diff options
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 4 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/54577-0.txt | 8457 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/54577-0.zip | bin | 182566 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/54577-h.zip | bin | 240463 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/54577-h/54577-h.htm | 8515 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/54577-h/images/cover.jpg | bin | 48115 -> 0 bytes |
8 files changed, 17 insertions, 16972 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2c028d7 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #54577 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/54577) diff --git a/old/54577-0.txt b/old/54577-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 32e57f6..0000000 --- a/old/54577-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8457 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Wedding Trip, by Emilia Pardo Bazán - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: A Wedding Trip - -Author: Emilia Pardo Bazán - -Release Date: April 23, 2017 [EBook #54577] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A WEDDING TRIP *** - - - - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at Google Books) - - - - - - - - - - - A WEDDING TRIP - - - - - A WEDDING TRIP - - BY - - EMILIA PARDO BAZÁN - - TRANSLATED BY - - MARY J. SERRANO - - TRANSLATOR OF “MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF, THE JOURNAL - OF A YOUNG ARTIST,” ETC. - - NEW YORK - - CASSELL PUBLISHING COMPANY - - 104 & 106 FOURTH AVENUE - - COPYRIGHT, 1891, BY - - CASSELL PUBLISHING COMPANY. - - _All rights reserved._ - - THE MERSHON COMPANY PRESS, - RAHWAY, N. J. - - - - - A WEDDING TRIP. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - - -That the wedding was not a fashionable one was to be seen at a glance. -The bride and groom, indeed, so far as could be judged from externals, -might mix in the most select society, but the greater number of the -guests--the chorus, so to say--belonged to that portion of the middle -class which merges into and is scarcely to be distinguished from the -mass of the people. Among them were some curious and picturesque groups, -the platform of the railway station at Leon presenting a scene that -would have greatly interested a _genre_ painter. - -Just as in the ideal bridal scenes that we see painted on fans, it was -noticeable here that the train of the bride was composed exclusively of -the gentler, that of the bridegroom of the sterner sex. There was also -noticeable a striking difference between the social conditions of the -two parties. The bride’s escort, much the more numerous of the two, -looked like a populous ant-hill. The women, both young and old, wore -the traditional black woolen dress, which, for the women of the lower -classes who have some pretentions to gentility, has almost come to be -the prescribed costume of ceremony; for the people still retain the -privilege of donning gay colored garments on festive and joyous -occasions. Among these human ants were several who were young and -pretty, some of them joyous and excited with thoughts of the wedding, -others lugubrious looking, their eyes red with weeping, thinking of the -approaching parting. They were marshaled by half a dozen duennas of -mature years who, from out the folds of their _manto_, cast around them -on all sides sharp and suspicious glances. The whole troop of female -friends flocked around the newly made bride, manifesting the puerile and -eager curiosity which the spectacle of the supreme situations of life is -apt to awaken in the breasts of the multitude. They devoured with their -eyes the girl they had seen a thousand times before, whose every feature -they knew by heart--the bride who, arrayed in her traveling dress, -seemed to them a different being from the girl they had hitherto known. - -The heroine of the occasion might be some eighteen years old; she might -be thought younger, if one judged by the childish expression of her -mouth and the rounded contour of her cheeks, older, judging by the -luxuriant curves of her figure and the exuberant life and vigor revealed -in her whole person. Here were no high and narrow shoulders and -impossible hips such as we see represented in fashion plates, that put -one in mind of a doll stuffed with bran; this was a woman, not of the -conventional type of an ephemeral fashion, but of the eternal type of -the feminine form, such as nature and classic art have designed it. -Perhaps this physical superiority detracted to a certain extent from the -effect of the fanciful traveling dress of the bride, perhaps curves less -rounded, firmer outlines of the arm and neck were required in order to -wear with the necessary ease the semi-masculine dress of maroon-colored -cloth and the coarse straw toque, on whose crown perched, with wings -outspread over a nest formed of feathers, a humming-bird with -irridescent plumage. - -It was evident that these adornments of dress were new to the bride, and -that the skirt, gathered and fastened around the waist, and the tight -jacket, which followed closely the lines of the bust, made her feel ill -at ease as a young girl at her first ball feels ill at ease in her -_décolleté_ gown, for in every unaccustomed fashion in dress there is -something immodest for the woman of simple habits. Besides, the mold -was too narrow for the beautiful statue which it inclosed and which -threatened at every moment to burst it, not so much by reason of its -volume as because of the freedom and vigor of its youthful movements. -The race of the strong and robust old man, the father, who stood there -erect, his eyes fastened on his daughter, was not belied in this -splendid specimen of womanhood. The old man, tall, firm and upright as a -telegraph post, and a middle-aged Jesuit of short stature, were the only -men noticeable among the feminine swarm. - -The bridegroom was accompanied by some half-dozen friends, and if the -retinue of the bride was the link that joins the middle class to the -people, that of the bridegroom touched on the boundary line, in Spain as -vague as it is extensive, between the middle class and the higher ranks. -A certain air of official gravity, a complexion faded and smoked by the -flare of the gas-jets, an indefinable expression of optimistic -satisfaction and maturity of age, were signs indicative of men who had -reached the summit of human aspirations in those countries which are in -their decline--a government situation. One among them seemed to take -precedence of the rest, by whom he was treated with marked deference. - -This group was animated by a noisy joviality restrained by official -decorum; curiosity was rife here too, less open and ingenuous but keener -and more epigrammatic in its expression than among the swarm of the -female friends of the bride. There were whispered conversations, -witticisms of the _café_, accentuated by a gesture of the hand or a push -of the elbow, bursts of laughter quickly suppressed, glances of -intelligence; cigar-ends were thrown on the ground with a martial air, -arms were folded as if they had a tacit understanding with each other. -The gray overcoat of the groom was noticeable among the black coats, and -his tall figure dominated the figures of the men around him. Half a -century, less a lustrum, successfully combated by the skill of the -tailor and the arts of the toilet, shoulders that stooped in spite of -their owner’s efforts to hold them erect, a countenance against whose -pallor, suggestive of habitual late hours, were defined, sharply as -lines drawn with pen and ink, the pointed ends of the mustache, hair -whose scantiness was apparent even under the smooth brim of the -ash-colored felt hat, skin wrinkled and pursy under the eyes, eyelids of -a leaden hue, eyes lusterless and dull but a carriage still graceful, -and the carefully preserved remains of former good looks--such was the -picture presented by the bridegroom. Perhaps the very elegance of his -dress served to make all the more evident the ravages of time; the long -overcoat was a trifle too tight for the waist, less slender than it had -once been, the felt hat, jauntily tipped to one side, called loudly for -the smooth cheeks and temples of youth. But all this notwithstanding, -among that assemblage of vulgar provincial figures the figure of the -bridegroom had a certain air of courtliness, the ease of a man -accustomed to the commodious and comfortable life of great cities, and -the dash of one who knows no scruples and stops at nothing when -self-interest is in question. He showed himself superior to the group of -his friends even in the good-humored reserve with which he received the -innuendos and whispered jests, so appropriate to the _bourgeois_ -character of the wedding. - -The engine now announced by a shrill whistle or two the approaching -departure of the train; the hurry and movement on the platform increased -and the floor trembled under the weight of the baggage-laden barrows. -The warning cries of the officials were at last heard. Up to this time -the wedding party had been conversing in groups in low and confidential -tones; the approaching crisis seemed to reanimate them, to break the -spell as it were, transforming the scene in an instant. The bride ran -to her father with open arms, and the old man and the young girl clasped -each other in a long embrace--the hearty embrace of the people in which -the bones crack and the breathing is impeded. From the lips of both, -almost simultaneously, came rapid phrases in quick succession. - -“Be sure and write to me every day, eh? Take care not to drink water -when you are perspiring. Your husband has money--ask more if that should -run out.” - -“Don’t worry, father. I will do all in my power to come back soon. Take -care of yourself, for Heaven’s sake--take care of your asthma. Go once -in a while to see Señor de Rada. If you should fall ill, send me a -telegram on the instant. On your word of honor?” - -Then followed the hugs and hearty kisses, the sobs and snifflings of the -retinue of the bride, and the last commissions, the last good-wishes. - -“May you be as happy as the patriarchs of old.” - -“San Rafael be with you, child.” - -“Lucky girl that you are! To be in France without as much as stirring -from your seat!” - -“Don’t forget my wrap. Are the measures in the trunk? Will you be sure -not to mistake the threads?” - -“Take care not to get open-work embroidery--that is to be had here.” - -“Open wide those big eyes of yours and look about you, so that when you -come back you will be able to give us an account of all that you have -seen.” - -“Father Urtazu,” said the bride, approaching the Jesuit already -mentioned, and taking hold of his hand, on which she pressed her lips, -letting fall on it at the same time two crystalline tears, “pray for -me.” - -And drawing closer to him, she added, in a low voice: - -“If anything should happen to papa you will let me know at once, will -you not? I will send you our address at every place where we may make -any stay. Take care of him for me. Promise me to go occasionally to see -how he is getting on. He will be so lonely.” - -The Jesuit raised his head and fixed on the young girl his eyes, that -squinted slightly, as is apt to be the case with the eyes of persons -accustomed to concentrate their gaze; then, with the vague smile -characteristic of those given to meditation, and in the confidential -tone befitting the occasion: - -“Go in peace,” he answered, “and God our Lord be with you, for He is a -safe companion. I have said the Itinerary for you that we may come back -well and happy. Bear in mind what I have told you, little one; we are -now, so to speak, a dignified married lady, and although we think our -path is going to be strewn with roses and that everything is to be honey -and sweetness in our new state, and that we are going out into the world -to throw care to the winds and to enjoy ourselves--be on your guard! be -on your guard! From the quarter where we least expect it, trouble may -come, and we may have annoyances and trials and sufferings to endure -that we knew nothing about when we were children. It will not do to be -foolish, then, remember. We know that above there, directing the shining -stars in their course, is the only One who can understand us and console -us when He thinks proper to do so. Listen, instead of filling your -trunks with finery, fill them with patience, child, fill them with -patience. That is more useful than either arnica or plasters. If He who -was so great, had need of it to help Him to bear the cross, you who are -so little----” - -The homily might have lasted until now, accompanied and emphasized from -time to time by little slaps on the shoulder, had it not been -interrupted by the shock, rude as reality, of the train getting in -motion. There was a momentary confusion. The groom hastened to take -leave of everybody with a certain cordial familiarity in which the -experienced eye could detect a tinge of affectation and patronizing -condescension. He threw his right arm around his father-in-law, placing -his left hand, covered with a well-fitting yellow castor glove, on the -old man’s shoulder. - -“Write to me if the child should fall ill,” entreated the latter with -fatherly anxiety, his eyes filling with tears. - -“Have no fear, Señor Joaquin. Come, come, you must not give way like -this. There is no illness to be feared there. Good-by, Mendoya; good-by, -Santián. Thanks! thanks! Señor Governor, on my return I shall claim -those bottles of Pedro Jimenez. Don’t pretend you have forgotten them! -Lucía, you had better get in now, the train will start immediately and -ladies cannot----” - -And with a polite gesture he assisted the bride to mount the steps, -lifting her lightly by the waist. He then sprang up himself, scarcely -touching the step, after throwing away his half-smoked cigar. The iron -monster was already in motion when he entered the compartment and closed -the door behind him. The measured movement gradually grew more rapid -and the entire train passed before the party on the platform, leaving on -their sight a confused whirl of lines, colors, numbers, and rapid -glances from the passengers looking out at every window. For some -moments longer Lucía’s face could be distinguished, agitated and bathed -in tears, the flutter of her handkerchief could be seen, and her voice -heard saying: - -“Good-by, papa. Father Urtazu, good-by, good-by. Rosario, Carmen, -adieu.” - -Then all was lost in the distance, the course of the scaly serpent could -be traced only by a dark line, then by a blurred trail of thick smoke -that soon also vanished into space. Beyond the platform, now strangely -silent, shone the cloudless sky, of a steely blue, interminable fields -stretched monotonously far into the distance, the rails showed like -wrinkles on the dry face of the earth. A great silence rested upon the -railway station. The wedding party had remained motionless, as if -overwhelmed by the shock of parting. The friends of the bridegroom were -the first to recover themselves and to make a move to depart. They bade -good-by to the father of the bride with hasty hand-shakings and trivial -society phrases, somewhat carelessly worded, as if addressed by a -superior to an inferior, and then, in a body, took the road for the -city, once more indulging in the jests and laughter interrupted by the -departure of the train. - -The retinue of the bride, on their side, began to recover themselves -also, and after a sigh or two, after wiping their eyes with their -handkerchiefs, and in some instances even with the back of the hand, the -group of black human ants set itself in motion to leave the platform. -The irresistible force of circumstances drew them back to real life. - -The father of the bride, with a shake of his head and an eloquent shrug -of resignation, himself led the way. Beside him walked the Jesuit who -stretched his short stature to its utmost height in order to converse -with his companion, without succeeding, notwithstanding his laudable -efforts, in raising the circle of his tonsure above the athletic -shoulders of the afflicted old man. - -“Come, come, Señor Joaquin,” said Father Urtazu, “a fine time you chose -to wear that Good Friday face! One would suppose the child had been -carried off by force or that the marriage was not according to your -taste! Be reasonable. Was it not yourself, unhappy man, who arranged the -match? What is all this grieving about, then?” - -“If one could only be certain of the result in all one does,” said -Señor Joaquin, in a choking voice, slowly moving his bull-like neck. - -“It is too late for those reflections now. But we were in such -haste--such haste! that I don’t know what those white hairs and all the -years we carry on our shoulders were for. We were just like the little -boys in my class when I promise to tell them a story, and they are ready -to jump out of their skins with impatience. By the faith of Alfonso, one -might have thought you were the bride yourself--no, not that, for the -deuce a hurry the bride was in----” - -“Ah, father, what if you were right after all! You wanted to put off the -marriage----” - -“Softly, softly, my friend, stop there; I wanted to prevent it. I speak -my mind frankly.” - -Señor Joaquin looked more dejected than before. - -“By the Constitution!” he cried, in distressed accents, “what a trial -and what a responsibility it is for a father----” - -“To have daughters,” ended the Jesuit, with a vague smile, pushing out -his thick lips with a gesture of indulgent disdain; “and worst of all,” -he added, “is to be more obstinate than a mule, if you will pardon me -for saying so, and to think that poor Father Urtazu knows nothing about -anything but his stones, and his stars, and his microscope, and is an -ignoramus and simpleton where real life is concerned.” - -“Don’t make me feel any worse than I do already, father. It is trouble -enough not to be able to see Lucía, for I don’t know how long. All that -is wanting now is that the marriage should turn out badly and that she -should be unhappy----” - -“Well, well, give up tormenting yourself about it. What is done cannot -be undone. In the matter of marriage only He who is above can tie and -untie, and who knows but that all may turn out well, notwithstanding my -forebodings and my foolish fears. For what am I but a poor blind -creature who can see only what is right before his eyes? Bah! It is the -same with this as with the microscope. You look at a drop of water with -the naked eye and it looks so clear that you want to drink it up. But -you place it under those innocent-looking little lenses and, presto! you -find yourself face to face with all sorts of crawling things and -bacteria dancing a rigadoon inside. In the same way He who dwells above -the clouds up there sees things that to us dunces here below seem so -simple, but which for Him have their meaning. Bah, bah! He will take -care to arrange everything for us, things we could never arrange for -ourselves though we should try never so hard.” - -“You are right, our chief trust must be in God,” assented Señor Joaquin, -drawing a heavy sigh from the depths of his capacious chest. “To-night, -with all this worry, the confounded asthma will give me enough to think -of. I find it hard now to draw a breath. I shall sleep, if I sleep at -all, sitting up in bed.” - -“Send for that rascal, Rada,--he is very clever,” said the Jesuit, -looking compassionately at the old man’s flushed face and swollen eyes, -lighted by the oblique rays of the autumnal sun. - -While the wedding-party defiled with funereal slowness through the -ill-paved streets of Leon, the train hurried on, on, leaving behind the -endless rows of poplars, that looked like a staff of music, the notes of -a pale green traced on the crude red of the plains. Lucía, huddled up in -a corner of the compartment, wept, without bitterness, with a sense of -luxury, rather, with the vehement and uncontrollable grief of girlhood. -The groom was quite conscious that it was his place to say some word, to -show his affection, to sympathize with this first grief, to console it; -but there are certain situations in life in which simple natures display -tact and judgment, but in which the man of the world, the man of -experience, finds himself utterly at a loss what to do. At times a -drachm of heart is worth a ton of talent. Where vain formulas are -ineffectual, feeling, with its spontaneous eloquence, may be -all-powerful. After racking his brains to find some opening to begin a -conversation with his bride, it occurred to the bridegroom to take -advantage of a trivial circumstance. - -“Lucía,” he said in a somewhat embarrassed voice, “change your seat, my -child; come over here; the sun falls full on you where you are, and that -is very injurious.” - -Lucía rose with the stiffness of an automaton, crossed to the other side -of the compartment, and letting herself fall heavily into her seat, -covered her face again with her delicate handkerchief, and once more -gave vent in sobs to the tender emotions of her youthful breast. - -The bridegroom frowned. It was not for nothing that he had spent forty -odd years of existence surrounded by good-humored people of easy -manners, shunning disagreeable and mournful scenes, which produced in -his system an extraordinary amount of nervous disturbance, disgusting -him, as the sublime horror of a tragedy disgusts persons of mediocre -intelligence. The gesture by which he manifested his impatience was -followed by a shrug of the shoulders which said clearly, “Let us give -the squall time to blow over; these tears will exhaust themselves, and -after the storm will come fine weather.” Resolved, then, to wait until -the clouds should clear away, he began a minute examination of his -traveling equipage, informing himself as to whether the buckles of the -shawl strap worked well, and whether his cane and his umbrella were -properly fastened in a bundle with Lucía’s parasol. He also convinced -himself to his satisfaction that a Russian leather satchel with plated -clasps, which he carried at his side, attached to a leather strap slung -across his shoulders, opened and shut easily, carefully replacing the -little steel key of the satchel in his waistcoat pocket afterward. - -He then took his railway-guide from one of the pockets of his overcoat -and proceeded to check off with his fore-finger the names of the -stations at which they were to stop on their route. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - - -We have now to learn whose was the breath that kindled the nuptial-torch -on the present occasion. - -Señor Joaquin, then called plain Joaquin, had left his native place in -the vigor of early manhood, strong as a bull and untiring in labor as a -domesticated ox. Finding a place in Madrid as porter to a nobleman who -had an ancestral estate in Leon, he became the broker, man of business, -and confidential agent of all the people of repute of his native -province. He looked up lodgings for them, found them a safe warehouse -for their goods and was, in short, the Providence of Astorga. His -undoubted honesty, his punctuality and zeal won for him so good a -reputation that commissions poured in upon him in a constant and steady -stream, and reals, dollars, and doubloons fell like a shower of hail -into his pocket in such abundance, that fifteen years after his arrival -in the capital Joaquin was able to unite himself in the indissoluble -bonds of matrimony with a countrywoman of his own, a maid in the service -of the nobleman’s wife, and the mistress, for a long time past, of the -thoughts of the porter; and, after the marriage, to set up a grocery, -over the door of which was inscribed in golden letters the legend: “The -Leonese. Imported Provisions.” From a broker he then became the business -manager of his compatriots in Madrid; he bought goods for them wholesale -and sold them at retail, and everyone in Madrid who wished to obtain -aromatic chocolate, ground by hand, or biscuits of feathery lightness, -such as only the women of Astorga possess the secret of making, found -themselves obliged to have recourse to him. It became the fashion to -breakfast on the Carácas chocolate and the biscuits of the Leonese. The -magnate, his former master, set the example, giving him his custom, and -the people of rank followed, their appetites awakened by the -old-fashioned present of a dainty worthy of the table of Carlos IV or of -Godoy. And it was worth while to see how Señor Joaquin, the commercial -horizon ever widening before him, gradually came to monopolize all the -national culinary specialties--tender peas from Fuentesauco, rich -sausages from Candelario, hams from Calderas, sweetmeats from -Estremadura, olives from the olive-groves of Seville, honeyed dates from -Almeria, and golden oranges that store up in their rind the sunshine of -Valencia. In this manner and by this unremitting industry Joaquin -accumulated a considerable sum of money, if not with honor, at least -with honesty. But, successful as he had been in acquiring money, he was -more successful still in investing it after he had acquired it, in lands -and houses in Leon, for which purpose he made frequent journeys to his -native city. After eight years of childless marriage he became the -father of a healthy and handsome girl, an event which rejoiced him as -greatly as the birth of an heiress to his crown might rejoice a king; -but the vigorous Leonese mother was unable to support the crisis of her -late maternity, and after clinging feebly to life for a few months after -the birth of the child, let go her hold upon it altogether, much against -her will. In losing his wife Señor Joaquin lost his right hand, and from -that time forward ceased to be distinguished by the air of satisfaction -with which he had been wont to preside at the counter, displaying his -gigantic proportions as he reached to the highest shelf to take down the -boxes of raisins, for which purpose he had but to raise himself slightly -on the tips of his broad feet and stretch out his powerful arm. He would -pass whole hours in a state of abstraction, his gaze fixed mechanically -on the bunches of grapes hanging from the ceiling, or on the bags of -coffee piled up in the darkest corner of the shop, on which the deceased -was in the habit of seating herself at her knitting. Finally, he fell -into so deep a melancholy that even his honest and lawful gains, -acquired in the exercise of his business, became a matter of -indifference to him, and the physicians prescribing for him the -salubrious air of his native place and a change in his regimen and -manner of life, he disposed of the grocery, and with magnanimity not -unworthy of an ancient sage, retired to his native village, satisfied -with the wealth he had already acquired and unambitious of greater -gains. - -He took with him the little Lucía, now the only treasure dear to his -heart, who with her infantile graces had already begun to enliven the -shop, carrying on a fierce and constant warfare against the figs of -Fraga and the almonds of Alcoy, less white than the little teeth that -bit them. - -The young girl grew up like a vigorous sapling planted in fertile soil; -it almost seemed as if the life she had been the cause of her mother’s -losing was concentrated in the person of the child. She passed through -the crises of infancy and girlhood without any of those nameless -sufferings that blanch the cheeks and quench the light in the eyes of -the young. There was a perfect equilibrium in her rich organism between -the nerves and the blood, and the result was a temperament such as is -now seldom to be met with in our degenerate society. - -Mind and body in Lucía kept pace with each other in their development, -like two traveling companions who, arm in arm, ascend the hills and -help each other over the rugged places on their journey, and it was a -curious fact that, while the materialist physician, Velez de Rada, who -attended Señor Joaquin, took delight in watching Lucía and noting how -exuberantly the vital current flowed through the members of this young -Cybele, the learned Jesuit, Father Urtazu, was also her devoted admirer, -finding her conscience as clear and diaphanous as the crystals of his -microscope, neither of them being conscious that what they both admired -in the young girl was, perhaps, one and the same thing seen from a -different point of view, namely, perfect health. - -Señor Joaquin desired to give Lucía a good education, as he understood -it, and indeed did all in his power to cripple the superior nature of -his daughter, though without success. Impelled on the one hand by the -desire to bestow accomplishments on Lucía which should enhance her -merit, fearing on the other lest it should be sarcastically said in the -village that Uncle Joaquin aspired to have a young lady daughter, he -brought her up in a hybrid manner, placing her as a day pupil in a -boarding school, under the rule of a prudish directress who professed to -know everything. There Lucía was taught a smattering of French and a -little music; as for any solid instruction, it was not even thought of; -knowledge of social usages, zero; and for all feminine knowledge--a -knowledge much vaster and more complicated than the uninitiated -imagine--some sort of fancy work, as tedious and useless as it was ugly, -patterns of slippers in the worst possible taste, embroidered -shirt-bosoms, or bead purses. Happily, Father Urtazu sowed among so many -weeds a few grains of wheat, and the moral and religious instruction of -Lucía, although limited, was as correct and solid as her school studies -were futile. Father Urtazu had more of the practical moralist than of -the ascetic, and the young girl learned more from him concerning ethics -than dogma. So that although a good Christian she was not a fervent one. -The absolute tranquillity of her temperament forbade her ever being -carried away by enthusiasm; there was in the girl something of the -repose of the Olympian goddesses; neither earthly nor heavenly matters -disturbed the calm serenity of her mind. Father Urtazu used to say, -pushing out his lip with his accustomed gesture: - -“We are sleeping, sleeping, but I am very sure we are not dead; and the -day on which we awaken there will be something to see; God grant that it -may be for good.” - -The friends of Lucía were Rosarito, the daughter of Doña Agustina, the -landlady of the village inn; Carmen, the niece of the magistrate, and a -few other young girls of the same class, many of whom dreamed of the -gentle tranquillity, the peaceful monotony of the conventual life, -forming to themselves seductive pictures of the joys of the cloister, of -the tender emotion of the day of the profession, when, crowned with -flowers and wearing the white veil, they should offer themselves to -Christ with the exquisite sweetness of adding, “forever! forever!” Lucía -had listened to them without a single fiber of her being vibrating -responsive to this ideal. Active life called to her with deep and -powerful voice. Nor did she feel any desire, on the other hand, to -imitate others of her companions whom she saw furtively hiding -love-letters in their bosoms or hurrying, eager and blushing, to the -balcony. In her childhood, prolonged by innocence and radiant health, -there was no room for any other pleasure than to run about among the -shady walks that surrounded Leon, leaping for very joy, like a youthful -nymph sporting in some Hellenic valley. - -Señor Joaquin devoutly believed that he had given his daughter all the -education that was necessary, and he even thought the waltzes and -fantasies, which she pitilessly slaughtered with her unskillful fingers -on the piano, admirably executed. However deeply he might hide it in the -secret recesses of his soul, the Leonese was not without the aspiration, -common to all men who have exercised humble occupations and earned their -bread by the sweat of their brows--he desired that his daughter should -profit by his efforts, ascending a step higher in the social scale. He -would have been well contented, for his own part, to continue the same -“Uncle Joaquin” as before; he had no pretensions to be considered a rich -man, and both in his disposition and his manners, he was extremely -simple; but if he were willing to renounce position for himself, he was -not willing to do so for his daughter. He seemed to hear a voice saying -to him, as the witches said to Banquo, “Thou shalt get kings though thou -be none.” And divided between the modest conviction of his own absolute -insignificance and the moral certainty he entertained that Lucía was -destined to occupy an elevated position in the world, he came to the not -unreasonable conclusion that marriage was to be the means whereby the -desired metamorphosis of the girl into the lady of rank was to be -accomplished. A distinguished son-in-law was from this time forth the -ceaseless aspiration of the ex-grocer. - -Nor were these the only weaknesses of Señor Joaquin. He had others, -which we have no compunction in disclosing to the reader. Perhaps the -strongest and most confirmed of these was his inordinate love of coffee, -a taste acquired in the importing business, in the gloomy winter -mornings, when the hoar frost whitened the glass-door of the show-case, -when his feet seemed to be freezing in the gray atmosphere of the -solitary shop, and the lately-abandoned, perhaps still warm bed, tempted -him, with mute eloquence, back to his slumbers. Then, half-awake, -solicited to sleep by the requirements of his Herculean physique and his -sluggish circulation, Señor Joaquin would take the little apparatus, -fill the lamp with alcohol, light it, and soon from the tin spout would -flow the black and smoking stream of coffee which at once warmed his -blood, cleared his brain, and by the slight fever and waste of tissue it -produced, gave him the necessary stimulus to begin his day’s work, to -make up his accounts, and sell his provisions. After his return to Leon, -when he was free to sleep as long as he liked, Señor Joaquin did not -give up the acquired vice but rather reinforced it with new ones; he -fell into the habit of drinking the black infusion in the _café_ nearest -to his abode, accompanying it with a glass of Kummel, and by the perusal -of a political journal--always and unfailingly the same. - -On a certain occasion it occurred to the government to suspend the -publication of this newspaper for a period of twenty days; a little more -and Señor Joaquin would have given up his visits to the _café_ through -sheer desperation. For, Señor Joaquin being a Spaniard, it seems -needless to say that he had his political opinions like the best, and -that he was consumed by a zeal for the public welfare, as we all of us -are. Señor Joaquin was a harmless specimen of the now extinct species, -the progressionist. If we were to classify him scientifically, we should -say he belonged to the variety of the impressionist progressionist. The -only event that had ever occurred to him during his life as a political -partisan was that one day a celebrated politician, a radical at that -time, but who afterward passed over bag and baggage to the -conservatives, being a candidate for representative to the Cortes, -entered his shop and asked him for his vote. From that supreme moment -our Señor Joaquin was labeled, classified, and stamped--he was a -progressionist of Don ----’s party. It was in vain that years passed and -political changes succeeded one another and the political swallows, -always in search of milder climes, took wing for other regions; it was -in vain that evil-disposed persons said to Señor Joaquin that his chief -and natural leader, the aforesaid personage, was as much of a -progressionist as his grandmother; that there were, in fact, no longer -any progressionists on the face of the earth; that the progressionist -was as much of a fossil as the megatherium or the plesiosaurus; it was -in vain that they pointed out to him the innumerable patches sewed on -the purple mantle of the will of the nation by the not impeccable hands -of his idol himself. Señor Joaquin, even with all this testimony, was -not convinced, but, change who might, remained firm as a post in his -loyal attachment to the leader. Like those lovers who fix upon their -memories the image of the beloved such as she appeared to them in some -supreme and memorable moment, and in despite of the ravages of pitiless -time, never again behold her under any other aspect, so Señor Joaquin -could never get it into his head that his dear leader was in any respect -different from what he had been at the moment when, with flushed face, -he deigned to lean on the counter of the grocery, a loaf of sugar on the -one side and the scales on the other, and with fiery and tribunitial -eloquence ask him for his vote. From that time he was a subscriber to -the organ of the aforesaid leader. He also bought a poor lithograph, -representing the leader in the act of pronouncing an oration, and -placing it in the conventional gilt frame, hung it up in his bed-room, -between a daguerreotype of his deceased spouse and an engraving of the -blessed Santa Lucía, who displayed in a dish two eyes resembling two -boiled eggs. Señor Joaquin accustomed himself to look at political -events from the point of view of his leader, whom he called, quite -naturally, by his baptismal name. Did matters in Cuba assume a -threatening aspect? Bah! Señor Don ---- says that complete pacification -is an affair of a couple of months, at the utmost. Was it rumored that -armed men were marching through the Basque provinces? There was no need -to be frightened. Don ---- affirmed that the absolutist party was dead -and the dead do not come to life again. Was there a serious split in the -liberal majority, some supporting X, others Z? Very well, very well, -Don ---- will settle the question; he is the very man to do it. Was there -fear of a famine? Do you suppose Don ---- is sitting idly sucking his -thumb all this time? This very moment the veins (of the public treasury) -will be opened. Are the taxes too heavy? Don ---- spoke of economizing. -Are the Socialists growing troublesome? Only let them dare show -themselves with Don ---- at the head of affairs and he will soon put them -down. And in this manner, without a doubt or a suspicion ever entering -his mind, Señor Joaquin passed through the storm of the revolution and -entered on the period of the restoration, greatly delighted to see that -Don ---- floated on the top of the wave and that his merits were -appreciated, and that he held the pan by the handle to-day just as he -had done yesterday. - -Cherishing this sort of adoration for the leader, the reader may imagine -what was the delight, confusion, and astonishment of Señor Joaquin at -receiving a visit one morning from a grave and well-dressed person who -had come to salute him in the name of Don ---- himself. - -The visitor was called Don Aurelio Miranda, and he occupied in Leon one -of those positions, numerous in Spain, which are none the less -profitable for being honorable, and which, without entailing any great -amount of labor or responsibility, open to the holder the doors of good -society by conferring upon him a certain degree of official -importance,--a species of laical benefice in which are united the two -things that, according to the proverb, cannot be contained in one sack. -Miranda came of a bureaucratic family, in which were transmitted by -entail, as it were, important political positions, thanks to a special -gift possessed by its members, perpetuated from father to son, a certain -feline dexterity in falling always on their feet, and a certain delicate -sobriety in the matter of expressing their opinions. The race of the -Mirandas had succeeded in dyeing themselves with dull and refined -colors, which would serve equally well as a background for white -insignia or red device, so that there was no juncture of affairs in -which they were the losers, no radicalism with which they could not make -a compromise, no sea so smooth or so stormy that they could not fish -successfully in its waters. The young Aurelio was born, it might be -said, within the protecting shadow of the office walls. Before he had -grown a beard or a mustache he had a position, obtained for him by -paternal influence, aided by the influence of the other Mirandas. At -first the employment was insignificant, with a salary that barely -sufficed for the perfumes and neckties and other trifling expenses of -the boy, who was naturally extravagant. Soon richer spoils fell to his -share, and Aurelio followed in the route already marked out for him by -his ancestors. Notwithstanding all this, however, it was evident that -in him his race had degenerated somewhat. Devoted to pleasure, -ostentatious and vain, Aurelio did not possess the delicate art of -always and in everything observing the happy medium; and he was wanting -in the outward gravity, the composure of manner, which had won for past -Mirandas the reputation of being men of brains and of ripe political -experience. Conscious of his defects, Aurelio adroitly endeavored to -turn them to account, and more than one delicate white hand had written -for him perfumed notes, containing efficacious recommendations to -personages of widely differing quality and class. In like manner, he -gave himself out to be the companion and bosom friend of several -political leaders, among others of the Don ---- whom we already know. He -had never spoken ten consecutive words having any relation to politics -with any of them. He retailed to them the news of the day, the newest -scandal, the latest _double entendre_, and the most recent burlesque, -and in this way, without compromising himself with any, he was favored -and served by all. He caught hold, like an inexpert swimmer, of the men -who were more experienced swimmers than himself, and, sinking here and -floating there, he succeeded in weathering the fierce political storms -which beat upon Spain, following the time-honored example of the -Mirandas. But even political influence in time becomes exhausted, and -there came a period in which such influence as Aurelio could command, -now greatly diminished, was insufficient to keep him in the only place -to his taste--Madrid, and he was compelled to go vegetate in Leon, -between the government building and the cathedral, neither of which -edifices interested him in the least. What was especially bitter to -Aurelio was the consciousness that his decline in official life had its -origin in another and an irreparable decline,--a decline in his personal -attractions. After the age of forty he was no longer the subject of -little notes of recommendation, or, at least, these notes were not so -warm as before; in the offices of the notabilities his presence had come -to be no more regarded than if he had been a chair or a table, and he -himself was conscious that his fluency of speech was abandoning him. As -he advanced in years he grew more like his ancestors. He began to -acquire the seriousness of the Mirandas, and from an amiable rake he -became a man of weight. Perhaps certain obstinate ailments, the protest -of the liver against the unhealthy life--by turns sedentary, by turns -full of feverish excitement--so long led by Aurelio, were not without -their part in this metamorphosis. Therefore, profiting by his sojourn -in Leon and by the knowledge and singular skill of Velez de Rada, he -devoted himself to the work of repairing the breaches made in his -shattered organization; and the methodical life and the increasing -gravity of his manners and appearance, which had been prejudicial to him -in the capital, betraying the fact that he was becoming a useless and -worn-out instrument, served him as a passport with the timid Leonese -villagers, winning for him their sympathy and the reputation of being a -person of credit and responsibility. - -Miranda was in the habit of making an occasional trip to Madrid by way -of diversion, and on one of these trips he had met, not long since, the -Don ---- of Señor Joaquin, whom we shall call Colmenar, through respect -for his incognito--furious, at the moment, with a Don ---- who took -pleasure in thwarting all his plans and in nullifying his appointments. -There was no means of coming to an understanding with this demon of a -man, who persisted in cutting and mowing down the flourishing field of -the Colmenarist adherents. Miranda, at the time in question, was in -imminent danger of losing his position, and the words of the leader made -him jump from his seat on the luxurious divan. “It is just as I say,” -continued Colmenar; “it is enough that I should have an interest in a -man’s retaining his place for him to get him out of it. It is to be -counted upon to a certainty. And there is no means of escaping it. He -strikes without pity.” - -“As for me,” answered Miranda, “if the worst were only to leave -Leon--for, to tell the truth, that village bores me to death, although -it is not without its advantages. But if matters go any further I shall -be in a pretty fix.” - -“And the most likely thing is that they will go further. Fortune is the -enemy of the old. You have changed greatly for the worse, of late. That -hair--do you remember what a splendid head of hair you had? We shall -both soon be obliged to have recourse to acorn-oil as a heroic remedy -_in extremis_.” - -“To hear you speak,” exclaimed Miranda, twisting the locks on his -temples with his former martial air, “one would suppose that I was bald. -I think I manage to ward off the attacks of time very well. My ailments -have made me a little----” - -“Are you ill?” interrupted Colmenar; “leaks in the roof, my boy; leaks -in the roof!” - -“An affection of the liver, complicated with---- But in that antiquated -village of Leon I have stumbled upon one of the most modern of -physicians, a _savant_,” Miranda hastened to add, observing the bored -look of the leader, who feared he was going to be treated to a history -of the disease. “I assure you that Velez de Rada is a prodigy. A -confirmed materialist, it is true----” - -“Like all doctors,” said Colmenar, with a shrug of the shoulders. “And -how about other matters? Have you made many conquests in Leon? Are the -Leonese girls susceptible?” - -“Bah, hypocrites!” exclaimed Miranda, who, in the unreserve of -confidential intercourse permitted himself to indulge in an occasional -touch of irreverence. “The Jesuits have their heads turned with -confraternities and novenas, and they go about devouring the saints with -kisses. There is little social intercourse,--every one in his own house -and God in the house of every one. But, after all, that suits me very -well, since I require to rest and to lead a regular life.” - -Colmenar listened in silence, tracing with his eyes the pattern on the -soft, thick carpet. - -At last he raised his head and slapped his forehead with his open palm. - -“An unprecedented idea had just occurred to me,” he said, repeating the -celebrated phrase of the Portuguese minister. “Why don’t you marry, my -dear fellow?” - -“A bright idea, truly! A wife costs so little in these days. And -afterward? ‘For him who does not like soup, a double portion.’ I am -going to lose my situation, it may be, and you talk to me of marrying!” - -“I do not propose, to you a wife who will lighten your purse, but one -who will make it heavy.” - -And the leader laughed loud and long at his own wit. Miranda remained -pensive, thinking over the solid advantages of the plan, which he was -not long in discovering. There could be no better means of providing -against the assaults of hostile fortune and securing the doubtful -future, before the few hairs he had left should have disappeared and the -superficial polish conferred by fashion and the arts of the toilet -should have vanished. And then, Leon was a city that suggested of itself -matrimonial ideas. What was there to do but marry in a place where -dullness reigned supreme, where celibacy inspired mistrust, and where -the most innocent adventure gave rise to the most outrageous slanders? -Therefore he said aloud: - -“You are right, my boy. Leon is a place that inspires one with the -desire to marry and to live like a saint.” - -“The truth is, that for you,” continued Colmenar, “marriage has now -become a necessity. Aside from the fact that it is high time for you -(here he smiled maliciously) to think of marrying, unless you want to be -called an old bachelor, your health and your pocket both require it. If -I cannot succeed in keeping you in your place what are you going to do? -I suppose you have saved nothing?” - -“Saved? I? _Au jour le jour_,” said Miranda, pronouncing with airy -nonchalance the transpyrenean phrase. - -“Well, then, _il faut se faire une raison_,” replied Colmenar, pleased -to be able to display his learning in his turn. - -“The question is to find the woman, the phoenix,” murmured Miranda, -meditatively. “Girls of a marriageable age there are in plenty, but I -have lost my reckoning here. Suggest some one you----” - -“Some one here? God deliver you from the women of Madrid. They are more -to be feared than the cholera? Do you know what the requirements are of -any one of those angels? Do you know how much they spend?” - -“So that----” - -“The wife you require is in Leon itself.” - -“In Leon! Yes, perhaps you are right, it might be easier there. But I -don’t see--. The de Argas are already engaged; Concha Vivares is rich in -expectations only; she has an aunt who intends to make her her heiress -at her death, but before that event occurs---- The de Hornillos -girl--no, she has nothing but patents of nobility, and they won’t make -the pot boil.” - -“You are flying too high; young ladies are at a discount. Wait a moment -and I will show you----” - -Colmenar rose, and opening one of the drawers of his desk, took from it -a strip of paper, yellow with age and covered with names, like a -proscription list. And it was in truth a list; in it were inscribed in -alphabetical order the names of the feudatories of the great Colmenarian -personality, residing in the various provinces of the Peninsula. Under -some of the names was written a capital L, which signified, “Loyal”; -others were marked V L, “Very loyal”; a few were marked, “Doubtful.” - -The leader placed his forefinger on one of the names marked L. - -“I offer you,” he said to Miranda, “a young girl who has a fortune of -perhaps more than two millions.” - -Miranda opened wide his eyes, and stretched out his hand to take the -auspicious list. - -“Two millions!” he exclaimed. “But there is no one like you for these -finds.” - -“You may have seen in Leon the person whose name is inscribed here,” -continued Colmenar, indicating the line with his nail. “A robust, -fine-looking old man, strong and vigorous still, Joaquin Gonzalez, the -Leonese?” - -“The Leonese! There is no one I know better. He has come to the -government office of Leon several times, on business. Of course I know -him. And now I remember that he has a daughter, but I have never taken -any particular notice of her. She is very seldom seen.” - -“They live very modestly. In ten years the fortune will double itself. -He is a great man for business, the Leonese. A poor creature, a -simpleton, in everything else; in politics he sees no further than his -nose, but he has succeeded in making a fortune. This girl is his only -child, and he adores her.” - -“And don’t you think it likely that the girl may have formed some -attachment already?” - -“Bah, she is too young! The moment you present yourself--with your good -address and your experience in such affairs----” - -“Probably she is a ninny, and ugly into the bargain.” - -“Her father was a magnificent-looking fellow in his youth, and her -mother a handsome brunette,--why should the girl be ugly? No one is -ugly at fifteen. She will need polishing, it is true; but between you -and a dressmaker that is a question of a month. Women are much more -readily civilized and polished than men. The desire to please teaches -them more than a hundred masters could do.” - -“And what would all my friends say of me--especially in Leon--if they -saw me marry the daughter of the Leonese?” - -“Bah! bah! that is simply a question of making a change. After you are -married, petition privately to be transferred to some other position. -The old man will remain there, taking care of the property, and you and -the girl will go live where nobody will know whether her father was an -archduke or the executioner. After the marriage, you and your bride can -take a little trip to the continent and in this way you will escape -gossip during the first few months. And be quick about it before you -begin to grow rotund, and your hair---- Ah, how time passes! It is sad -to think how old we are getting.” - -Miranda gazed at the point of his elegant tan-colored boot in silence, -thoughtfully scratching his forehead. - -“Find me an excuse to visit the house,” he said at last, with -resolution. “They are unaccustomed to society, and it will be necessary -to have one. I shall not be required to parade the girl through the -streets, I suppose.” - -“You will make them a visit in my name. The old man will give you a -warmer welcome than if you were the king himself!” - -So saying, the leader seated himself at the table, which was littered -with newspapers, letters, and books, and taking a sheet of stamped paper -ran his hand over the white page, filling it with the rapid, almost -unintelligible caligraphy of a man overwhelmed with business. He then -folded the paper, slipped it into an envelope, and, without closing it, -handed it to his friend. - -When Miranda rose to take his leave he approached Colmenar, and speaking -in a low voice, almost in a whisper, he murmured: - -“Are you quite sure--quite certain about the--the two mill----” - -“It is so likely I should be mistaken! All you have to do is to make -inquiries in Leon. In conscience, you owe me a commission,” and the -politician laughed and tapped Miranda on the cheek as if he were a -child. - -Under this exalted patronage Miranda presented himself in the peaceful -abode of the Colmenarist feudatory, and was received as befitted a guest -who came thus recommended. Naturally he resolved not to make himself -known at once as a suitor for the hand of Lucía. Besides being a want of -delicacy this would also be a want of tact, and then Miranda proposed to -himself, before taking any decided step, to study carefully the ground -on which he was treading. He found that what the leader had told him -with regard to the money was the truth, and even less than the truth. He -saw a house, old-fashioned in style, rude and plebeian in its usages, -but in which honesty presided, and a solid and secure capital, daily -augmented through the judicious management of Señor Joaquin and his -simple and economical mode of living. It is true that the worthy Leonese -seemed to Miranda a tiresome companion, vulgar in his manners, weak in -character, and mediocre in intellect,--stupid even, at times; but he was -obliged to put up with him, and he even adapted himself so skillfully to -the ideas of the old man that the latter was soon unable to sip his -coffee or to read _El Progreso Nacional_, the organ of Colmenar, without -the sauce of the witty commentaries that Miranda made on every article, -every paragraph, every item of news it contained. Miranda knew by heart -the obverse side, the inner aspect of politics, and he explained -amusingly the sly allusions, the artful reservations, the covert satire, -that abound in every important newspaper, and that are a constant -enigma for the simple-minded provincial subscriber. So that, since he -had become intimate with Miranda, Señor Joaquin enjoyed the profound -pleasure of being initiated into the mysteries, and he looked with -disdain upon his Leonese co-religionists, who had not yet been admitted -into the sanctuary of secret politics. In addition to these pleasures -which he owed to Miranda’s friendship, the good old man swelled with -pride--we already know how little of a philosopher he was--when he was -seen walking side by side with a gentleman of so distinguished an -appearance, the intimate friend of the governor, and the familiar -companion of the highest people of the capital. - -Lucía regarded the visit of the courteous and affable Miranda without -displeasure, and noted with childish curiosity the neatness of his -person, his well-polished shoes, his snowy linen, his scarf-pin, the -curious trinkets attached to his watch-chain, for every -woman--consciously or unconsciously--takes pleasure in these external -adornments. Besides, Miranda possessed the art--and practiced it--of -what we may call winning affection by diverting; he brought the young -girl every day some new trifle, some novelty,--now a chromo, now a -photograph, now rare flowers, now illustrated periodicals, now a novel -by Fernan Caballero, or Alarcon,--and the pretty gifts that flowed -through the doors of the antiquated house, messages as it were, from -modern civilization, were so many voices praising the generous giver. -The latter succeeded in bringing his conversation to the level of -Lucía’s understanding, and showed himself very well informed regarding -feminine, or rather infantile matters, and the young girl would -sometimes even consult him with regard to the style in which she should -wear her hair and the make of her gowns, and Miranda would very -seriously make her raise or lower, by two centimeters, the waist of her -gown or her chignon. Incidents like these served to vary a little the -monotony of the life of the Leonese maiden, lending a charm to her -intercourse with her undeclared lover. - -At first it was matter of no little surprise in Leon that the -fashionable Miranda should choose for his companion Señor Joaquin, a man -on whose square shoulders the peasant’s jacket seemed unalterably -riveted and fastened; but gossip was not long in arriving at a rational -explanation of the phenomenon, and Lucía’s companions soon began to -tease her unmercifully about Señor de Miranda’s passion, his attentions, -his presents, and his devotion. She listened to them with a tranquil -smile, never blushing, never losing a moment’s sleep on account of it -all; nor did her heart beat a second faster when she heard Miranda’s -ring at the bell, followed by the noise made by his resplendent boots as -he entered the room. As no tender speech of Miranda’s came to confirm -the words of her companions, Lucía continued tranquil and careless as -ever. But Miranda, resolved now to bring his enterprise to a -termination, and thinking that he had spent time enough in paving the -way, one day, after sipping his coffee and reading _El Progreso -Nacional_ in the company of Señor Joaquin, asked the latter in plain -terms for his daughter’s hand. - -The Leonese was struck dumb with amazement and knew not what to say or -do. His dream--Lucía’s entrance, so ardently desired, into the circles -of polite society--was about to be realized. But we must be just to -Señor Joaquin. He did not fail to perceive clearly, in this supreme -moment, certain unfavorable points in the proposed marriage. He saw the -difference in the ages of the prospective bride and bridegroom; he knew -nothing of Miranda’s pecuniary position, while his daughter’s -magnificent dowry was a matter of certainty; in short, he had a vague -intuition of the base self-interest on which the demand was founded. -The suitor showed himself a skillful strategist, forestalling suspicion, -in a manner, and anticipating the thoughts of the Leonese. - -“I myself,” he said, “have no fortune. I have my profession--it is -true”; (Miranda, like most other Spaniards, had studied law and obtained -his degree in early manhood) “and if I should some day lose my position -I have energy enough, and more than enough, to work hard and open an -office in Madrid, where I could have a fine practice. I desire ease and -comfort for my wife, but for her alone; as for my own wants, what I have -is sufficient to supply them. The difference in fortune deterred me for -a long time from asking Lucía’s hand, but the sentiment with which so -much beauty and innocence has inspired me was too powerful to resist; -notwithstanding this, however, if Colmenar had not assured me that you -were generous-minded and disinterested, I should never have summoned -resolution----” - -“Señor Colmenar has far too high an opinion of me,” responded the -flattered Leonese; “but those things require consideration. Go take a -little trip----” - -“In a fortnight I will come back for your answer,” responded Miranda, -discreetly, taking his hat to go. - -He passed the fortnight in a Satanic frame of mind, for it was -undoubtedly ridiculous for a man of his pretensions and his rank to have -asked in marriage the daughter of a grocer and to be obliged to wait in -the ante-chamber of the shop, so to say, until they should deign to open -the door to admit him. Meanwhile Señor Joaquin, reading his newspaper -and sipping his coffee alone, missed him greatly, and the idea of the -marriage began to take root in his mind. Every day he thought the friend -of Colmenar more and more desirable for a son-in-law. Notwithstanding -this, however, he did what people usually do who desire to follow their -inclinations without bearing the responsibility of their actions--he -took counsel with some friends in regard to the matter, hoping to -shelter himself under their approbation. In this expectation he was -disappointed. Father Urtazu, who was the first person that he consulted, -exclaimed, with his Navarrese frankness: - -“For the old cat the tender mouse! The sweet-tongued, smooth-faced Don -knows very well what he is about. But don’t you see, unhappy man, that -the old fop might be Lucía’s father? Heaven knows what adventures he has -had in the course of his life! Holy Virgin! who can tell what stories he -may not have hidden away in the pockets of his coat!” - -“But what would you do if you were in my case, Father Urtazu?” - -“I? Take a year to think of it instead of a fortnight, and another year -after that, for whatever might chance to turn up.” - -“By the Constitution! You have not observed the merits of Señor Aurelio, -father.” - -“The merits--the merits--pretty merits, indeed! Pish, pish! Unless it be -a merit to go dressed like a dandy, displaying a couple of inches of his -shirt cuffs, and giving himself the airs of a young man, when he is -older-looking than I, for, though it be true that my hair is gray, at -least the tree has not dropped its leaves!” - -And Father Urtazu pulled with energy the stout iron-gray locks that grew -on his temples, bristly as brambles. - -“What does the child herself say about it?” he asked, suddenly. - -“I have not yet spoken to her----” - -“But that is the first thing to be done, unhappy man! Ah, how true is it -that the mind, becomes dull with age. What are you waiting for?” - -Velez de Rada was even yet more decided and uncompromising. - -“Marry your daughter to Miranda!” he cried, raising his eyebrows with an -angry and indignant gesture. “Are you mad? The finest specimen of the -race that I have met with here for the past ten years. A girl who has -red globules enough in her blood to supply all the anæmic mannikins that -promenade the streets of Madrid! Such a figure! Such a poise! Such -proportions! And to Miranda who----” (here professional discretion -sealed the lips of the physician, and silence reigned in the room). - -“Señor Rada,”--Señor Joaquin, who was a little hard of hearing, began -timidly. - -“Do you know what is the duty of a father who has a daughter like -Lucía?” the physician resumed. “To look, like Diogenes, for a man who, -in constitution and exuberance of vitality, is her equal, and unite -them. Do you consider that, with the indifference that prevails in this -matter of marriage, with the sacrilegious unions we are accustomed to -see between impoverished, sickly, and tainted natures and healthy -natures, it is possible that at no distant date--in three or four -generations more, perhaps--the utter deterioration of the peoples of -Europe will be an assured fact? Or do you think that we can with -impunity transmit to our descendants poison and pus in place of blood?” - -Señor Joaquin left the doctor’s office a little frightened, but more -confounded, consoling himself with the thought, however, that the -misfortunes predicted for his race would not happen for a century to -come, at the soonest. The last disappointment that awaited him in his -matrimonial consultations came from a sister of his, a very old woman -who, in her youthful days, had been a laundress, but who was now -supported by her brother. The poor woman, whose deceased husband had led -her a dog’s life, exclaimed, in her husky voice, raising her withered -hands to heaven, and shaking her trembling head: - -“Miranda? Miranda? Some rascal, I suppose; some villain. May a -thunderbolt strike----” - -The Leonese waited to hear no more, and regarded his consultation as at -an end. - -The most important part of the question--Lucía’s opinion--was still -wanting. Her father was racking his brains to find a diplomatic means of -discovering it, when the young girl herself provided him with the -desired opportunity. - -“Papa,” she asked one day, with the utmost innocence, “can Señor Miranda -be ill? He has not been here for several days.” - -Señor Joaquin seized the opportunity and laid before her Miranda’s -proposal. Lucía listened attentively, with surprise depicted in her -lustrous eyes. - -“See there!” she said, at last. “Rosarito and Carmela were right, then, -when they declared that Señor Miranda came here on my account. But who -would have imagined it?” - -“Come, child, what answer shall I give the gentleman?” asked the -Leonese, with anxiety. - -“Papa, how should I know? I never suspected that he wanted to marry me.” - -“But, on your part, do you like Señor Miranda?” - -“Like him? That I do. Though he is not so very young, he is still -handsome,” answered Lucía, with the utmost naturalness. - -“And his disposition, his manners?” - -“He is very polite, very amiable.” - -“Is the idea disagreeable to you that he should live here always--with -us?” - -“Not at all. On the contrary, he amuses me greatly when he comes.” - -“Then, by the Constitution! you are in love with Señor Miranda?” - -“See there! I don’t think that, though I have never thought much about -those things, or what it may be like to fall in love; but I imagine it -must be more exciting like, and that it comes to one more of a -sudden--with more violence.” - -“But these violent attachments, what need is there of them to be a good -wife?” - -“None, I suppose. To be a good wife, Father Urtazu says, the most -needful thing is the grace of God--and patience, a great deal of -patience.” - -Her father tapped her on the cheek with his broad palm. - -“By the Constitution! you talk like a book. So, then, according to that, -I am going to give Señor Miranda pleasing news!” - -“Oh, father, the matter needs thinking over. Do me the favor to think -over it for me, you; what do I know about marrying, or----” - -“See here, you are now a big girl. You are too much of a simpleton.” - -“No,” said Lucía, fixing her clear eyes on the old man’s face, “it is -not that I am simple, it is that I do not wish to understand--do you -hear? For if I begin to think about those things I shall end by losing -my appetite, and my sleep, and my light-heartedness. To-night, of a -certainty, I shall not close my eyes, and afterward Señor de Rada will -say in Latin that I am ill in mind and that I am going to be ill in -body. I wish to think of nothing but my amusements and my lessons. Of -that other matter, no; for, if I did, my fancy would wander on and on, -and I should pass whole hours with my hands crossed before me, sitting -motionless as a post. The truth is that when my thoughts run that way I -fancy there is not a man in all the world to equal the lover I picture -to myself; who, for that matter, is not in this world,--don’t imagine -it,--but far away in distant palaces and gardens. But I don’t know how -to explain myself. Can you understand what I mean?” - -“Have they been putting the notion into your head of becoming a nun like -Agueda, the daughter of the directress of the seminary?” cried Señor -Joaquin, angrily. - -“Oh, no, indeed!” murmured Lucía, whose glowing and animated face looked -like a newly opened rose. “I would not be a nun for a kingdom. I have no -vocation for that kind of life.” - -“It is settled”; said Señor Joaquin to himself; “the pot begins to boil; -the girl must be married.” And he added aloud: “If that is the case, -then, child, I think you should not scorn Señor de Miranda. He is a -perfect gentleman, and for politics--what an understanding he has! He is -not displeasing to you?” - -“I have said already that he is not,” replied Lucía, in more tranquil -tones. - -That same afternoon the Leonese himself took this satisfactory answer to -Miranda. - -Colmenar wrote to Señor Joaquin a letter that was not without its -effect. And before many days had elapsed Miranda said to his future -father-in-law, in a pleased and confidential tone: - -“Our friend Colmenar will be _padrino_; he delegates his duties to you, -and sends this for the bride.” - -And he took from its satin-lined case a pearl-handled fan, covered with -Brussels lace, light as the sea-foam, that a breath sufficed to put in -motion. - -To describe Señor Joaquin’s gratification and pride would be a task -beyond the power of speech. It seemed to him as if the personality of -the famous political leader had suddenly, and by some occult means, -become merged in his own; he fancied himself metamorphosed, become one -with his idol, and he was almost beside himself with joy; and any doubts -that might still have lingered in his mind, with regard to the -approaching nuptials, vanished. Unwilling to be behind Colmenar in -generosity, in addition to settling a liberal allowance on Lucía, he -presented her with a large sum of money for the expenses of the wedding -journey, whose route, traced by Miranda, included Paris, and certain -beneficial mineral springs prescribed for him some time before by Rada, -as a sovereign remedy in bilious disorders. The idea of the journey -appeared somewhat strange to Señor Joaquin. When he married, the only -excursion he made was from the porter’s lodge to the grocery. But since -his daughter was making her entrance into a higher social sphere, it was -necessary to conform to the usages of her new rank, however singular -they might appear. Miranda had declared this to be so and Señor Joaquin -had agreed with him; mediocre natures are always ready to yield to the -authority of those who care to take the trouble to manage them. - -Any one with the slightest knowledge of provincial towns can easily -picture to himself how much comment and criticism, open and concealed, -were aroused in Leon by the marriage of the distinguished Miranda with -the low-born heiress of the ex-grocer. It was criticised without measure -or judgment. Some censured the vanity of the old man who, tired at the -end of his days of his humble station, desired to bestow upon his -daughter the style and rank of a marchioness (there were not a few for -whom Miranda served as the traditional type of the marquis). Others -criticised the bridegroom as a hungry Madridlenian, who had come to Leon -with a superabundance of airs and an empty purse, in order to free -himself from his embarrassments by means of Señor Joaquin’s dollars. -Others again described satirically the appearance the country girl, -Lucía, would make when she should wear for the first time a hat and a -train and carry a parasol. But these criticisms were disarmed of their -sting by the proud satisfaction of Señor Joaquin, the childish frivolity -of the bride, and the courteous and well-bred reserve of the bridegroom. -Lucía, true to her purpose of not thinking of the marriage itself, -busied her thoughts with the nuptial accessories and described to her -friends with satisfaction the proposed journey, repeating the euphonious -names of cities that seemed to her enchanted regions,--Paris, Lyons, -Marseilles,--where the girl fancied the sky must be of a different -color, and the sunshine of a different nature, from the sunshine and the -sky of her native village. Miranda, by means of a loan he had -negotiated, purposing to repay it afterward with his generous -father-in-law’s money, ordered from the capital exquisite presents--a -set of diamonds and a box filled with elegant articles of wearing -apparel, the work of a celebrated man-milliner. Lucía, who after all was -a woman, and to whom all these splendors were new, more than once, like -Faust’s Marguerite, pleased herself by trying on the precious baubles -before the looking-glass, shaking her head to make the diamonds in the -earrings, and in the flowers scattered among her dark tresses, flash -back the light more brightly. In this way women amuse themselves when -they are young and sometimes long after they have ceased to be young. -But Lucía was not to preserve her youth forever. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - - -Meantime the train continued on its way. The tears of the bride had -ceased to flow, leaving scarcely a trace behind them, even in reddened -eyelids. So it is with the tears we shed in youth--tears without -bitterness that, like a gentle dew, refresh instead of scorching. She -began to be interested by the stations which they passed along the route -and the people that looked in curiously at the door of the compartment. -She put a thousand questions to Miranda, who explained everything to -her, sparing no effort to amuse her, and varying his explanations with -an occasional tender speech which the young girl heard without emotion, -thinking it the most natural thing in the world that a husband should -manifest affection for his wife, and betraying by not the lightest -heaving of the chest the sweet confusion that love awakens. Miranda once -more found himself in his element, tears having ceased and serenity and -good-humor being restored. Pleased with the result, he even thanked in -his own mind one of the causes that had contributed to it--an old woman -carrying an enormous basket on her arm, who slipped into the compartment -a few stations before Palencia, and whose grotesque appearance helped to -call back a smile to Lucía’s lips. - -On reaching Palencia, the old woman left the compartment, and a -well-dressed man with a serious expression of countenance silently -entered. - -“He looks like papa,” said Lucía in a low voice to Miranda. “Poor papa!” -And this time a sigh only was the tribute paid to filial affection. - -Night was approaching; the train moved slowly, as if fearing to trust -itself to the rails, and Miranda observed that they were greatly behind -time. - -“We shall arrive at Venta de Baños,” he said, turning the leaf of the -Guide, “much later than the usual time.” - -“And in Venta de Baños----” began Lucía. - -“We can sup--if they allow us time to do so. Under ordinary -circumstances there is not only time to sup but also to rest a little, -while waiting for the other train, the express, which is to take us to -France.” - -“To France!” Lucía clapped her hands as if she had just heard a -delightful and unexpected piece of intelligence. Then, with a thoughtful -air, she added gravely. “Well, for my part, I should like to have some -supper.” - -“We shall sup there, of course; at least I hope the train will stop long -enough to allow us to do so. You have an appetite, eh? The fact is that -you have eaten scarcely anything to-day.” - -“With the hurry and excitement, and attending to the serving of the -chocolate, and grief at leaving poor papa and seeing him so -downcast--and----” - -“And what else?” - -“And--well, one does not get married every day and it is only natural -that it should upset one a little--it is a very serious thing--. Father -Urtazu warned me of that, so that last night I did not close my eyes and -I counted the hours, and the half hours, and the quarters, by the -cuckoo-clock in the reception-room, and at every stroke I heard, tam, -tam, ‘Stop, you wretch,’ I cried, ‘and let me cover my face with the bed -clothes and go to sleep, and then wake me if you can.’ But it was all of -no use. Now that it is over, it is just like jumping a wide ditch--you -give the jump, and you think no more about it. It is over.” - -Miranda laughed; sitting beside his bride, looking at her closely, she -seemed to him very lovely, transformed almost, by her traveling dress -and the animation that flushed her cheeks and brightened her fresh -complexion. Lucía, too, began to return to the unrestraint of her former -intercourse with Miranda, somewhat interrupted of late by the novelty of -their position toward each other. - -“Don’t laugh at my nonsense, Señor de Miranda,” murmured the young girl. - -“Do me the favor not to misunderstand me, child,” he answered. “And my -name is Aurelio, and you should address me as _thou_ not _you_.” - -The whole of this dialogue had passed in an undertone, the interlocutors -bending slightly toward each other and speaking in low, almost -lover-like accents. The presence of a witness to their conversation, in -the person of their fellow-traveler, who leaned back silently in his -corner, by the restraint it imposed, imparted to their whispered words a -certain air of timidity and mystery which lent them a meaning they did -not in themselves possess. The same words spoken aloud would have seemed -simple and indifferent enough. And so it often is with words--they -derive their value not from what they express in themselves but from -the tone in which they are uttered and the relation they bear to other -words, like the pieces of stone employed in mosaic that, according to -the position in which they are set, represent now a tree, now a house, -now a human countenance. - -The train at last stopped at Venta de Baños, and the lamps of the -station glared upon them like fiery eyes through the light mist of the -tranquil autumn night. - -“Is it here--is it here we are to stop for supper?” asked Lucía, whose -appetite and curiosity were both alike sharpened by the event, new for -her, of supping at the restaurant of a railway station. - -“Here”; answered Miranda, speaking much less cheerfully than before. -“Now we shall have to change trains. If I had the power, I would alter -all this. There can be nothing more annoying. You have to hunt up your -luggage so that it may not be carried off to Madrid--you have to move -all your traps----” - -As he spoke, he took down from the rack the rug, valise, and bundle of -umbrellas, but Lucía, youthful and vigorous, daughter of the people as -she was, snatched from his hand the bag, which was the heaviest of the -articles, and leaping lightly as a bird to the ground, ran toward the -restaurant. - -They seated themselves at the table set for travelers; a table tasteless -in its appointments, that bore the stamp of the vulgar promiscuousness -of the guests who succeeded one another at it without intermission. It -was long and was covered with oilcloth and surrounded, like a hen by her -chickens, by smaller tables, on which were services for tea, coffee, and -chocolate. The cups, resting mouth downward on the saucers, seemed -waiting patiently for the friendly hand which should restore them to -their natural position; the lumps of sugar heaped on metal salvers -looked like building materials--blocks of white marble hewn for some -Lilliputian palace. The tea-pots displayed their shining paunches and -the milk-jugs protruded their lips, like badly brought-up children. The -monotony that reigned in the long hall was oppressive. Price-lists, -maps, and advertisements hanging from the walls, lent the apartment a -certain official air. The end of the room, occupied by a tall counter -covered with rows of plates, groups of freshly washed glasses, -fruit-dishes in which the pyramids of apples and pears looked pale -beside the bright green of the moss around them. On the principal table, -in two blue porcelain vases, some drooping flowers--late roses and -odorless sunflowers--were slowly withering. The travelers came in one -after another and took their places, their features drawn with sleep and -fatigue, the men with their traveling caps pulled down over their brows, -the women with their heads covered with woolen hoods, their figures -concealed by long gray water-proof cloaks, their hair disordered, their -cuffs and collars crumpled. Lucía, with her smiling face, her -well-fitting jacket and her fresh and natural complexion, formed a -striking contrast to the women around her, and it seemed as if the crude -yellow light of the gas-jets had concentrated itself above her head, -leaving the faces of the other guests in a turbid half-light. They were -served the invariable restaurant dinner--vegetable-soup, broiled chops, -sapless wings of chickens, warmed-over fish, slices of cold ham, thin as -wafers, cheese, and fruits. Miranda ate little, rejecting in turn every -dish offered him, and, asking in a loud and authoritative voice for a -bottle of Sherry and another of Bordeaux, he poured out some of each of -the wines for Lucía, explaining to her their particular qualities. Lucía -ate voraciously, giving full rein to her appetite, like a child on a -holiday. With each new dish was renewed the enjoyment that a stomach -unspoiled and accustomed to simple food experiences in the slightest -culinary novelty. She sipped the Bordeaux, clicking her tongue against -the roof of her mouth, and declaring that it smelled and tasted like the -violets that Velez de Rada used sometimes to bring her. She held up the -liquid topaz of the sherry to the light and closed her eyes as she drank -it, declaring that it tickled her throat. But her great orgy, her -forbidden fruit, was the coffee. We, the faithful and exact chroniclers -of Señor Joaquin, the Leonese, have never been able to discover the -secret and potent reason which had always made him prohibit the use of -coffee to his daughter, as if it were some poisonous drug or pernicious -philter; a prohibition all the more inexplicable since we are already -aware of the inordinate passion for coffee cherished by our good -Colmenarist himself. Lucía, forbidden to taste the black infusion, of -which she knew her father swallowed copious draughts every day, had -taken it into her head that the prohibited beverage was nectar itself, -the very ambrosia of the gods, and she would sometimes say to Rosarito -or Carmen, “Wait until I am married, and I will drink as much coffee as -I please. You shall see if I don’t.” - -The coffee of the restaurant of Venta de Baños was neither very pure nor -very aromatic, and yet when for the first time Lucía introduced the -little spoon filled with the liquid between her lips, when she tasted -its slight bitterness and inhaled the warm fumes rising from it, she -felt a profound thrill run through her frame, something like an -expansion of her being, as if all her senses had opened simultaneously -like the buds of a tree bursting into bloom at once. The glass of -Chartreuse, sipped slowly, left in her mouth a penetrating and -strengthening odor, a slight and pleasant thirst, extinguished by the -last sips of the coffee sweetened by the powdered sugar that lay in -little eddies at the bottom of the cup. - -“If papa were to see me now,” she murmured, “what would he say?” - -Miranda and Lucía were the last to rise from the table. The other -passengers were already scattered about in groups on the platform, -waiting to obtain seats in the express which had just arrived and which -stood, vibrating still with its recent motion, in front of the railway -station. - -“Come,” said Miranda, “the train is going to start. I don’t know whether -we shall be able to find a vacant compartment or not.” - -They began their peregrination, passing through all the coaches in turn -in search of a vacant compartment. They found one at last, not without -some difficulty, and took possession of it, throwing their parcels on -the cushions. The opaque light of the lantern, filtering through the -blue silk curtain, the dull, uniform, gray hue of the covers, the -silence, the air of repose succeeding the glare and confusion of the -restaurant, invited to rest and sleep, and Lucía unfastened the elastic -of her hat, which she took off and placed in the rack. - -“I feel dizzy,” she said, passing her hand over her forehead. “My head -aches a little--I am warm.” - -“The wines, the coffee,” responded Miranda, gaily. “Rest for a moment -while I go to inventory the luggage. It is an indispensable formality -here.” Saying this, he lifted one of the cushions of the coach, placed -the rolled-up rug under it for a pillow, and raised the arm dividing the -two seats, saying: - -“There, you have as comfortable a bed as you could wish for.” - -Lucía drew from her pocket a little silk handkerchief neatly folded, -spread it lightly over the cushion to prevent her head coming in contact -with the soiled cover, and lay down on her improvised couch. - -“If I should fall asleep,” she said to Miranda, “waken me when we come -to anything worth seeing.” - -“Depend upon me to do so,” answered Miranda. “I will be back directly.” - -Lucía remained alone in the compartment, her eyes closed, all her -faculties steeped in a pleasant drowsiness. Whether it were owing to the -motion of the train, the sleeplessness of the previous night, or her -invariable habit in Leon of retiring to rest at this hour--half-past -ten--or all these things together, certain it is that sleep fell upon -her like a leaden mantle. The tension of her nerves relaxed, and that -indescribable sensation of rhythmic warmth, which announces that the -circulation is becoming normal and that sleep is approaching, ran -through her veins. Lucía crossed herself between two yawns, murmured a -_Paternoster_ and an _Ave Maria_, and then began to recite a prayer, in -execrable verse, which she had learned from her prayer-book, beginning -thus: - - Of the little child, - Innocent and simple, - Lord, just and merciful, - Grant me the sleep. - -All of which operations, if they were performed for the purpose of -driving away sleep, had the effect, rather, of inducing it. Lucía -exhaled a gentle sigh, her hand fell powerless by her side, and she sank -into a sleep as peaceful and profound as if she were reposing on the -most luxurious of couches. - -Miranda, meanwhile, was engaged in the important task of making an -inventory of the luggage, which was by no means scant, consisting of two -large trunks, a hat-box, and a leather case designed to preserve smooth -and unwrinkled the bosoms of his dress-shirts. He had no other resource -than to wait patiently for the turn of the luggage marked “A. M.,” -standing in front of the long counter covered with trunks, boxes, and -valises of every description, to which the porters of the station, -bending under their burden, the veins on their necks standing out like -cords with the exertion, were constantly adding. When they reached the -counter, they hastened to throw down their load with brutal -recklessness, making the boards of the trunks creak and their iron bands -squeak. At last Miranda’s luggage was dispatched, and his check in his -pocket, he jumped from the platform to the track and went in search of -his compartment. It was no easy matter to find it, and he opened several -doors in turn before he reached his own. Sometimes a head would appear -at the opening and a harsh voice say, “It is full.” In others of the -compartments he caught sight, through the half-open door, of confused -forms, people huddled up in corners, or lying stretched on the cushions. -At last he found his own compartment. - -The form of Lucía, extended on the improvised bed, completed the picture -of peace and quietude presented by this moving bed-room. Miranda gazed -at his bride for a while, without any of the sentimental or poetic -thoughts which the situation might seem to suggest, occurring to his -mind. - -“She is undoubtedly a fine girl,” was the reflection of this man of -mature years and experience. “And, above all, her skin has the down of -the apricot while it still hangs upon the tree. It would almost seem as -if that devil of a Colmenar knew things by intuition. Another would have -given me the millions, but with some virgin and martyr of forty. But -this is syrup spread on pie, as the saying is.” - -While Miranda was thus commenting on his good fortune, he took off his -hat and put his hand into the pocket of his overcoat to take from it his -red and black checked traveling-cap. There are movements which when we -execute them make us think instinctively of other movements. The arm of -Miranda, as it descended, was conscious of a void, the want of something -which had before disturbed him, and the owner of the arm becoming aware -of this gave a sudden start and began to examine his person from head to -foot. Hastily and with trembling hands he touched in turn his breast -and waist without finding what he was in search of, and angrily and -impatiently he gave utterance to stifled imprecations and round oaths; -then he struck his forgetful brow as if to compel remembrance by the -shock; memory, thus evoked, at last responded. At supper he had removed -the satchel, which had disturbed him while he was eating, from his -person and placed it on an empty chair at his side. It must be there -still, but the cars would start in a few minutes. The smoke-stacks were -already puffing and snorting like angry cats, and two or three shrill -whistles announced the near departure of the train. Miranda was for a -moment undecided what to do. - -“Lucía,” he said aloud. - -The only answer was the deep and regular breathing of the young girl, -indicating heavy and profound sleep. - -Then he took a sudden resolution, and with an agility worthy of a youth -of twenty, leaped to the ground and ran in the direction of the -restaurant. A satchel like his, filled with money in its various and -most seductive forms--gold, silver, bills, letters of exchange--was not -to be lost in this way. Miranda flew. - -Most of the lights in the restaurant were by this time extinguished; one -lamp only still burned in each of the four-armed chandeliers; the -waiters sat chatting together in corners or carried lazily to the -kitchen obelisks of greasy plates and mountains of soiled napkins. On -the large table, now almost empty, the two tall vases stood in solitary -state, and in the dim light the white expanse of the table cloth had the -lugubrious aspect of a winding sheet. On the counter a kerosene lamp -shed around a circumscribed circle of yellowish light, by which the -master of the establishment--the marble slab serving him for a desk--was -making entries in a large account book. Miranda, still under the -influence of his recent fright, went up to him quite close, touching him -almost. - -“Have you noticed--” he began breathless--“has any of the waiters -found----” - -“A satchel? Yes, Señor.” - -The friend of Colmenar once more breathed freely. - -“Is it yours?” asked the landlord, suspiciously. - -“Yes, it is mine. Give it to me at once; the train is just going to -start.” - -“Have the goodness to give me some details that may serve to identify -it.” - -“It is of Russian leather--dark red--with plated clasps.” - -“That is enough,” said the landlord, taking from a drawer in the counter -the precious article and delivering it without demur to its lawful -owner. The latter, without stopping to examine it, slung it hastily over -his shoulder, plunged his hand into his waiscoat pocket and drawing out -a handful of silver coins, scattered them over the marble counter, -saying, “For the waiters.” The action was so rapid that some of the -coins, rolling about, danced around for a moment over the smooth surface -and then fell flat on the marble with a ringing sound. Before the -silvery vibration had ceased, Miranda was hurrying to the train. In his -confusion he missed the door. - -“The train is going to start, Señor,” cried the waiters. “This way--this -way!” - -He rushed excitedly toward the platform; the train, with the treacherous -slowness of a snake, began to move slowly along the rails. Miranda shook -his clenched hand at it and a feeling of cold and impotent rage took -possession of his soul. In this way he lost a second, a precious second. -The progress of the train grew gradually quicker, as a swing set in -motion describes at every moment wider curves and flies more rapidly -through the air. Precipitately and without seeing where he went, Miranda -jumped to the track to make his way to the first-class carriages which, -as if in mockery, defiled at this moment past his eyes. He tried to -leap on the steps, but missed his footing and fell with violence to the -ground, experiencing, as he fell, a sharp and sudden pain in the right -foot. He remained on the ground in a half-sitting posture, uttering one -of those imprecations which, in Spain, the men who most pride themselves -on their culture and good-breeding are not ashamed to borrow from the -vocabulary of thieves and murderers. The train thundered past, majestic -and swift, the black engine sending forth sparks of fire that seemed -like fantastic sprites dancing about among the nocturnal shadows. - -A few moments after Miranda had left the train to go in search of his -satchel, the door of the compartment in which Lucía was asleep was -opened and a man entered. He carried in his hand a portmanteau, which he -threw down on the nearest cushion. He then closed the door, seated -himself in a corner and pressed his forehead against the glass of the -window, cold as ice and moist with the night dew. In the darkness -outside nothing could be seen but the indistinct bulk of the platform, -the lantern of the guard as he walked up and down, and the melancholy -gas lights scattered here and there. - -When the train started, a few sparks, rapid as exhalations, passed -before the glass against which the newcomer was leaning his forehead. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - - -The latter, when tired of looking out into the darkness, he turned his -gaze on the interior of the compartment, thought it strange enough that -the girl who lay sleeping there before him, so much at her ease, should -have come here instead of going into one of the compartments reserved -for ladies. And to this reflection succeeded an idea which contracted -his brows with a frown and curved his lips in a disdainful smile. A -second glance which he cast at Lucía, however, inspired him with more -charitable thoughts. The light of the lamp, whose blue shade he drew -aside in order to obtain a better view of the sleeping girl, fell -directly upon her, but the flame flickered with the motion of the train, -now leaving her form in shadow, now illuminating it brightly. The light -brought into relief the salient points of her face and her form. The -forehead, white as a jasmine flower, the rosy cheeks, the rounded chin, -the slightly parted lips giving egress to the soft breath and disclosing -to view the pearly teeth, gleamed, as the strong clear light fell upon -them; one arm supported her head in the attitude of an antique -bacchante, the whiteness of the hand contrasting with the blackness of -the hair, while the other hand, also ungloved, hung by her side in the -abandonment of sleep, the veins slightly swollen from the posture, which -caused the blood to flow downward, the wedding-ring gleaming on the -little finger. Every time the form of Lucía came within the luminous -zone, the chased metal buttons cast forth golden gleams, flashing red -over the maroon cloth of the jacket; and here and there, beneath the -pleated flounce bordering the skirt, could be caught glimpses of the -lace of the petticoats and of the exquisite bronze leather shoe with its -rounded heel. From the whole person of the sleeping girl there exhaled -an indescribable aroma of freshness and purity, a breath of -virtuousness, as it were, that could be perceived leagues away. This was -not the bold adventuress, the low-flying butterfly in search of a light -at which to scorch its wings; and the traveler, as this reflection -passed through his mind, wondered at this young creature sleeping -tranquilly here alone, exposed as she was to the risk of insult and to -all sorts of disagreeable accidents, and he recalled to mind a picture -he had once seen in a magnificent copy of illustrated fables -representing Fortune awakening the careless boy sleeping on the brink of -the well. It suddenly occurred to him that perhaps his -traveling-companion was some English or American miss who carried in -her pocket as escort and attendant a six-barreled revolver. But although -Lucía was as fresh and robust as a Niobe--a type very common among -Yankee girls--in certain details the Spanish type was so plainly visible -that, as the traveler contemplated her, he was constrained to say to -himself, “She does not bear the remotest resemblance to a foreigner.” He -looked at her for some time longer, as if seeking in her appearance the -solution of the mystery, then, slightly shrugging his shoulders as if to -say, “After all, what does it matter to me,” he took a book from his -portmanteau and began to read; but the wavering light making the letters -dance on the white page at every jolt of the carriage, he soon closed -the book again. He then pressed his forehead once more against the cold -window-pane and thus remained, motionless and lost in thought. - -The train hurried forward on its course, swaying and leaning to one side -occasionally, stopping only for a moment at the stations, whose names -the officials called out in gutteral and melancholy tones. After each -stop the train, as if it had gathered fresh force from the momentary -rest, hurried forward with greater speed than before, like a steed that -feels the spur. Owing to the difference of temperature between the outer -air and the air of the carriage, the window-pane was covered with a -lace-like mist, and the traveler, becoming tired perhaps of dissolving -it with his breath, devoted himself anew to the observation of the -sleeping girl and, as the slow hours passed, yielding to an involuntary -feeling which appeared ridiculous to himself, he grew more and more -impatient, indignant, almost, to see the unruffled serenity of this -insolent sleep; and he could not help wishing, in spite of himself, that -his fellow-traveler might awake, if only to give him some opportunity of -gratifying his curiosity concerning her. Perhaps there was no slight -degree of envy mingled with this impatience. What delightful and -desirable sleep! What beneficent repose! It was the untroubled sleep of -youth, of innocent girlhood, of a tranquil conscience, of a rich and -happy temperament, of health. Far from being disfigured, far from -showing that cadaverical hollowness, that contraction of the corners of -the mouth, that species of general distortion, which betrays in the -countenance whose muscles are no longer carefully adjusted to an -artificial expression, the corroding cares of sleepless hours, in -Lucía’s face shone the peacefulness which forms so large a part of the -charm of sleeping childhood. Once, however, she softly sighed. The cold -night air penetrated through the crevices of the closed windows. The -traveler rose, and without observing that there was a bundle of shawls -in the rack, opened his own portmanteau and taking out a fine Scotch -woolen plaid spread it gently over the form of the sleeping girl. The -latter turned slightly, without wakening, her head remaining in the -shadow. - -Outside, the telegraph posts looked like a row of specters, the trees -shook their disordered locks, agitating their branches that seemed like -arms stretched out in supplication; here and there a gray house rose -solitary in the landscape, like the immense head of some granite -sphinx--all confused, vague, blurred in outline, shifting as the clouds -of smoke from the engine that enveloped the train like the breath of the -fiery dragon enveloping his prey. Inside the carriage reigned unbroken -silence; it seemed like an enchanted region. The traveler drew the blue -curtain before the lamp, leaned back in a corner, closed his eyes and -stretching out his legs rested his feet against the seat in front. In -this way station after station was passed. He dozed a little and then, -astonished at the prolonged sleep of Lucía, rose, fearing lest she might -have fainted. He went forward and leaned over her, and, having convinced -himself of the peaceful and regular breathing of the young girl, -returned to his seat. - -A diffused and pale light began to shed itself over the landscape. -Already could be discerned the shapes of mountains, trees, and huts. -Night, retiring, swept away in her train the trembling stars, as a -sultana gathers up her veil broidered with silvery arabesques. The -slender circle of the waning moon grew pale and vanished in the sky, -whose dark blue changed to the opaque blue of porcelain. A chill ran -through the veins of the traveler, who pulled up the collar of his -overcoat and instinctively stretched his feet toward the heater in whose -metallic bosom the water danced with a gurgling sound. Suddenly the door -of the compartment was opened and a morose-looking man, wearing a hat -with a gilt band, and carrying in his hand a sort of tongs, or punch, -entered hastily. - -“Your tickets, Señor,” he cried, in short, imperious tones. - -The traveler put his hand into his waistcoat pocket and drew from it a -piece of yellow cardboard. - -“The other, the ticket of the lady. Eh, Señora, Señora, your ticket!” - -Lucía was now partially awake, and throwing down the Scotch plaid she -sat upright and began to rub her eyes with her knuckles, like a sleepy -child. Her hair was disordered and flattened against the flushed cheek -on which she had been lying, a loosened braid hung over one shoulder -and, unbraided at the end, floated in three strands. Her crushed white -petticoat rose rebellious under her cloth skirt, the string of one of -her shoes had become untied and strayed over her instep. Lucía looked -around her with wandering and uncertain gaze; she seemed serious and -surprised. - -“The ticket, Señora, the ticket!” the official continued to cry, in no -very amiable tone of voice. - -“The ticket?” she repeated. And she looked around again, unable to shake -off completely the stupor of sleep. - -“Yes, Señora, the ticket,” repeated the official, still less amiably -than before. - -“Miranda! Miranda!” cried Lucía at last, linking together her scattered -recollections of the day before. And she looked anxiously on all sides, -amazed at not seeing Miranda in the compartment. - -“Señor de Miranda has my ticket,” she said, addressing the official, as -if the latter must of necessity know who Miranda was. - -The official, puzzled, turned toward the traveler, his right hand -extended for the ticket. - -“My name is not Miranda,” said the latter quietly. And as he saw the -angry official again turn rudely to Lucía, he said to her. - -“Are you traveling alone, Señora?” - -“No, Señor,” answered Lucía, now greatly distressed. “Of course I am not -traveling alone; I am traveling with Don Aurelio Miranda, my husband,” -and as she pronounced the words, she smiled involuntarily at the new and -curious sound of the expression, uttered by her lips. - -“She seems very young to be married,” said the traveler to himself; but, -remembering the ring he had seen gleaming on her finger, he asked aloud: - -“Where did you take the train?” - -“At Leon. But is not Miranda here? Holy Virgin! Señor, tell me--allow -me----” - -And forgetting that the train was in motion she was going to open the -door hastily when the official interposed, seizing her by the arm with -force. - -“Eh, Señora,” he said in a rude voice, “do you want to kill yourself? -Are you mad? And let us end this at once. I want the ticket.” - -“I haven’t it. How can I give it to you if I haven’t it?” exclaimed -Lucía, greatly distressed, her eyes filling with tears. - -“You will have to buy one at the next station then, and pay a fine,” -growled the official, more angrily than before. - -“Don’t trouble the lady any more,” said the traveler, interfering very -opportunely, for tears as big as filberts now began to course down -Lucía’s cheeks. “Insolent!” he continued angrily. “Do you not see that -some unforeseen accident has happened to this lady? Come, take yourself -off or----” - -“But you see, sir, we have our duties to consider, our -responsibilities----” - -“Say no more, but go. Take this for the lady’s fare.” - -As he spoke, he put his right hand into the pocket of his overcoat and -drew from it some greasy-looking papers of a greenish color, the sight -of which at once restored serenity to the frowning brow of the official -who, as he took the proffered bill, lowered by two or three tones the -pitch of his gruff voice. - -“I beg your pardon,” he said, placing it in his soiled and well-worn -pocket-book. “Your word would have been sufficient. I did not recognize -you at first, but I recollect your face very well now, and I remember -having often seen both you and your father, Señor de Artegui----” - -“Well then,” rejoined the traveler, “if you know me, you know that I am -not in the habit of wasting words. Go.” And pushing the man out of the -compartment, he closed the door behind him. But he opened it again -quickly and calling to the official, who was running with incredible -agility along the narrow ledge beside the steps, he cried to him in -sonorous tones: - -“Hist, hist! If you should come across a gentleman called Miranda in any -of the carriages, let him know that his wife is here.” - -This done he seated himself again in his corner, and lowering the window -eagerly drew in the vivifying morning air. Lucía, drying her eyes, which -had twice that day shed unaccustomed tears, felt at the same time -extraordinary uneasiness and an inexplicable sense of contentment. The -action of the traveler caused her the profound joy which generous -actions are apt to awaken in souls yet unspoiled by contact with the -world. She ardently desired to thank him, but she could not summon -courage to do so. He, meantime, sat watching the sunrise with as much -intentness as if it were the most novel and entertaining spectacle in -the world. At last the young girl, conquering her timidity, with -trembling lips said the most stupid thing which it was possible, under -the circumstances, to say (as usually happens when one prepares a speech -for any occasion beforehand): - -“Señor--I cannot pay you what I owe you until Miranda comes. He has the -money----” - -“I do not lend money,” answered the traveler quietly, without turning -around, or removing his gaze from the eastern sky, where dawn was -breaking through light clouds touched with gold and crimson. - -“Well, but it is not just that you should--in this way--without knowing -who I am----” - -The traveler did not answer. - -“But tell me, for Heaven’s sake!” resumed Lucía, in the silvery tones of -her infantile voice, “what can have become of Miranda? What do you think -of the situation in which I am placed? What am I to do now?” - -The traveler turned round in his seat and confronted Lucía with the air -of a man who finds himself forced to take part in a matter that does not -concern him but who resigns himself to the necessity. The fresh tones of -Lucía’s voice suggested to him the same reflection as before: - -“It seems impossible that she should be married. Any one would think she -was still in the school-room.” And aloud he said: - -“Let us see, Señora. Where did you part from your husband? Do you -remember?” - -“I cannot tell. I fell asleep.” - -“And where did you fall asleep? Can you not remember that either?” - -“At the station where we took supper. At Venta de Baños. Miranda got out -to see to the luggage, telling me to rest awhile--to try to sleep----” - -“And you tried to some purpose!” murmured the traveler, with a slight -smile. “You have slept ever since--five hours at a stretch.” - -“But--I got up so early yesterday. I was worn out.” - -And Lucía rubbed her eyes as if they were still heavy with sleep. Then -taking from her hair two or three hair-pins, she fastened back the -rebellious braids with them. - -“You say,” questioned the traveler, “that you have come from Leon?” - -“Yes, Señor. The wedding was at eleven in the morning, but I had to get -up early to arrange about the refreshments,” said Lucía, with the -simplicity of a girl unaccustomed to social usages. “It was half-past -three when we left Leon.” - -The traveler looked at her, beginning to understand the mystery. The -girl gave him the key to the woman. - -“I might have known it,” he said to himself. “You traveled together as -far as Venta de Baños?” he asked Lucía aloud. - -“Yes, yes; we took supper there. Miranda, no doubt, stayed there to -check the luggage.” - -“Impossible. The operation of checking the luggage is always over in -time for the passengers to take the train. Some unforeseen accident, -some mischance must have occurred.” - -“Do you think--tell me frankly--that he could have left me on purpose?” - -So childlike and real a grief was depicted on Lucía’s countenance as she -uttered these words, that the serious lips of the traveler were once -more involuntarily curved in a smile. - -“Just think of it!” she added, nodding her head gravely and -thoughtfully. “And I, who fancied that when a woman married she had some -one to keep her company and to take care of her! Some one to give her -his protection and support! Well, if this can happen before twenty-four -hours have passed--what is to be expected afterward!” - -“Undoubtedly--undoubtedly your husband is much more distressed at what -has happened than you are. Believe me, something has occurred of which -we know nothing, and which will explain the conduct of Señor Miranda. Or -have you any reason, any motive to suspect that--that he wished to -abandon you?” - -“Motive! Of course not! None whatever! Señor de Miranda is a very -reliable person.” - -“You call him _Señor de Miranda_?” - -“No--he told me yesterday to call him Aurelio--but as I have not much -confidence with him yet--and as he is older than I--in short, it did not -come to my tongue.” - -The traveler closed his lips, forcing back a whole flood of indiscreet -questions which crowded to his mind, and turned again to the window in -order not to lose the magnificent spectacle offered him by nature. The -sun was rising above the summit of a neighboring mountain, dispelling by -his rays the morning mists that sank slowly into the valley in lace-like -fragments, and flooding the clear blue atmosphere with a fresh, soft -light. Down the granite flank of the mountain, glistening with mica, -descended a foaming torrent, and through the dark shadow of the oak -groves could be caught a glimpse of a little meadow in the tender green -tones of young grass, where a flock of sheep were browsing; their white -forms starred the verdant carpet like enormous flakes of wool. Through -the deafening noise of the train one might fancy one could hear, in that -picturesque and sunny spot, distant trills of birds, and the silvery -tinkling of bells. - -After gazing for some time at the beautiful view, now fading into the -distance, the traveler sank back wearily into his corner, his arms -dropped powerless by his side, and a faint sigh, which told of fatigue -rather than of sorrow, escaped from his lips. - -The sun was mounting in the heavens, and his rays began to dance on the -windows of the carriage and on the brows of its two occupants, seeming -to invite them to look at each other, and, simultaneously, they -furtively measured each other with their glances, whence resulted a -scene in dumb show, represented by the girl with infantile naturalness -and with frowning reserve by the man. - -The traveler was a man in the vigor of his age and in the age of vigor. -He might be, at a rough guess, from twenty-eight to thirty-two years of -age. His pale countenance was a degree more pale on the cheeks, -generally the seat of what, in the language of poetry, are called -“roses.” Notwithstanding this, he did not seem to be of a sickly -constitution. His frame was well proportioned, his beard was black and -fine, his hair soft and wavy, straying where it would without regard to -symmetry or art, but not without a certain fitness in its natural -arrangement that gave character and beauty to the head. His features -were well formed, but overshadowed by melancholy and stamped with the -traces of suffering--not the physical suffering which undermines the -health, wastes the tissues, withers the skin, and dulls or glazes the -eye, but the moral, or, rather, the intellectual suffering which only -deepens the circles under the eyes, furrows the brow, blanches the -temples, and concentrates the gaze, at the same time rendering the -bearing careless and apathetic. Apathy--this was what was most apparent -in the traveler’s manner. All his attitudes and gestures expressed -fatigue and exhaustion. Something there was broken or out of order in -that noble mechanism,--some one of the springs, which, when snapped, -interrupt the functions of the inner life. Even in his attire the -languor and despondency which were so plainly visible in his countenance -were perceptible. It was not negligence, it was indifference and -dejection of spirits that were expressed by the dark gray suit, the gold -chain,--out of place on a journey,--the cravat, carelessly and loosely -tied, the new Suède gloves of delicate color, that ten minutes’ wear -would soil. The traveler did not possess that exquisite and intelligent -taste in dress which gives attention to details, which makes a science -of the toilet; in him was revealed the man who is superior to fashion -because, while not ignorant of it, he disdains it--a grade of culture -which belongs to a higher sphere than fashion, which after all is a -social distinction, and he who rises superior to fashion is also -superior to social distinctions. Miranda wore the livery of elegance, -and therefore, before being attracted by Miranda’s person, the gaze was -attracted by his attire, while that which attracted the attention in -Artegui was Artegui himself. The carelessness of his attire did not -detract from, it rather made more evident the distinction of his person; -the various articles composing his dress were rich of their kind: the -cloth was English, the linen of the finest quality, and both shoes and -gloves were of the best make. All this Lucía noted instinctively rather -than intelligently, for, inexperienced and new to the world, she had not -yet arrived at an understanding of the philosophy of dress,--a science -in which women in general are so learned. - -Artegui, on his side, regarded her as the traveler, returning from -snow-clad and desert lands, regards some smiling valley which he chances -upon by the way. Never before had he seen united to the grace of youth -so much vigor and luxuriant bloom. Notwithstanding the night spent in -the railway-carriage, the face of Lucía was as fresh as a rose, and her -disordered hair, flattened down in places, gave her the air of a naiad, -emerging bareheaded and dewy from the bath. Her eyes, her features, all -were smiling, and the sun, indiscreet chronicler of faded complexions, -played harmlessly over the golden down that covered the cheeks of the -young girl, imparting to them the warm tones of antique marble. - -Lucía waited for the traveler to speak to her and her glance invited him -to do so. But, as he did not seem disposed to gratify her wishes, she -resolved, when some time had elapsed, to return to the charge, and -cried: - -“Well, and what am I going to do? You do not tell me how I am to get out -of this difficulty.” - -“To what place were you and your husband going, Señora?” he asked. - -“We were going to France, to Vichy,--where the doctors had ordered him -to take the waters.” - -“To Vichy, direct? Did you not intend to stop at any place on the way?” - -“Yes, at Bayonne; we were to rest there for a while.” - -“You are certain of this?” - -“Quite certain. Señor de Miranda explained it to me a hundred times.” - -“In that case I will tell you what my opinion is. There is no doubt that -your husband, detained by some accident, the nature of which we need not -now stop to inquire into, remained in Venta de Baños last night. As a -precautionary measure we will send him, if you wish, a telegram from -Hendaya; but what I suppose is that he will take the first train which -leaves for France to join you there. If we go back you run the risk of -crossing him on the way, and thus losing time, besides giving yourself -unnecessary trouble. If you get out at the first station we come to and -wait for him there----” - -“Yes, that would be the best thing to do.” - -“No, because he would not know you had done so; and as several hours -have already elapsed, and he will be on his way to join you, and we have -no means of letting him know, and the train stops only for a moment at -those stations, I do not think it would be best. Besides, you might both -have to remain for a considerable time in some wretched railway station -waiting for another train. That course is not advisable.” - -“Well, then, what do you suggest?” said the young girl eagerly, and with -the greatest confidence, encouraged by the “if we go back” of the -traveler, which tacitly promised her assistance and support. - -“To go on to Bayonne, Señora; it is the only course to pursue. Your -husband will probably take the first train for that place. We shall -arrive in the afternoon, and he will arrive in the evening. Since he has -not telegraphed to you to return (which he could have done), it is -because he is on his way to join you.” - -Lucía interposed no objection. Ignorant of the route herself, she felt a -singular relief in trusting to the experience of another. She turned -toward the window in silence and followed with her gaze the broken line -of the sierra, which stood sharply defined against the clear sky. The -train began to move more slowly. They were nearing a station. “What -place is this?” she asked, turning toward her companion. - -“Miranda de Ebro,” he answered laconically. - -“How thirsty I am,” murmured Lucía. “I would give anything for a glass -of water.” - -“Let us get out; you can get some water at the restaurant,” responded -Artegui, whom this unexpected adventure was beginning to draw from his -abstraction. And springing down before her he offered his arm to Lucía, -who took it without ceremony, and, urged by thirst, hurried toward the -bar, where some half-empty bottles, half-eaten oranges, jars of fruit -syrups and flasks of orange-flower water, disputed with one another the -possession of a zinc-covered counter and some yellow painted shelves. -The water was served, and, without waiting for the sugar to dissolve, -Lucía drank it quickly, in gulps, and then shook the moisture from her -fingers, drying them with her handkerchief. - -Artegui paid. - -“Thank you,” she said, looking at her taciturn companion. “It was -delicious--when one is thirsty--Thank you, Señor--What is your name?” - -“Ignacio Artegui,” he answered, with a look of surprise. - -Ingenuousness sometimes resembles boldness, and it was only the innocent -look of the clear eyes fixed upon his that enabled the traveler to -distinguish between them in the present instance. - -“Is there anything else you would like?” he said. “Some breakfast? a cup -of coffee or chocolate?” - -“No, no, at present I am not at all hungry.” - -“Wait for me in the carriage, then, I am going to settle about your -ticket.” - -He returned shortly, and the train soon started on its way, the motion -that by night had seemed vertiginous, now seeming only tiresome. The sun -mounted toward the zenith, and warm, heavy gusts of wind, like fiery -breaths, stirred the atmosphere. A cloud of coal dust from the engine -entered through the window and settled on the white muslin covers that -protected the backs of the seats. At times, contrasting with the -penetrating odor of the coal, came a puff of woody perfume from the oak -groves and the meadows stretching on either hand. The landscape was full -of character. It was the wild and beautiful scenery of the Basque -provinces. All along the road rose frowning heights crowned by massive -casemates and strong castles, recently constructed for the purpose of -holding in subjection those indomitable hills. On the sides of the -mountain could be discerned broad trenches and lines of redoubts, like -scars on the face of a veteran. Tall and graceful poplars girdled the -well-cultivated, green and level plains, like necklaces of emerald. -Above the neat, white houses rose the belfry towers. Lucía crossed -herself at sight of them. - -Passing by Vitoria a thought of home came to her mind. It was suggested -by the long rows of elms that surround and beautify the city. - -“They look like the trees in Leon,” she murmured with a sigh. - -And she added in a lower voice, as if speaking to herself: - -“I wonder what poor papa is doing now?” - -“Does your father reside in Leon?” asked Artegui. - -“Yes, in Leon. If he were to know of what has happened, he would be -terribly distressed. After all the charges and the advice he gave me! To -beware of thieves--not to get sick--not to go in the sun--not to get -wet. When I think of it----” - -“Is your father an old man?” - -“He is getting on in years, but he is strong and well-preserved, and -handsomer in my eyes than gold. I have the good luck to have the best -father in all Spain--he has no will but mine.” - -“You are an only child, perhaps?” - -“Yes, Señor, and I lost my mother when I was but that high,” and Lucía -held out her open hand, palm downward, on a level with her knee. “Why, I -was not even weaned when my mother died! And see! that is the only -misfortune that has ever happened to me; for, except in that, there may -be plenty of happy people in the world, but no one could be happier than -I have been.” - -Artegui fixed on her his deep and imperious eyes. - -“You were happy?” he repeated, as if echoing the young girl’s thought. - -“Yes, indeed; Father Urtazu used sometimes to say to me, ‘Take care, -child, God is paying you in advance; and afterward, when you die, do you -know what he is going to say to you? That there is nothing owing to -you.’” - -“So that,” said Artegui, “you missed nothing in your quiet life in Leon? -You wished for nothing?” - -“Yes, sometimes I had longings, but without knowing precisely what for. -I think now that what I wanted was change--to travel. But I was never -impatient, because I always felt that sooner or later I should obtain -what I wished. Was I not right? Father Urtazu used to laugh at me -sometimes, saying, ‘Patience, every autumn brings its fruit.’” - -“Father Urtazu is a Jesuit?” - -“Yes, and so learned! There is nothing he does not know. Sometimes, to -vex Doña Romualda, the directress of the seminary I attended, I used to -say to her, ‘I would rather have Father Urtazu for my teacher than -you.’” - -“And now,” said Artegui, with the brutal curiosity that prompts the -fingers to tear apart the bud, leaf by leaf, until its inmost heart is -laid bare, “and now you are happier than ever before? I should say so! -Just think of it--to be married, nothing less!” - -Lucía, without perceiving the ironical accent in which her companion -uttered these words, answered frankly: - -“Well, I will tell you. I always wanted to marry to please my father. I -did not want to torment him with all that nonsense about lovers with -which other girls torment their parents. My friends, that is some of -them, if they chanced to see an officer of the garrison pass before -their window--lo! on the instant they were dying in love with him, and -it was nothing but sending and receiving letters. I used to be amazed at -their falling in love in that way, just from seeing a man pass by in the -street--and as I had never felt anything for any one of those men, and -as I already knew Señor de Miranda, and father liked him so much, I -thought to myself, ‘It is the best thing I can do; in this way I shall -have no trouble about the matter,’--was I not right?