins rushed to my heart. I felt giddy and was obliged to grasp the railing so as not to fall.
I CAN swear that no anger entered into the agitation that I experienced. My pride did not resent her preference. I only felt a mortal sadness as if the last illusion left to me in life had flown away and escaped. And more, the deep love wherewith she inspired me was not quenched or lessened. The respect and idolatry of my sentiment were weakened, it is true, but its tenderness was at the same time increased. The goddess had fallen from her pedestal and was transformed into a woman. Losing in majesty, she had gained in charm.
During the days following, I observed that the humble expression of her face that had so much surprised me grew more marked. From this I judged that she acknowledged her fault and begged my pardon. Instead of showing myself troubled, I did everything possible to appear more respectful and cordial than before. She recognized this, and constantly gave me proofs of her affectionate friendship. Her heart was noble; if she had fallen in her own sight, it was owing to fatal circumstance, and not to her vicious inclination. Such were then my sentiments.
And Martí? Poor Emilio! Every time that I saw him I felt more and more attracted by his generosity and innocence. I thought that he was a little thinner, but always cheerful and always confiding. We spent one afternoon alone at the seaside. As neither he nor I was out of humor our conversation ran playfully from one subject to another, and we laughed at the anecdotes we happened to remember. One of those that I told had better fortune than it deserved. He laughed so much that at the end he grew pale, put his hand to his chest, and, to the great terror of us both, threw up blood. I helped him as well as I could, carried him to a fountain near by, where he drank water and washed himself. I was much startled by this. I could scarcely speak. I encouraged him, however, telling him that this was not important, and citing numerous cases of friends who had had this sort of thing without any serious consequences. When he had composed himself, he smiled.
"You are right. It is nothing. I am sure that my lungs are perfectly sound, because until now I have never even coughed. I will take a little better care of myself, and when summer comes, I will go as a precautionary measure to Panticosa. But it is necessary to keep all this from Cristina. You know how women are. Don't say anything to Castell either. He is very pessimistic, and his affection for me would make him alarmed. He would be capable, in his anxiety, of revealing it to Cristina."
My eyes, in spite of myself, filled with tears. Seeing this, he appeared surprised; there was a moment of suspense; then, laughing aloud, he embraced me, exclaiming:
"You are very original, Captain! There is some strength to be desired here too! But I confess that if I had not such a practical temperament, and were not accustomed to examine every subject coolly, this would make me apprehensive. Fortunately, I know what to count on in the strength of my constitution."
"My emotion was caused by surprise," I hastened to say, to mend matters. "And then I am not very well these days; my nerves are upset. But, as I have said, this means nothing, especially for you, who seem to be such a robust man."
"The most robust of men! I have nothing more than a rather weak stomach, and sometimes a little kidney trouble. Except for this, I am an oak. If this were not so, how could I endure all the work loaded on my shoulders, the frequent journeys, and all that I have to carry?"
"Exactly. I have no doubt of it. And you have never before felt any pain in your lungs?"
Martí took a few steps, looked at me closely, and in a voice made to seem strong by a special effort, answered:
"My lungs are those of an athlete!"
"Indeed?"
"Those of a gladiator," he insisted, shaking his head with an air of unquenchable conviction.
Upon this he launched into a panegyric of his respiratory apparatus with much enthusiasm and warmth. He could not have been more eloquent if he had been a commercial traveller and was offering it as a sample to a great commercial house. I congratulated him with equal enthusiasm on the possession of such a perfect example. Inspired by his own eulogies, he struck his chest, taking deep breaths, then sang the last aria of "Lucia." After that, who could have any doubts of his organs?
We returned to the house, he in an excellent humor, but not I; for in spite of his weight of testimony, I was not able to dismiss certain apprehensions. Indeed, as our pathway narrowed, and he walked ahead of me, his narrow shoulders, his long neck and drooping ears, did not remind me of the figure of Milon of Crotona nor any other winner in the Olympian games. It seemed to me that such magnificent lungs as he said he had would not have chosen such a poor lodging.
It was the hour of twilight. The park began to be filled with darkness and mystery. Although we were in the last days of September, the fresh blossoming flowers of that fortunate region filled the air with fragrance. The trees were as green and leafy as in early spring; the turf shone in eternal freshness. But mingled with the luxurious, romantic scent of heliotrope, roses, and violets came from surrounding orchards other heavier breaths of ripe fruits. The fruitful earth filled the air of heaven with the perfume of grapes and melons, pears and apples, drying hay and Indian corn.
In front of the house, seated in rocking-chairs, we found Cristina and her mother, Isabelita, Castell, and Matilde. Her children were running about the garden, cackling and gabbling like parrots, while their unhappy mother watched them with a melancholy smile. When we appeared in front of a close thicket of Indian cannas, Castell was seated beside Cristina, talking to her in low tones. She cast one glance at her husband, then at me, and at once lowered her eyes with a serious, pondering expression on her face; but raising them again, she scrutinized Emilio carefully, while he sat down, chatting and laughing with exaggerated volubility. Cristina got up, went over to him, and said:
"Emilio, you are pale. Do you feel ill?"
"I? What an idea! I never felt better. It is because I have been laughing all the afternoon. The captain has a stock of delicious anecdotes. At supper we must tell some of them; not all, though, for they are all colors."
She was not satisfied; but although she went and sat down, her eyes never quitted him. Castell made efforts to attract her attention, talking into her ear. The conduct of that man seemed to me the height of cynicism.
Soon it was quite dark, and we went into the dining-room, where it was light and the table ready. Just as we were going to sit down at it, a servant entered, and calling Martí apart, gave him a letter, with an air of mystery. He opened it at once and was not able to repress a movement of annoyance. Pocketing it and excusing himself for a few moments, he took his hat and went out. Our curiosity was excited, but nobody said anything. At last Cristina, whose anxiety was evident, asked the man:
"Who gave you the letter?"
"A gentleman."
"Did he wait for an answer?"
"No, señora. He wanted to speak with the señor, and he went across by the main door to wait for him."
The unusualness of the incident, and the mysterious manner of the servant, increased our curiosity extraordinarily. We had not long to wait for its satisfaction. Martí presented himself in a few moments, and, putting his hat down on a chair, asked jocularly:
"Don't you all know whom I shall have the honor to present to you?"
We all looked eagerly at him.
"A gentleman whose name begins with an S."
"Sabas!" exclaimed Matilde.
Her next act was, with quivering face and violent gestures, to hurry her children out of their chairs, and, pushing them wildly before her, get them out of the room, herself following after.
We all stood up in our agitation. The nose of the deserting husband was promptly stuck in at the garden door, and behind it entered its interesting proprietor. A groan from Doña Amparo. A convulsive embrace next, tears in abundance.
Sabas, although in the arms of his mother, cast a wandering and afflicted glance about the dining-room.
"Matilde! My children!" he cried in a dramatic manner.
"All have abandoned thee except thy mother!" responded Doña Amparo in most pathetic accents.
Sabas leaned his head, a resigned victim, against the maternal bosom. At this Doña Amparo hugged him yet more fervently, ready to give her life-blood for her abandoned son. He freed himself at last, arranged his cravat, and held out his hand to us solemnly, in the dignified attitude of a general who concludes a capitulation after a heroic resistance.
He went up to greet Cristina, but she turned her back upon him, and went out of the room. He shook his head in a sentimental manner, and gave us a sweet, expressive glance. Then he raised his eyes to heaven, as if petitioning for the justice that earth denied him.
I was truly alarmed to see that his face was black and the skin peeled off in some places, especially the nose.
He looked as if he had returned from a scientific and civilizing expedition into Central Africa, rather than from a romantic expedition with a young lady to the capital of Catalonia.
Doña Amparo made him drink a glass of orange-flower water to calm him. There was no need of it. His attitude on that critical occasion, at once tranquil and resigned, impressed us profoundly. However, when he had drunk the orange-flower water, he said with astonishing firmness:
"I must see Matilde."
And, joining the action to the word, he proceeded, full of majesty, towards the door. He went on into the inner rooms. And we all followed him, we were so fascinated by his noble and severe manner.
We were filled with anxiety concerning the dramatic scene that was going to take place. Sabas opened two or three doors consecutively, without being able to find his wife. But his intrepid heart was not cast down. Without uttering a word he mounted to the upper story. We followed him anxiously.
Matilde was in her room, and Cristina was with her. At sight of her husband she groaned wrathfully, and started towards another door to try to get away again. Cristina tried to detain her.
"Let me go!" she cried madly; "I don't wish to see him."
"Matilde, for heaven's sake!" cried Cristina, embracing her.
"Let me go, let me go! Everything is over between us two!"