--‘I have only to -close my eyes, say yes, and the thing is done. Father will be pleased, -and I also.’” - -Artegui looked so fixedly at her, that Lucía felt her cheeks burn -beneath the ardor of his gaze, and blushing to the roots of her hair, -she murmured: - -“I tell you all the nonsensical thoughts that come into my head. As we -have nothing else to talk about----” - -He continued to search with his gaze the open and youthful countenance -before him, as the steel blade probes the living flesh. He knew very -well that frankness and candor are often more truly the signs of -innocence than reticence and reserve, and yet he could not but marvel at -the extreme simplicity of the young girl. It was necessary in order to -understand it, to consider that the vigorous physical health of the body -had preserved the spirit pure. Fever had never rendered languid the gaze -of those eyes with their bluish cornea; the excitation that wastes the -strength of the growing girl, in the trying age between ten and fifteen, -had never paled those fresh and rosy lips. Lucía might be likened to a -rosebud with all its petals closed, raising itself proudly in the midst -of its brilliant green leaves upon its strong and graceful stem. - -The heat, which had been steadily increasing, was now overpowering. When -they arrived at Alsásua, Lucía again complained of thirst and Artegui, -offering her his arm, conducted her to the dining-room of the -restaurant, reminding her that as several hours had passed since she had -supped, it would be well to eat something now. - -“Breakfast for two,” he called to the waiter, clapping his hands to -attract the man’s attention. - -The waiter approached, his napkin thrown over his shoulder. He had a -bronzed face and a soldierly air which accorded ill with the patent -leather shoes, and hair flattened down with bandoline, which is the -livery imposed by the public on its servants in these places. A broad -scar, running across the left cheek from the end of the mustache down -the neck, added to his martial appearance. The waiter stared fixedly at -Artegui for a moment, then, giving a cry, or rather a sort of canine -bark, he exclaimed: - -“It is either he himself or the devil in his shape! Señorito Ignacio! It -is a cure for sore eyes----” - -“You here, Sardiola?” said Artegui quietly. “We shall have a good -breakfast then, for you will see to it that we are well served.” - -“Yes, Señorito, I am here. _Afterward_,” he said, laying marked emphasis -on the word, and lowering his voice, “as I found everything belonging to -me destroyed--the house burned to the ground and the field laid waste--I -set to work to earn my living as best I could. And you, Señorito, are -you going to France?” - -“I am going to France, but if you keep on chattering we shall have no -breakfast to-day.” - -“That would be a pretty thing----” - -Sardiola spoke a few words in the Biscayan dialect, bristling with z’s, -k’s, and t’s, to some of his fellow-waiters. Breakfast was at once -served to Artegui and Lucía, the man taking his stand behind the chair -of the former. - -“So you are going to France?” he went on. “And the Señora Doña -Armanda--is she well?” - -“Not very well,” answered Ignacio, the cloud deepening on his brow. “She -suffers a great deal. When I left her, however, she was feeling slightly -better.” - -“When she sees you at home once more she will be quite well again.” - -And looking at Lucía, and striking his forehead with his clenched hand, -Sardiola suddenly cried: - -“The more so as---- How stupid I am! Why of course the Señora Doña -Armanda will get well when she sees joy entering her doors! What a -pleasure to see you married, Señorito, and to so lovely a girl! I wish -you every happiness!” - -“Dolt!” said Ignacio, gruffly and impatiently, “this lady is not my -wife.” - -“Well, it is a pity she is not,” answered the Biscayan, while Lucía -looked smilingly at him. “You would make a pair that--not if you were to -search the wide world through--only that the Señorita----” - -“Go on,” said Lucía, intensely amused, busying herself in removing the -tissue paper from an orange. - -“Shall I, Señorito Ignacio?” - -Artegui shrugged his shoulders. Sardiola, taking this for a sign of -assent, launched forth: - -“The young lady looks as if she were never out of temper, and you--you -are always as if you had just received a beating. In that you would not -be a very good match for each other.” - -Lucía burst into a laugh and looked at Artegui, who smiled indulgently, -which encouraged her to laugh still more. The breakfast proceeded in the -same cordial manner, animated by Sardiola’s chatter and by the infantile -delight of Lucía. On their return to the cars the waiter accompanied -them to the very door of the compartment and, had Lucía been owner of -the arms of Artegui, she would have thrown them around Sardiola’s neck -when the latter repeated, raising his eyes to heaven, and in the tone in -which one prays, when one prays in earnest: - -“The Virgin of Begoña be with you, Señorito--God grant that you may find -Doña Armanda well--command me as if I were a dog, your dog. Remember -that I am here at your service.” - -“Thank you,” said Artegui, assuming once more his habitual look of -gloomy reserve. - -The train started and Sardiola remained standing on the platform waving -an adieu with his napkin, without changing his attitude, until the smoke -of the engine had vanished on the horizon. Lucía looked at Artegui and -questions crowded to her lips. - -“That poor man is greatly attached to you,” she said at last. - -“I was so unfortunate as to render him a service at one time,” answered -Ignacio, “and since then----” - -“Hear that! and you call that a misfortune. Well, then, you have been -very unfortunate ever since this morning, for you have rendered me a -hundred services already.” - -Artegui smiled again as he looked at the young girl. - -“The misfortune does not consist,” he said, “in rendering a service, but -in the recipient showing so much gratitude.” - -“Well, then, I too suffer from the same disease as Sardiola, and I am -not ashamed of it,” declared Lucía; “you shall see by and by.” - -“Bah! all that is wanting is that I should have people grateful to me -without cause,” responded Artegui, in the same festive tone. “It is not -so bad when there is some motive for gratitude, as in the case of that -poor Sardiola.” - -“What did you do for him?” asked Lucía, unable to keep her inquisitive -lips closed. - -“Not much. I cured him of a wound--a rather serious one.” - -“The wound that left that scar on his cheek?” - -“Yes.” - -“Are you a doctor?” - -“An amateur one, and that by chance.” Artegui relapsed into silence, and -Lucía did not venture to ask any more questions. The heat continued to -increase. Although it was autumn the weather was suffocating, and the -dust from the engine, diffused through the heated atmosphere, was -stifling. The scenery grew wilder as they proceeded, the country growing -more and more mountainous and rugged. Occasionally they entered a -tunnel, and then the darkness, the rush of the train, the damp, -underground air, penetrating into the compartment, mitigated to some -extent the intense heat. - -Lucía fanned herself with a newspaper, arranged for her by Artegui in -the form of a shell; light, transparent drops of perspiration dotted her -rosy neck, her temples, and her chin. From time to time she dried them -with her handkerchief. The tresses of her hair, uncurled and damp, -clung to her forehead. She loosened her stiff collar, took off her -necktie, which was strangling her, and leaned back languidly in her -corner. In order to soften the light in the compartment, Artegui drew -the little curtains of the low windows, producing a vague and mysterious -bluish atmosphere that gave the place the air of a submarine grotto, the -noise of the train, not unlike the roar of the ocean, contributing to -the illusion. Insensible to the heat, Artegui raised the curtain -slightly and looked out at the landscape--the oak groves, the sierra, -the deep valleys. Once he caught a glimpse of a picturesque train of -pilgrims. The scene vanished quickly, but he had time to distinguish the -forms of the pilgrims, their scapulars hanging around their necks, -wending along the narrow road on foot or in wagons drawn by oxen, the -men wearing the red or blue flat woolen cap of the country, the women -with their heads covered with white handkerchiefs. The procession -resembled the descent of the shepherds in the Christmas representation -of the Adoration. The bright sunshine, falling full upon the figures of -the pilgrims, bestowed upon them the crude tones of figures of painted -clay. Artegui drew Lucía’s attention to the scene; she raised the -curtain in her turn, leaned out of the window, and gazed at the -spectacle until a bend of the road and a rapid movement of the train hid -the picture from view. It seemed as if the tunnels took a malicious -pleasure in shutting out from their sight the most beautiful views on -the route. Did they catch sight of a smiling hill, a group of leafy -trees, a pleasant meadow, lo! the train entered a tunnel and they -remained motionless at the window, daring neither to speak nor move, as -if they had suddenly entered a church. Lucía, now somewhat accustomed to -the heat, looked with great interest at the various objects along the -road. The tall match factories, with their white-washed walls and large -painted signs, pleased her greatly, and at Hernani she clapped her hands -with delight on catching a glimpse, to the left of the road, of a -magnificent English park, with its gay flower knots contrasting with the -green grass, and its stately coniferous trees, with their symmetrical -pendant foliage. At Pasajes, after the wearisome monotony of the -mountains, their eyes were at last refreshed with a view of the blue sea -that stretched before them, its surface gently rippling while the -vessels anchored in the bay swayed with a gentle motion, and a -sea-breeze, pungent and salt, fluttered the silk curtains of the -carriage, fanning the perspiring brows of the weary travelers. Lucía -gazed in wonder at the ocean, which she had never seen before, and when -the tunnel suddenly and without warning spread a black veil over the -scene, she remained leaning on her elbows at the window, with dilated -eyes and parted lips, lost in admiration. - -As the hours went by, and they advanced on their journey, Artegui lost -something of his statue-like coldness, and, growing by degrees more -communicative, explained to Lucía the various views of this moving -panorama. The young girl listened with that species of attention which -is so delightful to a teacher--that of the pupil, enthusiastic and -docile at the same time. Artegui, when he chose to speak, could be -eloquent. He described the customs of the country; he related many -particulars concerning the villages and the hamlets of which they caught -glimpses on their way. Eyes fixed and observant, a countenance all -attention, changing its expression at the narrator’s will, responded to -his words. So that, when the train stopped at Irún, and they heard the -first words spoken in a foreign tongue, Lucía exclaimed, as if with -regret: - -“What! Are we there already?” - -“In France? Yes,” answered Artegui, “but we have still some distance to -travel before reaching Bayonne. They examine the luggage here; this is -the custom-house of Irún. They will not trouble us much, though; people -coming from France to Spain are the victims of the custom-house -officials, but no one supposes that those who travel from Spain to -France carry contraband articles or new clothes----” - -“But I carry new clothes!” exclaimed Lucía. “My wedding outfit. Do you -see that big trunk that they have set there on the counter? That is -mine, and that other is Miranda’s, and the hat-box----” - -“Give me the check and the keys to have them examined.” - -“The check and the keys? Miranda has them--not I.” - -“In that case you will be left without luggage. You will have to remain -here until your husband joins you.” - -Lucía looked at Artegui with something like dismay, but the next moment -she burst out laughing. - -“Left without luggage!” she repeated. - -And her silvery laughter burst forth afresh. She thought it a delightful -incident to be left without her luggage; she seemed to herself like a -child lost in the streets, who is taken in charge by some charitable -person until her home can be found. It was a perfect adventure. Child -as Lucía was, she might have taken it either as matter for laughter or -matter for tears; she took it as matter for laughter, because she was -happy, and until they reached Hendaya the burst of merriment that -enlivened the carriage did not cease. At Hendaya the dinner served to -prolong these moments of perfect cordiality. The elegant dining-room of -the railway station at Hendaya, adorned with all that taste and -attention to detail displayed by the French to serve, attract, and -squeeze the customer, invited to intimacy, with its long and discreet -curtains of subdued hues, its enormous chimney-piece of bronze and -marble, its splendid sideboard surmounted by a pair of large round -Japanese vases, ornamented with strange plants and birds, gleaming with -Ruolz silver, and laden with mountains of opaque china. Artegui and -Lucía selected a small table with two covers where, sitting opposite -each other, they could converse together in low tones so that the firm, -grave sounds of their Spanish speech might not attract attention amid -the confused and gliding sounds of the chorus of French accents -proceeding from the general conversation at the large table. Artegui -played the rôle of butler and cupbearer, naming the dishes, pouring out -the wines, carving the meat, anticipating Lucía’s childish caprices, -shelling the almonds and peeling the apples for her, and dipping the -ruddy grapes into the crystal bowl of water. A cloud seemed to have been -lifted from his now animated countenance and his movements, although -calm and composed, showed less weariness and listlessness than before. - -When they re-entered the carriage, night was approaching, and the sun -was sinking in the west with the swiftness peculiar to autumn. They -closed the windows on one side of the compartment and the flickering -light played on the ceiling of the carriage, appearing and disappearing -like children playing hide and seek. The mountains grew black, the -clouds in the distance turned flame color, then faded, one by one, like -a rose of fire dropping its glowing petals. The conversation between -Artegui and Lucía languished and then ceased entirely, both relapsing -into a gloomy silence,--he showing his accustomed air of fatigue, she -lost in a profound revery, dominated by the saddening influence of the -hour. The twilight deepened, and from one of the carriages could be -heard rising above the noise made in its slow progress by the train, a -sorrowful and passionate chorus in a foreign tongue; a _zortzico_, -intoned in deep, full voices by a party of young Biscayans on their way -to Bayonne. Now and then a cascade of mocking laughter interrupted the -song; then the chorus would rise again, tender and melancholy as a sigh, -toward the heavens, black now as ink. Lucía listened, and the train, -slowly making the descent, accompanied with its deep vibration the -voices of the singers. - -The arrival at Bayonne surprised Artegui and Lucía as if they had -wakened from a prolonged sleep. Artegui quickly drew his hand away from -the knob of the window on which it had been resting and the young girl -looked around her with an air of surprise. She noticed that it had grown -cool, and she buttoned her collar and put on her necktie. Men with -woolen caps, girls wearing handkerchiefs fastened at the back of the -head, a stream of passengers of diverse appearance and social condition -pushed and elbowed one another and bustled about in the large station. -Artegui gave his arm to his companion so that they might not lose each -other in the crowd. - -“Had your husband decided on any particular hotel at which to stop in -Bayonne?” he asked. - -“I think,” murmured Lucía, making an effort to remember, “that I heard -him mention a hotel called San Estéban. I remembered it because I have -a very pretty picture of that saint in my missal.” - -“Saint Étienne,” said Artegui to the driver of the omnibus, who, seated -on the box, his head turned toward them, was waiting for orders. - -The horses set off at a heavy trot, and the vehicle rolled along through -the well-paved streets until it reached a house with a narrow door, -marble steps flanked by consumptive-looking plants in pots, and bright -gas-lamps, before which it stopped. - -A fair, tall woman, neatly dressed, wearing a freshly ironed pleated -cap, came to the door to receive them and hastened to give Artegui’s -valise to a waiter. - -“The lady and gentleman would like to have a room?” she murmured in -French, in mellifluous and obsequious tones. - -“Two,” answered Artegui laconically. - -“Two,” she repeated in Spanish, although with a transpyrenean accent. -“And would the lady and gentleman like them connected?” - -“Entirely separate.” - -“_Tout à fait._ They shall be prepared.” - -The landlady called a chambermaid, no less neat and obliging than -herself, who, taking two keys from the board on which were hanging the -keys of the hotel, ascended the waxed stairs, followed by Artegui and -Lucía. - -She stopped on the third landing, a little out of breath, and opening -the doors of two rooms adjoining each other, but separate, struck a -match, lighted the candles on the chimney-piece of each and then -withdrew. Artegui and Lucía stood silent for a few moments at the doors -of their respective rooms; at last, the former said: - -“You must want to wash your hands and face and brush the dust of the -road from your dress and rest for a while. I will leave you now. Call -the chambermaid if you should require anything; here every one speaks a -little Spanish.” - -“Good-by,” she answered mechanically. - -When the noise made by the closing of the door announced to Lucía that -she was alone, and she cast her eyes around this strange room, dimly -illumined by the light of the candles, the excitement and bewilderment -she had felt during the journey vanished; she called to mind her little -room at Leon, simple but dainty as a silver cup, with its holy-water -font, its saint, its boxes of mignonette, its work-table, its capacious -cedar wardrobe filled with freshly ironed linen. She thought, too, of -her father, of Carmela and Rosarito, of all the sweet past. Then -sadness overpowered her; fears, vague but none the less real, assailed -her; the position in which she found herself seemed to her strange and -alarming: the present looked threatening, the future dark. She sank into -an easy-chair and gazed fixedly at the light of the candles with the -abstracted look of one lost in deep and painful meditation. - - - - -CHAPTER V. - - -An hour, or perhaps an hour and a half, might have passed when Lucía -heard a knock at the door of her room, and opening it she found herself -face to face with her companion and protector, who gave proof, by his -white cuffs and some slight changes which he had made in his dress, of -having paid that minute attention to the business of the toilet which is -a part of the religion of our age. He entered, and without seating -himself, held out to Lucía his pocket-book, filled with money. - -“You have here,” he said, “money enough for any occasion that may arise -until your husband joins you. As the trains are apt to be delayed at -this season, I do not think he will be here before morning, but even if -he should not arrive for a week, or even a month, there is enough to -last you till then.” - -Lucía looked at him as if she had not understood his meaning, without -making any motion to take the pocket-book. He slipped it into her palm. - -“I am obliged to go out now, to attend to some business,” he said; -“after which I will take the first train for Paris. Good-by, Señora,” he -ended ceremoniously, taking two steps toward the door. - -Then, grasping his meaning, the young girl, with pale and troubled -countenance, caught him by the sleeve of his overcoat, exclaiming: - -“What--what do you mean? What are you saying about the train?” - -“What is natural, Señora,” said the traveler, with his former tired -gesture, “that I am going to continue my journey; that I am going to -Paris.” - -“And you are going to leave me in this way--alone! Alone here in -France!” said Lucía, in the greatest distress. - -“Señora, this is not a desert, nor need you fear that any harm will -befall you. You have money. That is the one thing needful on French -soil; that you will be well served and waited upon, I will guarantee.” - -“But--good heavens! Alone! alone!” she repeated, without loosening her -hold on Artegui’s sleeve. - -“Within a few hours your husband will be here.” - -“And if he does not come?” - -“Why should he not come? What puts it into your head that he will not -come?” - -“I do not say that he will not come,” stammered Lucía. “I only say that -if he should delay----” - -“In fine,” murmured Artegui, “I, too, have my occupations--it is -imperative that I should go.” - -Lucía answered not a word to this, but, loosening her hold on his -sleeve, she sank again into her chair and hid her face in her hands. -Artegui approached her and saw that her bosom heaved with a quick, -irregular motion, as if she were sobbing. Between her fingers drops -flowed as copiously as if they had been squeezed out of a sponge. - -“Lift up your face,” said Artegui in an authoritative voice. - -Lucía raised her flushed, moist countenance and, in spite of herself, -smiled as she did so. - -“You are a young girl,” he said, “a young girl who is not bound to know -what the world is. I, who have seen more of it than I could wish, would -be unpardonable if I did not undeceive you. The world is a collection of -eyes, ears, and mouths that close themselves to all that is good and -open themselves eagerly to all that is evil. My company at present is -more to your injury than your advantage. If your husband has not -exceptionally good judgment--and there is no reason to suppose that he -has--it will give him but little satisfaction to find you so protected.” - -“Good heavens! and why? What would have become of me if I had not met -you so opportunely? That dreadful official might have put me in prison. -I don’t know what Señor de Miranda will say but, as for poor papa, he -would kiss the ground you walk upon, I am sure of it.” - -And Lucía, with a gesture of passionate and plebeian gratitude, made a -movement as if to kneel before Artegui. - -“A husband is not a father,” he answered. “The only reasonable, the only -sensible course, Señora, is for me to go. I telegraphed from Ebro to -Miranda, so that if your husband should be there, he may be told you are -waiting here for him in Bayonne.” - -“Go, then.” - -And Lucía turned her back on Artegui, and leaning her elbows on the -window-sill, looked out of the window. - -Artegui remained for a moment standing in the middle of the room, -looking at the young girl, who doubtless was swallowing her tears -silently, undecided what to do. At last he approached her, and almost in -a whisper: - -“After all,” he murmured, “there is no need to be so greatly troubled. -Dry your tears, for if you live long enough you will have time and cause -in plenty for them to flow.” - -Lowering still more his sonorous voice, he added: - -“I will remain.” - -Lucía turned round as if she had been moved by a spring, and, clapping -her hands, cried with childish delight: - -“Thank you! Thank you, Señor de Artegui. Oh, but will you stay in -earnest? I am beside myself with joy. What happiness! But,” she added -suddenly, as if the thought had only just occurred to her, “can you -remain? Will it be a sacrifice, will it be a trouble to you?” - -“No,” answered Artegui, with a gloomy countenance. - -“That lady, that Doña Armanda, who is expecting you in Paris--may not -she, too, need you?” - -“She is my mother,” answered Artegui, and Lucía was satisfied with the -response, although it failed to answer her question. - -Artegui, meanwhile, pushed a chair toward the table, and seating -himself in it leaned his elbow on the cover and burying his face in his -hands, gave himself up to his thoughts. Lucía, from the embrasure of the -window, was observing his movements. When ten minutes had passed, and -Artegui had neither moved nor spoken, she approached him softly, and, in -a timid and supplicating voice, stammered: - -“Señor de Artegui----” - -He looked up. His face wore its former gloomy expression. - -“What do you wish?” he asked hoarsely. - -“What is the matter? It seems to me that you are--very downcast and very -sad--I suppose it is on account of--what we were saying--see, if it -annoys you so greatly, I think I prefer that you should go. Yes, I am -sure I do.” - -“I am not annoyed. I am--as I always am. It is because you know me so -little that you are surprised at my manner.” - -And seeing that Lucía remained standing with a remorseful expression on -her countenance, he motioned to the other chair. Lucía drew it forward -and sat down in it, facing Artegui. - -“Say something,” continued Artegui, “let us talk. We must amuse -ourselves, we must chat--as we did this afternoon.” - -“Ah, this afternoon you were in a good humor.” - -“And you?” - -“I was suffocated with the heat. Our house at Leon is very cool; I am -much more susceptible to the heat than to the cold.” - -“You found it pleasant, no doubt, to wash off the dust of the road. It -is so refreshing to make one’s toilet after a journey.” - -“Yes, but----” Lucía stopped. “I missed one thing--a very important -thing,” she added. - -“What? Cologne water, perhaps. I forgot to bring you my _necessaire_.” - -“No, indeed,--the trunk which contained my linen--I could not change my -things.” - -Artegui rose. - -“Why did you not mention this before?” he said. “We are precisely in the -place where Spanish brides purchase their wedding outfits!