Then the fugitive, standing in the middle of the room, showed that his strength was leaving him. He put his hand feebly to his forehead, his legs doubled under him, and, taking just enough steps towards a sofa to reach it, he fell across it in a swoon.
We all ran to his aid, and his offended wife was not the last one. On the contrary, it was she who, grieving and trembling, bathed his temples with water, and unfastened his waistcoat and shirt to help him breathe, exclaiming wildly:
"Sabas, my Sabas! Forgive me!"
Meanwhile, Doña Amparo applied to his nostrils various chemical products of a stimulating nature. The rest of us helped on the restorative work more or less modestly, bringing a carafe of water, uncorking bottles, or giving air to the fainting man by means of a fan.
The only one who remained inactive, seeming indisposed to offer any hygienic aid to her brother, was Cristina. Standing erect near us, she looked strangely severe. Doubtless her behavior might seem to some persons cruel and unnatural; but not to me, for my deep, unreasoning love for this woman made all that she did seem right and proper, her every movement adorable.
At last Sabas returned to the world of consciousness, and asked of his mother, who was in front of him, that which has been asked so many times:
"Where am I?"
"With your wife!"
"With your mamma!"
"Who adores you!"
"Who idolizes you!"
Four feminine arms embraced him, and four lips were pressed almost at the same time above his skinned nose.
His eyes wandered about the room at all of us as if he did not know us, and were fixed at last upon his wife; then he groaned frightfully:
"Matilde! Matilde! Matilde!"
Then he hugged her and fell back in an attack of convulsive laughing. His loud laughter joined to the sobbing of his wife and the wails of Doña Amparo made a terrifying mixture that would have melted the hardest heart. More, by virtue of the contagion that all the world knows lies in this sort of an attack, I felt a shocking desire to laugh also. By hard work I managed to stifle it. I left the room and went down again to the dining-room. The others were not long in following me, leaving Sabas restored and at peace with his wife and his mother. Ten minutes later they came down also. Cristina gave the order to serve the soup, and I observed with some astonishment that Sabas dined with an excellent appetite, and during dinner showed himself as gay and disputatious and smart as ever. His wife devoured him with eyes of pure affection, and devoted herself to waiting upon him.
When we finished, he rose before taking his coffee, lighted a good cigar, and asked his brother-in-law if he would let him take his cab.
"But are you going out?" his wife asked him with surprise and annoyance.
"Yes; I am going to take my coffee at the Siglo. I haven't seen a single one of my friends yet. I shall be back soon."
Matilde tried to keep him, begging that he would not go that night, caressing his hands, with no result except to make him cross. Observing, however, the bad effect this had upon us, he changed his tone and embraced her, saying in endearing accents:
"Goosie! Aren't you going to let me go and celebrate our reconciliation?"
With this the infatuated wife was satisfied and content, brushed the dust from his shoes, and went with him to the cab door.
We remained in the dining-room some time. Emilio was the first to start to bed, saying that he felt sleepy. I thought that his hemorrhage had affected him more than he had acknowledged. Matilde went up to put her children to bed. We remained chatting, Isabelita and I in one corner, Cristina and Castell in another, while Doña Amparo embroidered by the light of a lamp between.
This state of things impressed me uncomfortably. We seemed like two pairs engaged in courtship, watched over by the mamma; and this idea, so far as it concerned Cristina and Castell, could not but fill me with great repugnance. Such was my faith in that woman that I scarcely believed what I saw. I was absent and melancholy, and with difficulty kept up the conversation with my intended.
My intended! The winds were driving me upon a coast where I didn't know whether I was going to be shipwrecked or find a snug harbor. I confessed to myself with alarm that since my dreadful convictions about Cristina, my heart was less inclined than ever to admit another woman.
When Matilde came down after getting her children to bed, in order to get out of this scarcely decent situation, and also to rid myself a little of the sadness that overpowered me, I proposed that we take a turn in the park. The proposition met with favor, and Cristina was the first to accept it, rising from the sofa where she had been sitting. But Castell said, with his usual decision:
"I don't feel equal to it. It is much too damp in the park at this hour."
Cristina turned and sat down again beside him.
"We are not so much in fear of dying, are we, Matilde?" I said smiling. She and Isabelita followed me. Doña Amparo stayed with her daughter and Castell. We went to the end of the garden, and from there entered the open spaces of the park, where the balmy air did me a great deal of good, for my brow had been burning and my heart filled with mournful presentiments.