--I will be -back directly.” - -“But--where are you going?” - -“To bring you a couple of changes of linen; you must be in torture with -those dusty garments.” - -“Señor de Artegui! for Heaven’s sake! I am imposing on your good nature; -wait----” - -“Why do you not come with me to choose them?” - -And Artegui handed Lucía her toque. - -The scruples that at first presented themselves to the young girl’s mind -vanished quickly like a flock of frightened quail, and a little -confused, but still more happy, she hastily took Artegui’s offered arm. - -“We shall see the streets, shall we not?” she exclaimed excitedly. - -And as they went down the waxed and slippery stairs, she said, with a -remnant of provincial scrupulousness and shyness: - -“Of course, Señor de Artegui, my husband will repay you all you are -spending.” - -Artegui tightened his clasp on her arm with a smile, and they walked on -through the streets of Bayonne, as much at home with each other as if -they had lived all their lives together. The night was worthy of the -day. In the soft blue sky the stars shone clear and bright. The -gas-lights of the innumerable shops, which in Bayonne trade upon the -vanity of the wealthy and migratory Spaniards, encircled the dark blocks -of houses with zones of light, and in the show-cases gleamed, in every -tone of the chromatic scale, rich stuffs, porcelains, curious bronzes, -and costly jewels. The pair walked on in silence, Artegui accommodating -his long manly stride to the shorter step of Lucía. The streets were -filled with people who walked along quickly, with an air of animation, -like people engaged in some business that interests them; not with the -languid air of the southern races, who walk for exercise or to kill -time. The tables standing in front of the cafés were crowded with -customers, for the mild atmosphere made it pleasant to sit in the open -air, and under the bright light of the gas lamps the waiters hurried -about serving beer, coffee, or chocolate _bavaroise_; and the smoke of -the cigars, and the rustling of newspapers, and the talk, and the sharp -ring of the dominoes on the marble made the sidewalk full of life. -Suddenly Artegui turned the corner of the street and led the way into a -rather narrow shop, whose show-case was almost filled by two long -morning-gowns adorned with cascades of lace, one of them trimmed with -blue, the other with pink ribbons. Inside the shop were numberless -articles of underwear for women and children, coquettishly -displayed,--jackets with extended sleeves, wrappers hanging in graceful -folds. The ivory white of the laces contrasted with the chalky white of -the muslins. Here and there the brilliant colors, the silk and gold of -some morning cap resting on its wooden stand, rose in contrast from -among the white masses lying around on all sides like a carpet of snow. - -The proprietress of the establishment, like most of the shopkeepers of -Bayonne, spoke Spanish; and when Lucía asked her for two suits of linen -she availed herself of her knowledge of the language of Cervantes to -endeavor to persuade her to launch into further purchases. Taking Lucía -and Artegui for a newly married couple she became flattering, -insinuating, importunate, and persisted in showing them a complete -outfit, lauding its beauty and its cheapness. She threw on the counter -armfuls of articles, floods of lace, embroidery, batiste. Not content -with which, and seeing that Lucía, submerged in a flood of linen, was -making signs in the negative with head and hands, she touched another -spring, and took down enormous pasteboard boxes containing diminutive -caps, flannel, swaddling-clothes, finely scalloped cashmere and piqué -cloaks, petticoats of an exaggerated length, and other articles which -brought the blood to Lucía’s cheeks. - -Artegui put an end to the attack by paying for the suits selected, and -giving the address of the hotel to which they were to be sent. - -This done, they left the shop; but Lucía, enchanted with the beauty and -serenity of the night, expressed a wish to remain out a little longer. - -They retraced their steps, passing again before the brilliantly lighted -cafés and the theater, and took the road to the bridge, at this hour -almost deserted. The lights of the city were tremulously reflected on -the tranquil bosom of the Adour. - -“How bright the stars are!” exclaimed Lucía; and suddenly pulling -Artegui by the sleeve, to arrest his steps. “What star is that,” she -said, “that shines so brightly?” - -“It is called Jupiter. It is one of the planets belonging to our -system.” - -“How bright and lovely it is! Some of the stars seem to be cold, they -tremble so as they shine; and others are motionless, as if they were -watching us.” - -“They are, in effect, fixed stars. Do you see that band of light that -crosses the sky?” - -“That looks like a wide silver gauze ribbon?” - -“That is the Milky Way; a collection of stars, the number of which is so -great as to be inconceivable even to the imagination. Our sun is one of -the ants of that ant-hill,--one of those stars.” - -“The sun--is it a star?” asked the young girl in surprise. - -“A fixed star--we whirl around it like mad people.” - -“Ah, how delightful to know all those things! In the school I attended, -we were not taught a particle of all that, and Doña Romualda used to -laugh at me when I would say I was going to ask Father Urtazu--who is -always looking at the heavens through a big telescope--what the stars -and the sun and the moon are.” - -Artegui turned to the right, following the embankment, while he -explained to Lucía the first notions of that science of astronomy which -seems like a celestial romance, a fantastic tale written in characters -of light on sapphire tablets. The young girl, enraptured, gazed now at -her companion, now at the serene firmament. She was amazed, above all, -at the magnitude and number of the stars. - -“How vast the sky is! Dear Lord! if the material, the visible heavens -are so great, what must the real heavens be, where the Virgin, the -angels, and the saints are!” - -Artegui shook his head, and bending toward Lucía, murmured: - -“How do those stars seem to you? One might fancy they were sad. Is it -not true that when they twinkle they look as if they were shedding -tears?” - -“They are not sad,” responded Lucía, “they are pensive, which is a very -different thing. They are thinking, and they have something to think -about,--to go no further, God who created them.” - -“Thinking! They think as much as that bridge or those vessels think. The -_privilege_ of thinking”--Artegui laid a bitter emphasis on the word -_privilege_--“is reserved for man, the lord of creation. And if there be -on those stars, as there must be, men endowed with the privileges and -the faculties of humanity, they it is who think.” - -“Do you believe there are people on those stars? Do you think they are -like us, Señor de Artegui? Do they eat? Do they drink? Do they walk?” - -“Of that I know nothing. There is only one thing I can assure you of, -but that with full knowledge and perfect certainty.” - -“What is that?” asked the young girl, with curiosity, watching, by the -uncertain light of the stars Artegui’s countenance. - -“That they suffer as we suffer,” he answered. - -“How do you know that?” she murmured, impressed by the hollow tone in -which the words were uttered. “Well, for my part, I fancy that in the -stars that are so beautiful and that shine so brightly, there is neither -discord nor death, as there is here. It must be blissful there!” she -declared, raising her hand and pointing to the refulgent orb of -Jupiter. - -“Pain is the universal law, here as well as there,” said Artegui, -looking fixedly at the Adour which ran, dark and silent, at his feet. - -They spoke little more until they reached the hotel. There are -conversations which awaken profound thoughts and which are more -fittingly followed by silence than by frivolous words. Lucía, tired, -without knowing why, leaned heavily on the arm of Artegui, who walked -slowly, with his accustomed air of indifference. The last words of their -conversation were discordant--almost hostile. - -“At what hour does the morning train arrive?” asked Lucía suddenly. - -“The first train arrives at five or thereabouts.” - -The voice of Artegui was dry and hard. - -“Shall we go to meet it to see if Señor de Miranda is on it?” - -“You may do so if you choose, Señora; as for me, permit me to decline.” - -The tone in which he answered was so bitter that Lucía did not know what -to reply. - -“The employees of the hotel will go,” added Artegui, “whether you do or -not, to meet the trains. There is no need for you to rise so early--at -least, unless your conjugal tenderness is so great----” - -Lucía bent her head, and her face flushed as if a red-hot iron had -passed close to it. When they entered the hotel the landlady approached -them; her smile, animated by curiosity, was even more amiable and -obsequious than before. She explained that she had forgotten a necessary -formality--to enter the names of the lady and gentleman, and their -nationality, in the hotel register. - -“Ignacio Artegui, Madame de Miranda; Spaniards,” said Artegui. - -“If the gentleman had a card----” the landlady ventured to say. - -Artegui gave her the desired slip of pasteboard, and the landlady was as -profuse in her courtesies and thanks as if she were excusing herself for -complying with the required formality. - -“When the morning train arrives,” said Ignacio, “give orders to inquire -for Monsieur Aurelio Miranda--don’t forget! Let him be told that Madame -is in this hotel, that she is well, and that she is waiting for him to -join her. Do you understand?” - -“_Parfait_,” answered the Frenchwoman. - -Lucía and Artegui bade each other good-night at the doors of their -respective rooms. Lucía, as she was about to undress, saw the purchases -she had made, lying on the table. She put on the fresh linen with -delight, and lay down thinking she was going to sleep profoundly, as -she had done the preceding night. But she did not enjoy the repose she -had anticipated: her sleep was restless and broken. Perhaps the -strangeness of the bed, its very softness, produced in Lucía the effect -which unaccustomed luxuries produce in persons habituated to a monastic -life, of whom it may be said with truth, paradoxical as it may appear, -that comfort makes them uncomfortable. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - - -When the chambermaid wakened Lucía in the morning, bringing her a bowl -of coffee, the first piece of news she gave her was that Monsieur de -Miranda had not arrived in the train from Spain. Lucía sprang out of bed -and dressed herself quickly, trying to bring together her scattered -recollections and glancing around her room with the surprise which those -unused to traveling are apt to experience on awakening for the first -time in a strange place. She looked at the clock upon the table; it was -eight. She went out into the corridor and knocked softly at the door of -Artegui’s room. - -The latter, who was in his shirt-sleeves, finishing his toilet, when he -heard the knock, quickly dried his hands and face, threw his overcoat -over his shoulders, and opened the door. - -“Don Ignacio--good-morning. Do I disturb you?” - -“No, indeed, will you come in?” - -“Are you dressed already?” - -“Almost.” - -“Do you know that Señor de Miranda has not come by the morning train?” - -“I have been told so.” - -“What do you say to that? Is it not very strange?” - -Ignacio did not answer. He began, in truth, to think the conduct of this -bridegroom, who had abandoned his bride on their wedding-day in the -carriage of a railway train, strange and more than strange. Of course, -some disagreeable and unforeseen accident must have occurred to the -unknown Miranda; whose fate, by a singular chance, had come to influence -his own in the manner it had done during the last forty-eight hours. - -“I will telegraph everywhere,” he said; “to Alsásua, to---- do you wish -me to telegraph to Leon, to your father?” - -“God forbid!” exclaimed Lucía “he would be capable of taking the next -train to come in search of me, and suffocating on the way with -asthma--and with worry. No, no!” - -“At all events I am going to take measures----” - -And Artegui thrust his arms through the sleeves of his overcoat and took -up his hat. - -“Are you going out?” asked Lucía. - -“Do you need anything else?” - -“Do you know--do you know that yesterday was Saturday and that to-day is -Sunday?” - -“As a general thing Sunday does follow Saturday,” answered Artegui, with -amiable badinage. - -“You don’t understand me.” - -“Explain yourself, then. What do you wish?” - -“What should I wish but to go to mass like all the rest of the world?” - -“Ah!” exclaimed Artegui. Then he added: “True. And you wish----” - -“That you should accompany me. I am not going to mass alone, I suppose?” - -Artegui smiled again, and the young girl observed how well a smile -became that countenance, generally so emotionless and somber. It was -like the dawn when it tints the gray mountains with rose-color; like a -sunbeam piercing the mists on a cloudy clay. The eyes, the pallid and -hollow cheeks kindled; youth was renewed in that countenance faded by -mysterious sorrows, and darkened by perpetual clouds. - -“You should always smile, Don Ignacio,” exclaimed Lucía. “Although,” she -added reflectively, “the other way you look more like yourself.” - -Artegui, smiling more brightly than before, offered her his arm; but she -declined to take it. When they reached the street she walked along in -silence, with downcast eyes; she missed the protecting shade of the -black veil of her lace manto, which concealed her face and gave her so -modest an air when she walked under the beams of the half-ruined vaulted -roof of the cathedral at Leon. The cathedral of Bayonne seemed to her as -delicately beautiful as a filigree ornament, but she could not listen to -the mass so devoutly there as in the other; the exquisite purity of the -temple, like an elaborately carved casket; the vivid coloring of the -Neo-Byzantine figures painted on a gold background in the transept, the -novelty of the open choir; of the tabernacle, isolated and without -ornament; the moving of the prayer-desks; the walking to and fro of the -women who rented the chairs, all disturbed her. It seemed to her as if -she were in a temple of a different faith from her own. A white-robed -virgin, wearing a mantle ornamented with gold bands and holding in her -arms the Divine Infant in one of the chapels of the nave, tranquillized -her somewhat. Then she recited a number of Hail Marys; she pulled apart -one by one the leaves of the blood red roses of the rosary, of the -mystic lilies of the litany. She left the temple with a light step and a -joyful heart. The first object on which her eyes fell when she reached -the door was Artegui looking with interest at the Gothic cinter of the -portal. - -“I have sent telegrams to all the various stations on the route, -Señora,” he said, politely raising his hat when he saw her; “especially -to the most important station, Miranda de Ebro. I have taken the liberty -of signing them with your name.” - -“Thanks--but have you not heard mass?” exclaimed the young girl, looking -at him in surprise. - -“No, Señora; I come, as I have just told you, from the telegraph -office,” he answered evasively. - -“You must hurry, then, if you wish to be in time. The priest has just -this moment come out, in his vestments.” - -A slight frown crossed Artegui’s face. - -“I shall not go to mass,” he said, half seriously, half jestingly. “At -least not unless you particularly desire it--in which case----” - -“Not go to mass!” exclaimed the young girl with wide-open eyes, amazed -and disturbed as well. “And why do you not go to mass? Are you not a -Christian?” - -“Let us suppose that I am not,” he stammered, in a low voice, like a -criminal confessing his crime before his judge, and shaking his head -with a melancholy air. - -“Good heavens! What are you then?” And Lucía clasped her hands in -distress. - -“What Father Urtazu would call an unbeliever.” - -“Ah,” she cried impetuously. “Father Urtazu would say that all -unbelievers are wicked.” - -“Father Urtazu might add that they are even more unhappy than wicked.” - -“It is true,” replied Lucía, trembling still like a tree shaken by the -blast. “It is true, even more unhappy; Father Urtazu would certainly say -nothing else. And how unhappy they must be! Holy Virgin of the Rosary!” - -The young girl bent her head as if stunned by the sudden blow. The -religious sentiment, dormant, until now, along with so many other -sentiments, in the depths of her serene and placid soul, awoke with -vigor at the unexpected shock. Two sensations struggled for the -mastery--piercing pity on the one hand, mingled terror and repulsion on -the other. Horrified, she was prompted to move away from Artegui, and -for this very reason her heart melted with compassion when she looked at -him. The people were coming out of the church; the portico poured forth -wave after wave of this human sea, and Lucía, standing erect and pale as -a Christian martyr in the arena, was hemmed in by the crowd. Artegui -offered her his arm in silence; she hesitated at first, then accepted -it, and both walked mechanically in the direction of the hotel. The -morning, slightly cloudy, promised a temperature cooler and more -agreeable than that of the day before. A delightful breeze was blowing, -and through the light clouds the sun could be seen struggling, like love -struggling through the clouds of anger. - -“Are you sad, Lucía?” Artegui asked the young girl softly. - -“A little, Don Ignacio.” And Lucía heaved a profound sigh. “And you are -to blame for it,” she added, in a gently reproachful tone. - -“I?” - -“Yes, you. Why do you say those foolish things, that cannot be true?” - -“That cannot be true?” - -“Yes, that cannot be true. How can it be true that you are not a -Christian? Come, you are saying what you do not mean.” - -“And how does it matter to you, Lucía?” he exclaimed, calling her for -the second time by her Christian name. “Are you Father Urtazu? Am I one -who interests or concerns you in any way? Will you be called upon in any -tribunal to answer for my soul? Child, this is a matter that touches you -in no way.” - -“Does it not, indeed? I declare, Don Ignacio, to-day you talk as if--as -if you were crazy. Why should it not matter to me whether you are saved -or lost, whether you are a Christian or a Jew!” - -“A Jew! As far as being a Jew is concerned, I am not that,” responded -Artegui, endeavoring to give a playful turn to the conversation. - -“It is the same thing--to deny Christ is to be a Jew in fact.” - -“Let us drop this, Lucía; I don’t want to see you look like that, it -makes you ugly!” he said lightly, alluding, for the first time, to -Lucía’s personal appearance. “What, do you wish to do now? Shall I take -you to see some of the curiosities of the place? The hospital? The -forts?” - -He spoke with more cordiality of manner than he had yet manifested, and -Lucía’s soul was tranquillized, as when oil is poured on the troubled -waters. - -“Could we not make a little excursion into the country? I am -passionately fond of trees.” - -Artegui turned toward the theater, before the door of which two or three -little basket-carriages were standing. He made a sign to the driver of -the nearest, a Biscayan, who, raising his whip, touched with it the -flanks of the Tarbes ponies, that, with a shake of the mane, prepared to -start. Lucía sprang in and seated herself in the light vehicle, and -Artegui, taking his place beside her, called to the driver: - -“To Biarritz.” - -The carriage set off, swift as an arrow, and Lucía closed her eyes, -letting her thoughts wander at will, enjoying the light caresses of the -breeze, that blew back the ends of her necktie and her wavy tresses. And -yet the scenery, picturesque and smiling, was well worthy of a glance. -They passed cultivated fields, country houses with pointed roofs, -English parks carpeted with fresh turf and fine grass, yellow now with -the hues of autumn. Descrying a footpath winding among the fields, -Artegui called to the driver to stop, and giving his hand to Lucía -helped her to alight. The Biscayan sought the shelter of a wall where -his horses, bathed in sweat, might rest with safety, and Artegui and -Lucía proceeded on foot along the little path, the latter, who had now -recovered her childlike gayety and her innocent delight in bodily -motion, leading the way. She was enchanted with everything: the clover -blossoms that covered the dark green field with crimson dots; the late -chamomile and the pale corn-flowers growing by the roadside; the -fox-gloves, that she gathered with a smile, bursting the pods between -her hands; the curling plumes of the celery; the cabbages growing in -rows, each row separated by a furrow. The earth, from over-culture, -over-manuring, over-plowing, had acquired an indescribable air of -decrepitude. Its flanks seemed to groan, exuding a viscous and warm -moisture like sweat, while in the uncultivated land bordering the path -were spots of virgin soil where grew at will the ornamental -superfluities of the fields,--vaporous grasses, many-colored flowers, -and sharp thistles. - -The path was too narrow to admit of their walking side by side, and -Artegui followed Lucía, although he strayed occasionally into the -fields, with little regard for proprietorial rights. The young girl at -last paused in her meandering course at the foot of a thick osier -plantation on the borders of a marsh, shading a steep grassy bank from -which could be obtained a view of the road they had traversed. They -seated themselves on the natural divan and looked at the plain that -stretched before them like a patch-work composed of the various shades -of the vegetables cultivated in the different fields. In the high-road, -that wound along like a white ribbon, they could distinguish a black -spot--the basket-carriage and the ponies. The sun shone with a mild -light that came softened through a veil of clouds, and the landscape -showed dull tones,--sea-greens, sandy yellow patches, faint ash-colored -distances, soft tints that were reflected in the tranquil pond. - -“This is very lovely, Don Ignacio,” said Lucía, in order to say -something, for the silence, the profound solitude of the place, was -beginning to weigh upon her spirits. “Don’t you like it?” - -“Yes, I like it,” answered Artegui, with an absent air. - -“Although it seems, indeed, as if you liked nothing. You seem, always, -as if you were tired--that is to say, not tired, but sad, rather. See -here,” continued the young girl, taking hold of a flexible osier branch -and wreathing it playfully around her head, “I wager you would not -believe that your sadness is communicating itself to me, and that I, -too, begin to be--I don’t know how to describe it--well, preoccupied. I -would give, I don’t know what, to see you contented and--natural, like -other men. Neither in your face nor your expression do you resemble -other men, Don Ignacio.” - -“And I, on my side,” he responded, “find your gayety infectious; I am -sometimes in a better humor than you are yourself. Happiness, too, is -contagious.” - -As he spoke he drew toward him another osier branch, whose tender peel -he stripped off with his fingers and threw into the pond, watching -fixedly the circles it made on the surface of the water as it sank. - -“Of course it is,” assented Lucía; “and if you wished to be frank, if -you made up your mind to--to confide to me the cause of your trouble, -you should see that in a second’s time I would chase away that shadow -that you now wear on your face. I don’t know why it is that I imagine -that all this seriousness, this gloom, this dejection is not caused by -real unhappiness, but by--by--I don’t know how to explain myself--by -nonsensical notions, by ideas without rhyme or reason, that swarm in -your brain. I wager I am right.” - -“You are so right,” exclaimed Artegui, dropping the osier branch and -seizing the young girl’s hand, “that I am now firmly persuaded that -pure and sinless natures possess a certain power of divination, a -certain marvelous and peculiar intuition denied to us who, in exchange, -see clearly the irremediable sadness of life.” - -Lucía looked with a serious and disturbed countenance at her companion. - -“You see!” she found voice to say at last, making an effort to form her -lips into a smile and succeeding with difficulty. “So that all those -foolish notions that resemble the houses of cards that father used to -build for me when I was a child, and which would fall down at a breath, -have now vanished?” - -“In this you are mistaken, child,” said Artegui, dropping her hand with -one of his languid, mechanical gestures. “The contrary is the case. When -sadness springs from some definite cause, if the cause is removed the -sadness may also disappear; but if sadness springs up spontaneously in -the soul like those weeds and rushes you see growing on the borders of -that pond, if it is in ourselves, if it is the essence of our being, if -it does not spring up here and there only, but everywhere, if nothing on -earth can alleviate it, then--believe me, child, the patient is beyond -help. There is no hope for him.” - -He smiled as he spoke, but his smile was like the light falling on a -statue in a niche. - -“But, tell me,” said Lucía, with painful and feverish curiosity. “Have -you ever met with any terrible misfortune--any great grief?” - -“None that the world would call such.” - -“Have you a family--who love you?” - -“My mother adores me--and if it were not for her----” said Artegui, -allowing himself to be drawn, as if against his will, into the gentle -current of confidence. - -“And your father?” - -“He died many years ago. He was a Biscayan, a Carlist emigrant, a man of -great energy, of indomitable will; he took refuge in the interior of -France; he found himself there without money and without friends; he -worked as he had fought, with lion-like courage, and succeeded in -establishing a vast commercial business, accumulating a fortune, buying -a house in Paris and marrying my mother, who belongs to a distinguished -Breton family, also legitimist. I was their only child; they lavished -affection upon me but without neglecting my education or spoiling me by -over-indulgence. I studied, I saw the world, I expressed a wish to -travel, and my mother placed the means of doing so at my disposal; I had -whims, many whims, when I grew up, and they were gratified, I have -traveled in the United States and in the East, not to speak of Europe; I -spend the winters in Paris and in summer I generally go to Spain; my -health is good and I am not old. You see then that I am what people are -accustomed to call a favorite of fortune, a happy man.” - -“It is true,” said Lucía; “but who knows that it is not for that very -reason that you are as you are! I have heard it said that for bread to -be sweet it must be earned; it is true that I have not earned it and yet -so far I have not found it bitter.” - -“There was a time,” murmured Artegui, as if in answer to his own -thoughts, “when I fancied that my apathy proceeded from the security in -which I lived, and I desired to be indebted to myself, myself only, for -a livelihood. For two years I refused to receive the allowance made me -by my parents, devoting myself ardently to work and earning, as active -partner in a large commercial house which I entered, more than -sufficient for my wants; fortune attended me, like a faithful lover, but -this constant and pitiless competition sickened me and I desired to try -some work in which mind and body both should have a part and in which -the gain should be no more than sufficient for my wants. I studied -medicine, and taking advantage of the war at that time raging in the -north of Spain, I joined the forces of Don Cárlos. My father’s name -opened every door to me, and I devoted myself to practicing in the -hospitals----” - -“Was it then that you cured Sardiola?” - -“Precisely, the poor devil had been horribly wounded by a discharge of -grapeshot; his cheek was laid open and the jawbone injured, and, in -addition, he was bleeding from an artery. The cure was a difficult but -most successful one. I worked hard at that time and it was the period -during which I suffered least from tedium. But in exchange----” - -Artegui paused, fearing to proceed. - -“To what purpose, child, to what purpose should I go on? I don’t even -know why I should have given you all these nonsensical details, probably -to you as unintelligible as the ravings of a madman are to the sane.” - -“No, indeed,” declared Lucía, half offended, “I understand you very -well, and, as a proof that I do, I am going to tell you what you have -kept to yourself. You shall see that I will,” she cried, as Artegui -smilingly shook his head. “You were less bored during the period in -which you were an amateur physician, but in exchange--seeing so many -dead people and so much blood and so much cruelty, you became still -more--more of an unbeliever than you were before. Have I guessed right -or not?” - -Artegui looked at her, mute with amazement, and his brow contracted in a -frown. - -“And do you want me to tell you more? Well, that is what is the matter -with you and it is for that reason that you are so dissatisfied with -fate and with yourself. If you were a good Christian, you might indeed -be sad, but with a different sort of sadness, more gentle and more -resigned. For when one has the hope of going to heaven, one can suffer -here in patience without giving way to despair.” - -And as Artegui, with compressed lips, silently turned his head aside, -the young girl murmured in a voice gentle as a caress: - -“Don Ignacio, Father Urtazu has told me that there are men who do not -wish to admit what the church teaches and what we believe, but who, in -their own way, according to their fancy, in short, worship a God whom -they have created for themselves, and who believe also that there is -another life and that the soul does not die with the body--are you one -of those men?” - -He did not answer, but seizing a couple of osier branches, bent them -forcibly between his fingers until they snapped. The broken branches -hung down limply from the tree, held together by the bark, like broken -limbs held together by the skin. - -“You are not one of those men, either?” resumed the young girl, turning -toward him, her hands joined together, almost kneeling on the bank. -“Don’t you believe, even in that way? Don Ignacio, do you indeed believe -in nothing? In nothing?” - -Ignacio sprang to his feet, and standing on the summit of the bank -overlooking the whole landscape, slowly said: - -“I believe in evil.” - -From a distance the group might have seemed a piece of statuary. Lucía, -completely overwhelmed, almost knelt, her hands clasped in an imploring -attitude. Artegui, his arm raised, his form erect, challenging with -sorrowful glance the blue vault above, might have been taken for some -hero of romance, some rebellious Titan, were it not for his modern -costume, with its prosaic details; the sky grew momentarily darker; -leaden clouds, like enormous heaps of cotton, banked themselves up over -Biarritz and the ocean. Gusts of hot air blew low down, almost along the -ground, bending the reeds and setting in motion the pointed foliage of -the osiers with its fiery breath. The plain exhaled a deep groan at -these menacings of the storm. It seemed as if evil, evoked by the voice -of its worshiper, had appeared, in tremendous form, terrifying nature -with its broad black wings, to whose flapping fancy might have -attributed the suffocating exhalations that heated the atmosphere. Murky -and dark, like the surface of a steel mirror, the lake slept motionless -and the aquatic flowers drooped on its border. Artegui’s voice, more -intense than loud, resounded through the awe-inspiring silence. - -“In evil,” he repeated, “that surrounds and envelops us on all sides, -from the cradle to the grave; that never leaves us; in evil, that makes -of the earth a vast battle-field where no being can live but by the -death and the suffering of other beings; in evil, which is the pivot on -which the world turns and the very mainspring of life.” - -“Señor de Artegui,” stammered Lucía faintly, “it would seem, according -to what you say, that you pay to the devil the worship you refuse to -God.” - -“Worship! no! Shall I worship the iniquitous power that, concealed in -darkness, works for the general woe? To fight, to fight against it is -what I desire, now and always. You call this power the devil; I call it -evil, universal suffering. I know how alone it may be vanquished.” - -“By faith and good works,” exclaimed the young girl. - -“By dying,” he answered. - -Any one who had observed these two from a distance,--a young and -handsome man and a blooming young girl,--conversing alone in the shady -meadow, would have taken them, to a certainty, for a pair of lovers, and -would never have imagined that they were speaking of suffering and -death, but of love, which is life itself. Artegui, standing on the bank, -could see his image reflected in the blue eyes which Lucía lifted toward -him; eyes, that notwithstanding the darkness of the sky, seemed to -sparkle with light. - -“By dying!” she echoed, as the tree echoes back the sound of the blow -that wounds it. - -“By dying. Suffering ends only with death. Only death can vanquish the -creative force that delights in creating so that it may afterward -torture its unhappy creation.” - -“I do not understand you,” murmured Lucía, “but I am afraid.” And her -form trembled like the osier branches. - -Artegui was silent, but a deep and powerful voice resounding through the -heavens suddenly mingled with the strange dialogue. It was the thunder -which pealed in the distance, solemn and awe-inspiring. Lucía uttered a -low cry of terror and fell prone upon the grass. The clouds broke and -large drops of rain fell with a sound like that of molten lead upon the -silky leaves of the osiers. Artegui hurried down the bank, and taking -Lucía in his arms, with nervous force, began to run, without looking to -the right or to the left, leaping ditches, crossing newly plowed fields, -pressing under foot celery plants and cabbages, until, beaten by the -rain and pursued by the thunder, he reached the high road. The driver -was energetically uttering maledictions on the storm when Artegui placed -Lucía, almost insensible, on the seat and pulled up the oilcloth cover -hastily to protect her as far as was possible from the rain. The ponies, -terrified by the tempest, without waiting for the touch of the whip, -with pricked-up ears and distended nostrils, set off toward Bayonne. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - - -Lucía had just finished drying her wet garments at the fire that Artegui -had lighted for her. Her hair, which the rain had flattened against her -forehead, was beginning to curl slightly at the temples; her clothing -was still steaming, but the beneficent warmth pervading her frame had in -some degree brought back her natural buoyancy of spirits. Only the -feathers of her hat, drooping sadly, notwithstanding their owner’s -efforts to restore to them their graceful curl by holding them to the -fire, bore witness to the ravages of the storm. - -Artegui leaned back in an easy-chair, listless as usual, plunged in idle -revery. He was resting, doubtless, from the fatigue caused by lighting -the logs that burned so cheerfully in the fireplace, and ordering and -pouring out the tea, to which he had added a few drops of rum. Silent -and motionless now, his eyes rested alternately on Lucía and on the -fire, which formed a shifting red background to her head. While Lucía -had been incommoded by the weight of her wet garments and the pressure -of her damp shoes, she too had remained silent and constrained, -nervously fancying she still heard the pealings of the thunder and felt -the sting of the rain drops beating against her face, like needles. - -Little by little the genial influence of the heat relaxed her stiffened -limbs and loosened her paralyzed tongue. She stretched her feet and -hands toward the blaze, spread out her skirts, to dry them equally, and -finally sat down on the floor, Turkish-fashion, the better to enjoy the -warmth of the fire, which she contemplated with fixed and absorbed gaze, -listening to the crackling of the logs as she watched them gradually -change from red to black. - -“Don Ignacio,” she said suddenly. - -“Lucía?” - -“I wager you do not know what I am thinking of?” - -“You will tell me.” - -“The things that have been happening to me since yesterday are so -strange, and the life I have been leading so out of the usual -course--what you told me there--beside the pond, seems to me so -singular, so extraordinary, that I am wondering whether I did not fall -asleep in Miranda de Ebro and have not yet awakened. I must be still in -the railway-carriage; that is to say my body must be still there, for my -soul has flown away and is dreaming such wild dreams--against my will.” - -“I don’t know what there is that is strange in anything that has -happened to you; on the contrary, it is all very commonplace and simple. -Your husband is left behind on the road. I meet you afterward by chance, -and stay with you to take care of you until he arrives. Neither more nor -less. Let us not weave a romance out of this.” - -Artegui spoke with the same slow and disdainful intonation as usual. - -“No,” persisted Lucía, “it is not what has happened to me that I find -strange. What I find strange is--you. Come, Don Ignacio, you know it -very well. I have never before seen any one who thinks as you think, or -who speaks as you speak. And therefore, at times,” she murmured, taking -her head between her hands, “the idea comes to me that I am still -dreaming.” - -Artegui rose from his chair and drew near the fire. His manly figure -loomed up in the glowing light, and to Lucía, from her seat on the -floor, he looked taller than he really was. - -“It is right,” he said, inclining himself before her, “that I should ask -your pardon. I am not in the habit of saying certain things to the first -person I meet, and still less to persons like you. I have talked a great -deal of nonsense, which naturally frightened you. Besides being out of -place, my conduct was in bad taste and even cruel. I acted like a fool -and I am sorry for it, believe me.” - -Lucía, lifting up her face, looked at him in silence. The glow of the -fire turned her chestnut hair to gold, and cast a rosy hue over her -countenance. The eyes she raised to his, as he stood looking down at -her, were shining brightly. - -“I have two temperaments,” Artegui resumed, “and, like a child, I give -way to the impulses of both without reflection. In general, I am what -my father was--firm of will, reticent, and self-controlled; but at times -my mother’s temperament governs me. My poor mother suffered when she was -very young, in her remote castle in Brittany, from nervous attacks, fits -of gloom, and mental disturbance which she has never succeeded in -overcoming completely, although she has suffered less from them since my -birth than she did before. She lost a part of her malady and I acquired -it. Is it to be wondered at if I sometimes act and speak, not like a -man, but like a woman or a child!” - -“The truth is, Don Ignacio,” exclaimed Lucía, “that in your sober senses -you would not think what--what you said there.” - -“In company with you,” he said, “with a young and loyal creature who -loves life, and feels, and believes, what business had I to speak of -anything sad, or to set forth abstruse theories, turning a pleasure -excursion into a lecture? Could anything be more absurd? I am a fool. -Lucía,” he ended, with naturalness and without bitterness, “you will -forgive me for my want of tact, will you not?” - -“Yes, Don Ignacio,” she murmured, in a low voice. - -Artegui drew his chair toward the fire and sat down, stretching out his -hands and feet toward the blaze. - -“Are you still cold?” he asked Lucía. - -“No, indeed; on the contrary, I am delightfully warm.” - -“Let me feel your hands.” - -Lucía, without rising, held out her hands to Artegui, who found that -they were soft and warm and soon released them. - -“On account of the rain,” he continued, “I could not take you a little -farther, as I wished to do, to Biarritz, where there are very pretty -villas and parks in the English style. Indeed, we enjoyed scarcely -anything of the beautiful country. How fragrant the hay and the clover -were! And the earth. The smell of freshly turned earth is somewhat -pungent but pleasant.” - -“What was most fragrant of all was a bed of mint growing by the pond. I -am sorry I did not bring a few of the plants with me.” - -“Shall I go get you some? I would be back directly.” - -“Heavens! What nonsense, Don Ignacio, to think of going for them now,” -said Lucía; but the pleasure caused by the offer dyed her cheeks with -crimson. “Do you hear how it is raining?” she added, to change the -subject. - -“The morning gave no indication of the coming storm,” replied Artegui. -“France has, in general, a moist climate, and this basin of the Adour is -no exception to the rule. It was a pity not to have been able to drive -through Biarritz! There are many fine palaces and agreeable places of -resort there. I would have taken you to see the Virgin, who, from her -station on a rock, seems to command the troubled waters to be still. -There could not be a more artistic idea.” - -“How! the Virgin!” said Lucía, greatly interested. - -“A statue of the Virgin, standing among the rocks; at sunset the effect -is marvelous; the statue seems made of gold and is surrounded by a sea -of fire. It is like an apparition.” - -“Oh, Don Ignacio, will you take me there to-morrow?” cried Lucía, with, -eager, wide-open eyes and clasped hands. - -“To-morrow”--Artegui again relapsed into thought. “But, Señora,” he said -presently, in a changed voice, “your husband will probably arrive -to-day.” - -“True.” - -The conversation ceased of itself and both sat gazing silently into the -fire. Artegui added fresh logs, for the embers were now burning low. The -blazing brands crackled and occasionally one would burst open like a -ripe pomegranate, sending forth a shower of sparks. The fiery edifice -sank under the weight of the fresh materials. The flames gently licked -their new prey and then began to dart into it their asp-like tongues, -drawing from it with each ardent kiss a cry of pain. Although it was -scarcely past the meridian hour, the apartment was almost dark, so black -was the sky outside and so fierce the storm. - -“You have not breakfasted yet, Lucía,” said Artegui, suddenly -remembering the fact, and rising. “I am going to give orders to have -your breakfast sent here.” - -“And you, Don Ignacio?” - -“I--will breakfast too, down-stairs in the dining-room. It is high time -now.” - -“But why do you not breakfast here with me?” - -“No, I will breakfast down-stairs,” he said, going toward the door. - -“As you choose--but I am not hungry. Don’t send me anything. I feel--I -don’t know how.” - -“Eat something--you have been chilled and you need something to restore -the circulation.” - -“No--though if you were to breakfast here with me I might perhaps make -the effort,” she persisted, with the obstinacy of a self-willed child. - -Artegui shrugged his shoulders resignedly, and pulled the bell-rope. -When the chambermaid entered the room a quarter of an hour later with -the tray, the fire was burning more brightly and merrily than ever, and -the two arm-chairs, one on either side of the fireplace, and the table -covered with a snowy cloth, invited to the enjoyment of the -unceremonious repast. The glass, the coolers, the salver, the vinegar -cruets, the silver bands of the mustard vessel sparkled in the light; -the radishes, swimming in a fine porcelain shell, looked like rose-buds, -the fried sole displayed its lightly browned back garnished with curled -parsley and slices of lemon of a pale gold color; the juicy beefsteak -rested in a lake of melted butter; and in the lace-like glasses sparkled -the deep garnet of the Burgundy and the ruddy topaz of the -Chateau-Yquem. Every time the waiter came and went to bring or to take -away a dish, he laughed to himself at the Spanish lovers, who had asked -for separate rooms to breakfast together in this way--_tête-à-tête_ by -the fire. As a Frenchman, he took advantage of the occasion to raise the -price of everything. He handed Artegui the list of wines, giving him at -the same time suggestions and advice. - -“The gentleman will want iced champagne--I will bring it in a cooler, it -is more convenient. The pine-apples we have are excellent, I will bring -some--we receive our Malaga direct from Spain--ah, the Spanish wines! -there is no place like Spain for wines.” - -And bottles continued to arrive, and the already formidable array of -glasses standing beside each of the guests to increase. There were wide -flat glasses, like the _crater_ of the ancients, for the foaming -champagne; narrow, green glasses, with handles, for the Rhine wine; -shallow glasses, like thimbles, with a short stem for the southern -Malaga. Lucía had taken only a few sips of each of the wines, but she -had tasted them all, one after another, through childish curiosity; and -now, with her head a little heavy, blissfully forgetful of the events of -the morning’s excursion, she sat leaning back in her chair, her bosom -heaving, her white teeth gleaming between her moist rosy lips when she -smiled--the smile of a bacchante who is still innocent and who for the -first time has tasted the juice of the grape. The atmosphere of the -closed room was stifling--pervaded with the savory odors of the -succulent dishes, the mild warmth of the fire, and the faint resinous -aroma of the burning logs. A charming subject it would have formed for a -modern anacreontic ode--the woman holding up her glass, the wine falling -in a clear and sparkling stream, the thoughtful looking man gazing -alternately at the disordered table and the smiling nymph with glowing -cheeks and sparkling eyes. Artegui felt so completely master of himself -that, melancholy and disdainful, he looked at Lucía as the traveler -looks at the wayside flower from which he voluntarily turns aside his -steps. Neither wines nor liqueurs, nor the soft warmth of the fire were -of avail now to draw the pessimist from his apathetic calm; through his -veins the blood flowed slowly, while through Lucía’s veins it coursed, -rapid, generous, and youthful. But for both the moment was one to be -remembered--one of supreme concord, of sweet forgetfulness; the past was -blotted out; the present was like a peaceful eternity shut within four -walls, in the pleasant drowsiness of the silent room. Lucía let both -arms hang over the arms of her chair, her fingers loosened their clasp, -and the glass they had held fell with a crystalline sound on the brass -fender, breaking into countless fragments. The young girl laughed at the -accident, and with half-closed eyes fixed upon the ceiling, yielded -unresistively to the feeling of lethargy that was stealing over her,--a -suspension, as it were, of all the faculties of being. Artegui, -meanwhile, calm and silent, sat upright in his chair, haughty as an -ancient stoic; his soul was pervaded by a bitter pleasure,--the -pleasure of feeling himself to be truly dead and of knowing that -treacherous nature had tried her arts in vain to resuscitate him. - -And thus they might have remained for an indefinite period had not the -door suddenly opened to admit, not the waiter, still less the expected -Miranda, but a young man of some twenty-four or twenty-five years of -age, of medium height, and of abrupt and familiar manners. He had his -hat on, and the first objects to attract the eye in his person were the -gleaming pin of his necktie and his low-cut light yellow shoes, of a -somewhat daring fashion, like those of a _manolo_. The entrance of this -new personage effected a transformation in the scene; while Artegui rose -to his feet, furious, Lucía, restored to full consciousness, passed her -hand over her forehead and sat upright in her chair, assuming an -attitude of reserve, but unable to steady her gaze, which still -wandered. - -“Hello, Artegui, you here? I saw your name just now in the register, and -I hurried up,” said the newcomer, with perfect self-possession. Then -suddenly, as if he had but just seen Lucía, he took off his hat and -bowed to her easily, without adding another word. - -“Señor Gonzalvo,” responded Artegui, veiling his anger under an -appearance of icy reserve, “we must have become very intimate since -last we saw each other. In Madrid----” - -“You are always so English--so English,” said the young man, showing -neither confusion nor embarrassment. “You see I am frank, very frank; in -Madrid we each had our business or our pleasures to attend to, but in a -foreign land it is pleasant to meet a compatriot. In fine, I beg your -pardon, I beg your pardon. I see that I have disturbed you. I regret it -for the lady’s sake----” - -Here he bowed again, while his eyes, from between their half-closed -lids, cynically devoured Lucía’s countenance lighted by the glow of the -dying brands. - -“No, stay!” cried Artegui, rising, and seizing the intruder hastily by -the arm, seeing that he had turned to leave the room. “Since you have -entered this apartment so unceremoniously, I wish you to understand that -you do not discover me in any discreditable adventure, nor is that the -reason of my displeasure at your intrusion.” - -“Don’t say another word. I am not asking any questions,” said the young -man, shrugging his shoulders. - -“Don’t imagine that I care a jot about what you think of _me_, but this -lady is--an honorable woman; owing to circumstances, which it is -unnecessary to explain, she is traveling under my protection until she -is joined by her husband,” and observing the half-suppressed smile on -his interlocutor’s face, he added: - -“I advise you to believe what I say, for my reputation for truthfulness -is perhaps the only thing on which I set any value.” - -“I believe you, I believe you”; returned the young man simply, and with -an accent of sincerity. “You have the name of being eccentric, -eccentric, but frank as well. Besides, I am an expert, an expert, an -expert in the matter, and I can recognize a lady----” - -As he spoke he bowed for the third time to Lucía, with easy grace. The -latter rose with instinctive dignity, and with a serious and composed -air returned the salute. Artegui then advanced and uttered the -prescribed formula: - -“Señor Don Pedro Gonzalvo, the Señora de Miranda.” - -“Miranda--yes, yes, I saw the name, I saw the name on the hotel -register. I know a Miranda who was to have been married about this -time--an old bachelor, an old bachelor?” - -“Don Aurelio?” Lucía asked involuntarily. - -“Precisely. I am intimate, intimate with him.” - -“He is my husband,” murmured Lucía. - -The young man’s face flushed with eager curiosity, and he once more -fixed his small eyes on Lucía’s countenance, which he scanned with -implacable tenacity. - -“Miranda--ah, so you are the wife, the wife of Aurelio Miranda!” he -repeated, without further comment. But discreetly-repressed curiosity -was so apparent in his manner, that Artegui imposed upon himself the -task of giving the young man a full and minute account of all that had -occurred. Gonzalvo listened in silence, repressing with the discreetness -of the man of the world the malicious smile that rose to his lips. It -was evident that the comical conjugal mishap of the middle-aged rake -diverted the youthful rake excessively. A stray sunbeam, breaking -through the gray clouds, threw into relief the blonde, lymphatic -countenance of the young man,--the freckled skin, the delicate but -characteristically marked features. His white hands, resembling those of -a woman, played with his steel watch-chain; on the little finger of one -of them gleamed a large carbuncle, side by side with another ring, a -school-girl’s simple trinket--a little cross of pearls set in a hoop of -gold, much too small for the finger it encircled. - -“So that you know nothing, nothing of Miranda’s whereabouts,” he asked, -when he had heard the narration to the end. - -“Nothing up to the present,” gravely answered Artegui. - -“This is delightful! delightful!” muttered the young man under his -breath, laughing with his eyes rather than with his mouth. “Was there -ever such an adventure! Miranda must be a sight to see! a sight to see!” - -Artegui looked at him fixedly, intercepting the indiscreet laughter of -his eyes. With an air of great gravity, he said: - -“Are you a friend of Don Aurelio Miranda?” - -“Yes, very much so, very much so,” lisped Gonzalvo, who had a habit of -dropping two or three letters in every word, repeating the word itself -two or three times to make amends; which was productive of a singular -confusion in his speech, especially when he was angry, when he would -jumble up or leave out entire words. - -“Very much so, very much so,” he continued. “Everywhere, everywhere in -Madrid I used to meet him. He belonged at one time to the--what’s its -name--the Rapid Club, the Rapid Club, and he used to frequent with us -young men, with us young men, the--well, the Apollo, the Apollo.” - -“I am very glad of it,” cried Artegui, without losing his air of -gravity for a moment. “Well then, Señora,” he continued, addressing -Lucía, “you have here what you stood so greatly in need of two days -ago--a friend of your husband’s, who has on all accounts a much greater -claim than I to serve as your escort until such time as Señor Miranda -may make his appearance.” - -At this unexpected turn Gonzalvo smiled, bowing politely, like a man of -the world accustomed to all sorts of situations; but Lucía, a look of -astonishment on her still flushed face, drew back, as if in refusal of -the new escort offered to her. - -This dumb show was interrupted by the entrance of the waiter who handed -to Artegui, on a salver, a blue envelope. It seemed impossible for -Artegui to be paler than he already was, and yet his cheeks grew -perceptibly whiter as, tearing open the envelope, he read the telegram -it contained. A cloud passed before his eyes, instinctively he grasped -the chimney-piece for support, leaning heavily against the mantle-shelf. -Lucía, recovering from her first astonishment, rushed toward him and -placing her clasped hands on his arm said to him with eager entreaty: - -“Don Ignacio, Don Ignacio, don’t leave me in this way. For the little -time that now remains--what trouble would it be for you to stay? I -don’t know this gentleman. I have never seen him before----” - -Artegui listened mechanically, like one in a state of catalepsy. At last -he found his voice; he looked at Lucía in surprise, as if he now saw her -for the first time, and in faint accents said: - -“I must go to Paris at once--my mother is dying.” Lucía felt as if she -had received a blow on the head from some unseen hand, and stood for a -moment speechless, breathless, pulseless. When she had recovered herself -sufficiently to exclaim: - -“Your mother! Good heavens! What a misfortune!” Artegui had already -turned to leave the room, without waiting to listen to the lisped offers -of service with which Gonzalvo was overwhelming him. - -“Don Ignacio!” cried the young girl, as she saw him lay his hand on the -knob. - -As if those vibrant tones had reawakened memory in the unhappy son, he -retraced his steps, went straight to Lucía, and, without uttering a word -took both her hands in his and pressed them in a strong and silent -clasp. Thus they remained for a few seconds, neither saying to the other -a word of farewell. Lucía tried to speak, but it seemed to her as if a -soft silken cord were tightening around her neck and slowly strangling -her. Suddenly Artegui released her hands; she drew a deep breath and -leaned against the wall, confused, scarcely conscious. When she looked -around her she saw that she was alone in the room with Gonzalvo, who was -reading, half aloud, the telegram which Artegui had left behind him on -the table. - -“It was the truth, it was the truth--and the telegram is in Spanish,” he -murmured. “‘The Señora dangerously ill. She desires Señorito to come. -Engracia.’ Who may Engracia, Engracia, Engracia be? Ah, now I -know--Artegui’s nurse, the nurse to a certainty. Well, well! I don’t -know whether he will catch the express” (this word Gonzalvo pronounced -as if it were written epés). “Half-past two--it is only a little while -since the express arrived from Spain--yes, he will still have time to -catch it.” - -He put back again into his pocket the beautiful skeleton watch, with its -double face, and turning his small eyes toward Lucía, he added: - -“I am sorry for this for your sake, Señora; now I am your escort. The -best thing you can do is to put yourself under my care. My sister is -here with me, here with me, and I will get you a room together. It is -not fit, it is not fit that a lady should be alone in this way in a -hotel.” - -Gonzalvo offered her his arm and Lucía was mechanically going to take it -when the door opened a second time and the waiter, with a theatrical -gesture, announced: - -“Monsieur de Miranda.” - -It was, in truth, the unlucky bridegroom, who came limping with -difficulty into the room, his right foot still almost useless; the sharp -pain of the dislocation, the result of his jump, being renewed every -time he attempted to place it upon the ground. The habitual dignity of -his bearing thus destroyed, his forty odd years revealed themselves in -unmistakable characters in every feature of his face; the -melancholy-looking black line of the mustache stood sharply defined -against the withered skin; the eyelids drooping, the temples sunken, his -hair in disorder, the ex-beau resembled one of those ruins, beautiful in -the twilight, but which in the full noonday are seen to be only -crumbling walls, nettles, brambles, and lizards. And as Lucía stood -hesitating, unable either to utter a word of welcome or to throw herself -into his arms, Gonzalvo, the constant censor of matrimony, terminated -the strange situation by bursting out laughing and advancing to give a -serio-comic embrace to the pitiable caricature of the returned husband. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - - -A few days’ sojourn in Bayonne sufficed to alleviate greatly the pain of -Miranda’s foot and to make Pilar Gonzalvo and Lucía acquainted, and even -in some degree intimate with each other. Like Miranda, Pilar was on her -way to Vichy, with the difference that, while what Miranda required of -the waters was that they should eliminate the bile from his system, the -little Madridlenian was going to the health-giving springs in search of -particles of iron to enrich her blood and restore the brilliancy to her -lustrous eyes. Eager, like all people of weak and delicate organization, -for novelty and excitement, the new friendship with Lucía, the curious -incidents of the wedding journey, and the inspection of her bridal -finery, which Pilar looked at, article by article, examining the lace on -every jacket, the flounces on every dress, the initials on every -handkerchief, served to divert her greatly. Besides, the frank -simplicity of the Leonese offered a virgin and uncultivated soil in -which to plant the exotic flowers of fashion, and the poison weeds of -society scandal. Pilar, at the time we speak of twenty-three years old, -had the precocious malice characteristic of young girls who, connected -with the aristocracy, through their social relations, and belonging to -the middle class, through their antecedents, are familiar with society -in all its aspects, and can as easily discover who has given a -rendezvous to a duke as who it is that corresponds with the neighbor on -the third floor. Pilar Gonzalvo was tolerated in the distinguished -houses of Madrid. To be tolerated is one of the degrees of social -standing; to be received, as her brother was, is another degree; beyond -being tolerated and received is the highest degree of all--to be -courted; few enjoy the privilege of being courted; this being reserved -for the notabilities who are chary of their society, who allow -themselves to be seen once or twice a year; for the bankers and wealthy -men who give balls, entertainments, and midnight masses, with a supper -afterward; for beauties, during the brief and dazzling period of their -full efflorescence; for politicians during the time when they are in -power, like cards when they are trumps. There are cases of persons who -have been received and who suddenly find themselves courted for some -particular reason,--for inventing a new style of wearing the hair, on -account of a winning horse, a whispered scandal of which they are the -heroes, and which people fancy they can read in their faces. - -Of these ephemeral successes Perico Gonzalvo had had many; his sister -not one, in spite of repeated efforts on her part to obtain one. She did -not succeed even in being tolerated or admitted. The world is wide for -men, but narrow, narrow for women. Pilar always felt the invisible -barrier that raised itself between her and those noblemen’s daughters -whose brothers associated so familiarly with Perico. Hence sprung up in -her breast a secret rancor that, struggling with admiration and envy, -produced the nervous irritation that undermined the health of the -Madridlenian. The fever of an unsatisfied desire, the pangs of wounded -vanity, destroyed the equilibrium of a not very healthy or well-balanced -organization. Like her brother, she had a skin of lymphatic whiteness, -whose many freckles she concealed with cosmetics; her eyes were blue and -expressive though not large, and her hair, which she had the art of -arranging becomingly, was fair. Her ears, at this time, seemed made of -wax, her thin lips appeared like a faint red line above the sallow chin, -her blue veins showed under the skin and her gums, pale and flaccid, -imparted to the sparse teeth the hue of old ivory. Spring had set in -for her under very unfavorable auspices; the Lenten concerts and the -last balls of the Easter holidays, of which she had not missed one, had -cost her palpitations of the heart every night, indescribable weariness -in the limbs, strange caprices of appetite; the anæmia was turning to -neurosis; and Pilar masticated, in secret, bits of the clay statuettes -that adorned the corner shelves of her dressing-room. She experienced -intolerable pains in the epigastrium, but in order not to interrupt her -amusements she was silent about all this. At last, as summer approached, -she resolved to speak of her ailments, thinking, not without reason, -that the malady offered a good pretext for taking a trip to the country, -in conformity with the canons of good society. Pilar lived with her -father and a paternal aunt, neither of whom was willing to accompany -her; the father, a superannuated magistrate, being reluctant to leave -the Bourse, where, on the sly, he speculated with moderation and -success; the widowed aunt dreading the dissipations which her niece was -no doubt planning as a part of the treatment. This task then devolved -upon Perico Gonzalvo, who accompanied his sister to El Sardinero, -counting upon finding there friends who would relieve him in his duties -as escort. And so it was; there were plenty of acquaintances at the -seashore, who undertook to keep Pilar constantly on the go and to take -her everywhere. But, unfortunately for Perico, the sea baths, which in -the beginning had been of service to his sister, ended, when she -indulged in them to excess, wishing to swim and display her skill in the -water, in inflicting serious injury on her delicate organization; and -she began once more to suffer from lassitude, to awaken bathed in -perspiration, to lose her appetite for plain food, while she ate -voraciously of dainties. What most terrified her was to see that her -hair had begun to fall out in handfuls. It enraged her every time she -combed it, and she would scream out to Perico and tell him to bring her -some remedy before she should become entirely bald. One day the -physician who attended her took her brother aside and said to him: “You -must be careful with your sister. Don’t let her take any more baths.” - -“But is she seriously ill, seriously ill?” asked the young man, opening -his small eyes to their fullest extent. - -“She may become so in a short time.” - -“The devil, the devil, the devil! Do you think she has consumption, -consumption?” - -“I do not say that. I do not think the lungs are affected as yet, but -the moment least expected there will be a determination of blood to -them, congestion will supervene and---- We see cases of that kind every -day. The blood is greatly impoverished. She has the pulse of a chicken -and there is present, besides, an extreme degree of nervous excitement, -which increases periodically, with profound gastric disturbance. If you -follow my advice you will avail yourselves of the autumn for a course of -mineral waters.” - -“Panticosa, Panticosa?” - -“In this case I think the iron springs of Vichy preferable. Anæmia is -the first enemy to be combatted, and the gastric symptoms are also -benefited by those waters. After Vichy come Aguas Buenas and -Puertollano; but attend to the matter at once. Within the last fortnight -she has lost ground, and the falling of the hair and the sweats are very -serious symptoms.” - -And as Perico was going away with bent head, the doctor added: - -“Above all, no excitement, no dancing, no swimming--mental -repose--neither music nor novels. Peasant women, afflicted with the -disease from which your sister is suffering, cure themselves with water -into which a handful of nails or old iron has been thrown. Civilization -tends to make everything artificial. If she wants to get well let her -not keep late hours, let her attend no entertainments;--a loose -corset--low heels----” - -“Yes, yes, order the impossible, the impossible,” lisped Perico, under -his breath. “Ask my sister to give up a single one of her pleasures; she -would not do so though she knew Old Nick were to carry her off if she -refused.” - -When Pilar heard the opinion of the Esculapius she threw her arms around -Perico’s neck in a transport of sisterly affection such as she had never -before manifested. She employed a thousand wiles to obtain her desire; -she grew gentle, obedient, prudent in all things, and promised all and -more than all that was asked of her. - -“Periquin, precious, come, say that you will take me. Say that you will -take me, silly. There is no one in the world to be compared to you. What -Puertollano are you talking about? Let us go to France. How delightful! -It seems like a dream. What will Visitacion and the de Lomillos say when -they hear it! But you see, when the doctor orders it, it has to be done. -You think I am going to be in your way, hanging on to you all the time? -No, my dear boy, I shall find plenty of friends. Don’t you suppose there -will be some one there whom we know? I will manage, you shall see. I -will make a gown of gray holland, that will last me--Well, well, don’t -be waspish. I know that I must lead a regular life, of course, and go to -bed early--at eight, with the chickens. What more do you want? Ah, what -a treasure of a brother Heaven has bestowed upon me. No wonder all the -girls are dying of love for him!” - -“Do you think, do you think that you are deceiving me with your -flatteries? Go, leave me in peace. I shall take you because it is -necessary, it is necessary; if I did not, who could put up with you, put -up with you next winter? But see that you behave sensibly, or I shall -throw all that confounded hair into the fire,--with all your efforts you -never look like a lady.” - -Pilar swallowed the insult, as in such circumstances she would have -swallowed a much more disagreeable dose, and thought only of the -fashionable excursion which was to crown, with so much splendor, her -summer expedition. Gonzalvo senior, who, besides his half-pay, had some -private means, loosened his purse-strings on the occasion, not without -advising his daughter, however, to be prudent and economical. With -Perico’s affairs he never interfered; he made him a monthly allowance -and pretended not to see that Perico spent ten times as much as he -received, gave himself the airs of a prince, and never asked for an -increase in the sum given him. - -Thus provided, the brother and sister set out from El Sardinero in -triumph for France. They rested at Bayonne, putting up at the Hotel St. -Étienne, where we had the honor of making their acquaintance. Perico -thought he saw the heavens open before him when he learned that Miranda -and his wife intended to go on to Vichy, and recognized that Lucía was -the person best suited to relieve him in the duty of bearing Pilar -company, and even of nursing her should it become necessary. He -accordingly encouraged the intimacy between the two women, and it was -arranged that they should all travel together to Vichy. - -The details given by her brother concerning Lucía and Miranda sharpened -singularly the eager curiosity of the sick girl, and her keen scent -perceived romantic possibilities in the events that had happened to the -newly married pair. The brother and sister had conversed at length about -the matter, in half-finished phrases, venturing at times on some coarser -or more graphic expression than usual, with much laughter on both sides. -One of Lucía’s greatest pleasures was the conversations she occasionally -held with Perico, when the latter deigned to treat her, not as a child, -but as a grown woman, communicating to her certain details, anecdotes, -and events which, as a general thing, do not reach the ears of young -girls brought up with strictness and decorum. Perico and his sister, who -had no great amount of tenderness or affection for each other, had yet a -perfect understanding in the field of scandal, and at times the sister -completed the piquant phrase arrested on the lips of the brother by a -touch of the delicacy which the presence of a woman inspires in the man -least capable of delicacy. Pilar experienced an unhealthy enjoyment in -witnessing aspects of the cosmograma of life unknown to the noblemen’s -daughters so greatly envied by her, who, living in the cloistral -atmosphere of their palaces, watched over constantly by the mother or -the austere governess, bear on their brows, at the age of twenty-five, -the stamp of their haughty innocence. - -“I went up to Artegui’s room,” said Perico to Pilar, “because, to tell -you the truth, to tell you the truth, my curiosity was aroused when I -heard he had a fine girl, a fine girl with him.” - -“It was enough to arouse the curiosity of the statue of Mendizabal -itself. That Artegui, who has never been known to make a slip.” - -“An eccentric fellow, an eccentric fellow. Rich as Crœsus and he -leads the life of a friar. If I had his money, his money--you should -see!” - -“But tell me, don’t you think there is something between Artegui and -Lucía?” - -“Pish, no,” said Perico, who, differing in this from his sister, was not -addicted to speaking ill of people unless they had given him some cause -of offense. “This Artegui has only milk in his veins, milk in his veins, -and I am very sure he has not said as much as that to her!” and he -snapped his thumb nail against the tip of his forefinger. - -“The truth is that she has not a particle of style about her. But let us -come to facts, Periquin; did you not tell me that she was greatly -grieved and upset when he went away and Miranda came in afterward?” - -“But put yourself in her place, put yourself in her place. Miranda -looked like a scarecrow----” - -“No, I should not like to be in her place,” exclaimed Pilar, bursting -into a laugh. - -“And then the idiot did what all coxcombs do when they are angry,” -continued Perico, laughing in his turn. “When he ought to have tried to -make himself agreeable, to say something to the poor girl, he launched -into a philippic against her because she did not return to Miranda de -Ebro, de Ebro, to take care of his dislocated foot. And then, it could -have happened to no one but him to faint for a dislocation and neglect -to telegraph to his wife to inform her of it. And he asked her with a -tragic air, ‘Where is your attentive companion gone to?’ The man was -heavenly.” - -“You see, it is as I said, the husband is jealous. You are nothing but a -simpleton.” - -“Child, child, child! No one can deceive me in those matters! I tell -you, I tell you, there was nothing between Artegui and Lucía, Lucía. I’d -bet a hundred dollars this moment, this moment----” - -“And I,” insisted Pilar, with the clairvoyance of an invalid, “can -assure you that as far as she is concerned--as for him I have not seen -him, if I were to see him I should know--but as for her, I heard her -heave sigh after sigh--and they were not for Miranda. She is pensive at -times, and then again she brightens and laughs and is like a child.” - -“Bah, bah, bah! I don’t say that in her secret heart--but you know -nothing about those matters, and I can assure you that as for there -being anything between them, there was nothing of the kind. I ought to -know.” - -“And I too,” persisted Pilar. “Well, we are both right. There is nothing -between them, but she is--what is it they say of pigeons?--struck on -the wing.” - -“Bah, bah!” said Perico again, manifesting in this way his contempt for -everything like sentiment, illusion, or the like romantic nonsense. -“That is of no consequence, that is of no consequence. Miranda will be -lucky if nothing worse awaits him than that. It is a piece of stupidity, -a piece of stupidity to dislocate one’s foot and be obliged to wait two -days to have it set, to have it set, leaving one’s bride to travel about -the world alone. It is charming, charming. What vexes him most is that -it should be known, be known--I tease him----” - -“No, see here, don’t make him angry. You know they have come to us as if -they had dropped down from heaven.” - -“Don’t worry, child; don’t worry. The truth of the matter is that -Miranda cannot live, cannot live without me, because he is bored to -death; and no one but me can drive away the spleen, the spleen, the -spleen, talking to him of his conquests. And he looks like a piece of -putty. He would need to drink half Vichy to cure him--To begin cutting -capers at his age, at his age----” - -It was not spleen that was the matter with Miranda, however; it was the -affection of the liver, greatly aggravated by anger caused by the -ridiculous adventure which had cut short the wedding trip. His temples -had a greenish hue, the shadows under his eyes were purple, the bile had -imparted a yellow tinge to the skin; and, as the proximity of a new -house makes old houses look still older, so did Lucía’s youthful bloom -emphasize the deterioration in her husband. The enchanting transition -from girlhood to womanhood was now taking place in Lucía; her movements, -slower and more composed, were more graceful than formerly, while in him -maturity was fast passing into old age, rather because of physical decay -than of years. The stronger the evidence he gave of failing health, the -deeper the traces left upon his countenance by suffering, the more -tender and affectionate did Lucía show herself toward him. A certain -moroseness, a certain inexplicable harshness on the part of Miranda, did -not discourage her in her task; she waited upon him with the solicitude -of a daughter; she spoke to him affectionately; she herself prepared his -medicines and bandaged the injured foot with the pious care she might -have displayed in dressing the image of a saint; she was happy, touched -even, if he but found the bandage properly adjusted. At last, Miranda -was able to walk without risk. Dislocations are not generally attended -by serious consequences, although at Miranda’s age they are apt to be -somewhat obstinate. He was soon pronounced cured, and the whole party -prepared to set out for Vichy. - -The season was advancing; it was now almost the middle of September, and -to wait longer would be to expose themselves to the persistent rains of -that place. At Miranda’s request, the landlord wrote to the Springs to -engage lodgings. With a verbosity peculiarly French he tried to convince -Miranda and Perico that they ought to hire a _châlet_ in order to save -the ladies the annoying familiarity of the hotel table, and make them -feel as if they were at home. Divided between the two families the -expense would not be excessive, and the advantages would be many. This -was agreed upon, and Miranda asked for his bill at the hotel, which was -brought to him, written in almost illegible characters. When he had -succeeded in deciphering them he sent for the landlady. - -“There is an error here,” he said, putting his finger on the scrawl, -“you have made a mistake against yourself. You have made out my wife’s -bill for the same number of days as mine, while in reality it should be -made out for two days more.” - -“Two days more?” repeated the landlady reflectively. - -“Yes, Señora, was she not here two days before I came?” - -“Ah, you are right--but Monsieur Artegui paid for those days.” - -Lucía, who, at the time, was folding some articles of clothing -preparatory to packing her trunk, turned her head suddenly, like a bird -at the fowler’s call. Her face was pale. - -“Paid!” repeated Miranda, in whose lackluster eyes flashed a short-lived -spark. “Paid! and by what right did he pay for them, Señora, I should -like to know?” - -“Señor, that does not concern me” (_ce n’est pas mon affaire_), -exclaimed the landlady, having recourse, the better to explain her -meaning, to her native tongue. “I receive travelers, is it not so? A -lady and a gentleman arrive, is it not so? The gentleman pays me for the -time the lady has been here, when he takes his departure, and I do not -ask if he has the right to pay me or not. Is it not so? He pays, and -that is all (_voilà tout_). - -“Well,” said Miranda, raising his voice, “this lady’s bills are paid by -me and by no one else, and you will do me the favor to send a check -to--that gentleman, returning him the amount he has paid.” - -“The gentleman will be so kind to excuse me,” protested the landlady, -slaughtering the Spanish language, without compunction, in her -confusion. “I must decline to do what the gentleman asks; I am truly -desolate, but this cannot be done; this has never been done in our -house. It would be an offense, a serious offense, and Monsieur de -Artegui would have much reason to complain. I beg the gentleman’s -pardon.” - -“Go to the devil!” answered Miranda in excellent Spanish, at the same -time turning his back upon his interlocutor, and forgetting, as was -usual with him when he was annoyed, his artificial politeness in his -mortification at the landlady’s refusal to comply with his wishes. - -Lucía on this night, too, bandaged Miranda’s foot, now almost well. She -did it with her accustomed lightness of touch and skill, but, as she -placed her husband’s foot upon her knee, the better to arrange the -compress and secure the elastic bands around the joint, she did not -smile as formerly. In silence she performed her task of mercy, and on -rising from the ground she breathed a light sigh, such a sigh as one -breathes after completing some task fatiguing alike to mind and body. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - - -The _châlet_ hired at Vichy by the families of Miranda and Gonzalvo bore -the poetic name of “Châlet of the Roses.” In justification of its name, -along its open-work balusters had been trained the airy festoons of a -wilderness of climbing roses, at the extremities of whose branches -languidly drooped the last roses of the season. Roses of a pale yellow -contrasted with flame-hued Bengal roses; and dwarf-roses, of a warm -flesh-tint, looked like diminutive faces, curiously peeping in at the -windows of the _châlet_. In the peristyle grew in graceful confusion -roses of all sorts and colors. Pink Malmaison roses lifted themselves -proudly on their stems; tea-roses dropped their leaves languidly; roses -of Alexandria, beautiful and stately, poured from their cups their -intoxicating perfume; moss-roses smiled ironically, with their carmine -lips half hidden by their luxuriant green mustaches; white roses rivaled -the snow with their cold pure beauty, their modest primness like that of -artificial flowers. And among her lovely sisters the exotic -_viridiflora_ hid her sea-green buds, as if ashamed of the strange -lizard-like hue of her flowers, of her ugliness as a monstrosity, -interesting only to the botanist. - -The _châlet_ had the usual two stories,--the _entresol_, consisting of -a dining-room, kitchen, small parlor, and reception-room; the main floor -being reserved for the bedrooms and dressing-rooms. Along the main story -ran a balcony protected by a railing of lace-like delicacy, and along -the _entresol_ ran a similar balcony, which was almost completely -covered by trailing vines. A delicate iron railing separated the -_châlet_ from the public road--an avenue bordered with trees; low walls -performed the same office with respect to the adjoining houses and -gardens. At either side of the entrance stood, on a massive gray column, -a bronze figure of a boy, holding up in his chubby arms a ground glass -globe, which protected a gas-jet. It was evident at a glance that the -_châlet_, with its thin wooden walls, could afford but slight protection -to its inhabitants against the cold of winter or the heat of summer; but -in the mild and genial autumn weather this fanciful building, with its -light and delicate ornamentation, carved like a drawing-room toy, -adorned with blooming rose-garlands, was the most coquettish and -delightful of abodes; the most appropriate nest possible to imagine for -a pair of loving turtle-doves. I regret to have to give these charming -dwellings, which abound in Vichy, the foreign name of _châlet_, but how -is it to be avoided if there is no corresponding term in our own -tongue? What we call cabin, cottage, or country house is not at all what -is understood by the word _châlet_, which is an architectural conception -peculiar to the Helvetian valleys, where art, deriving its inspiration -from nature, reproduced the forms of the larches and spruce trees and -the delicate arabesques of the ice and the hoar-frost, as the Egyptians -copied the capitals of their columns from the lotus-flower. The -_châlets_ of Vichy are built solely for the purpose of being rented to -foreigners. The wife of the _concierge_ undertakes the management of the -house, the marketing, and even the cooking; the _concierge_ himself -attends to the cleaning of the house, prunes the plants in the little -garden, trains the vines, sweeps the sanded walks, waits at table, and -opens the door. The Mirandas and the Gonzalvos, then, installed -themselves in the _châlet_ without further trouble than giving the -_concierge_ their wraps and taking their places at the dining-room -table. - -Although Lucía, and still more Pilar, felt fatigued after the long -railway journey, they could not help admiring the beauty of the abode -which fate had allotted them. The balcony, especially, they thought -delightful for sewing or reading. It brought to Pilar’s mind the many -water-color scenes, landscapes painted on fans, and sentimental -pictures that she had seen representing the now hackneyed subject of a -young girl with her head framed in foliage. Lucía, on her side, compared -her house in Leon, antique, massive, bare and gloomy, with this -dwelling, where all was neat and bright, from the shining waxed floors -to the curtains of blue cretonne adorned with clusters of pink -bell-flowers. When Lucía sprang out of bed on the day following that of -their arrival, her first impulse was to go out into the balcony; from -thence she went down into the garden, fastening up her morning gown with -pins, to keep it from being wet by the damp grass. She looked at the -roses, fresh from their bath of dew, lifting themselves proudly on their -stems, each with its necklace of pearls or diamonds. She inhaled the -odor of each in turn, passing her fingers over their leaves without -daring to pluck them. At this hour the roses had scarcely any perfume; -what she perceived was, rather, the aroma of the general freshness and -moistness that rose from the beds of flowers and from the surrounding -trees. In Vichy there are trees everywhere; in the afternoon, when Lucía -and Pilar went out to see something of the town, they uttered -exclamations of delight at every turn at the sight of some tree, some -alley, or some park. Pilar thought Vichy had an elegant aspect; Lucía, -less well-informed in matters of elegance and fashion, enjoyed simply -the spectacle of so much verdure, so much nature, which rested her eyes, -making her think at times that, notwithstanding its crowded streets and -its brilliant shops, Vichy was a village, exactly suited to gratify her -secret desire and need for solitude. A village of palaces, with all the -adornments and refinements of comfort and luxury characteristic of our -age, but a village after all. - -Pilar and Miranda began to take the waters simultaneously, although with -the difference of method required by the different natures of their -maladies. Miranda drank the powerful water of the Grande Grille, -undergoing at the same time a complicated course of treatment of local -effusions, baths and douches, while the anæmic girl drank in small doses -the pungent, gaseous, and ferruginous water of the Source des Dames. -From this time forth a constant struggle went on between Pilar and those -who had charge of her. It was necessary to use heroic efforts to prevent -her leading the same life as the fashionable visitors, who spent the -entire day in displaying their toilets and amusing themselves. From this -point of view the presence in Vichy of some six or eight Spanish ladies, -acquaintances of the Gonzalvos, who intended to remain till the end of -the season, was pernicious to Pilar. The best and most brilliant part of -the season was over; the races, the pigeon-shooting, the public -excursions in chaise and omnibus to the Bourbonese, beginning in August, -had ended in the early part of September. But there still remained the -concerts in the Park, the promenade on the asphalt-paved avenue, the -nightly entertainments in the Casino; the theater, which, now soon to -close, was more and more crowded every night. Pilar was dying to join -the dozen or so of her fashionable compatriots who were participating in -the short-lived round of watering-place gayeties. The physician at Vichy -who attended Pilar, while he recommended amusements for Miranda, -prohibited strictly to the anæmic girl every species of excitement, -advising her strongly to avail herself of the semi-rural character of -the town to lead a country life as far as was possible, going to bed -with the chickens and rising with the sun. This regimen required a great -deal of perseverance on the part of the patient, and, more than this, to -have some one constantly at her side who should oblige her to follow -strictly the doctor’s orders. Neither Miranda nor Perico was calculated -for this office. Miranda complied with the social requirements, -exhorting Pilar to “take care of herself,” and “not to be imprudent,” -with that fictitious interest which egotists display when the health of -another is in question. Perico grew angry at seeing his sister pay so -little heed to the advice of the doctor, a neglect that might delay the -cure, and consequently prolong their stay in Vichy; but he was incapable -of watching over her and seeing that she carried out the orders she had -received. He would say to her at times: - -“I hope the devil will fly away with you, fly away with you, and that -you may be as yellow as a lemon this winter. You will have it so, so let -it be.” - -The only person, then, who devoted herself to the task of making Pilar -observe the regimen prescribed by the doctor, was Lucía. She did so, -moved by that need of self-sacrifice experienced by young and vigorous -natures, who must have an outlet for their superabundant energy, and by -the instinct which impels such natures to feed the animal neglected by -every one else, or to protect the child abandoned in the street. There -was no one within Lucía’s reach but Pilar, and on Pilar Lucía placed her -affections. Perico Gonzalvo did not sympathize with Lucía, whom he -thought very provincial and very little womanly, as far as the art of -pleasing was concerned. Miranda, now somewhat rejuvenated by the -favorable effects of the first week of the waters, went with Perico to -the Casino and to the Park, holding himself erect and twisting his -mustache once more. The two women, then, were thrown upon each other’s -society. Lucía subjected herself in everything to the mode of life of -the patient. At six she softly rose and went to awaken the sick girl, so -that prolonged sleep might not induce debilitating sweats. Then she -would take her out on the balcony on the ground floor to breathe the -pure air of morning, and both enjoyed the country sunrise, which seemed -to electrify Vichy, causing it to thrill with a sort of matutinal -expectancy. - -The business of the day began very early in the town, for almost all of -the inhabitants kept boarders during the season, and were obliged to do -their marketing and be ready to give breakfast to their guests by the -time these should have returned from drinking their morning glass of -water. Usually the mornings were rather cloudy, and the summits of the -tall trees rustled as the breeze played through them. Now and then some -workman would pass by with long beard, ill-washed and shy face, -shuffling his feet, only half awake, unable to shake off fully the -leaden sleep which had overpowered him, exhausted by fatigue, the night -before. The domestic servants, with their baskets of coal on their arms, -their large aprons of gray or blue cloth, and their smoothly combed -hair--like that of a woman who has but ten minutes in the day for her -toilet, and who makes good use of them--walked with quick step, fearing -to be late. From a neighboring barracks came the soldiers, holding -themselves erect, their uniforms tightly buttoned across their chests, -their ears red from the vigorous rubbing they had given them during the -matutinal ablutions, the backs of their heads close shaven, their hands -in their trousers’ pockets, and whistling an air. An old woman, with a -clean white cap, her gown turned up, carefully swept up the dead leaves -which strewed the asphalt pavement, followed by a lap-dog that sniffed, -as if trying to recover the scent, at each heap of leaves swept up by -the diligent broom. There were vehicles in great number, and of various -forms and sizes, and Lucía amused herself by watching them and noting -the different styles and shapes to be seen. Some, mounted on enormous -wheels, were drawn by little donkeys with pricked-up ears, driven by -women with harsh and weather-beaten countenances, who wore the classic -Bourbonese hat, a species of straw basket with two black velvet ribbons -crossing each other over the crown; these were milk-wagons; at the back -of the wagon was a row of tin cans containing the milk. The carts -employed in the transport of earth and lime were more clumsy than these -and were drawn by strong percherons, with harnesses adorned by tassels -of red wool. Going for their load, they rolled along with a certain -carelessness; while, returning laden, the driver cracked his whip, the -horse trotted along spiritedly and the bells of the harness tinkled. -When the weather was fine, Lucía and Pilar would go down into the little -garden and stand with their faces pressed to the iron railing, looking -out into the avenue; but on rainy mornings they remained on the balcony, -sheltered by the carved projections of the _châlet_, and listening to -the noise of the raindrops plashing fast, fast on the leaves of the -plane trees that rustled with a silky murmur. - -But the weather seemed determined to favor the travelers, and shortly -after their arrival in Vichy began a series of days as brilliant and -serene as it was possible for days to be in autumn, that season so -peculiarly serene, especially in its early part. - -The sky was clear and cloudless, the air genial, vegetation in all the -plenitude of its splendor of coloring and growth; the afternoons were -long, the mornings were bright, and Lucía availed herself of this -conjunction of favorable circumstances to persuade Pilar to take a trip -into the country in accordance with the doctor’s advice. It was a part -of the treatment that Pilar should take rides on a donkey in order that -the uneven trot of the animal might serve her as exercise, setting her -blood in motion without fatiguing her; and although the sick girl -cordially detested this species of conveyance, and, until they emerged -from the town, persisted in going on foot, dragging herself laboriously -along rather than mount it, yet she consented to do so when they were -outside the town. The exercise excited her, and imparted a faint color -to her cheeks. Lucía would joke with her about her appearance. - -“You see how beneficial it is to ride a spirited steed,” she would say. -“You look splendid; you look like a different person; see, to make a -conquest, all you have to do is to take a turn up and down as you are -now, before the Casino, when the band is playing.” - -“Horrors!” exclaimed the sick girl, with a little cry. “What if the -Amézegas were to see me--they who never ride except in a jaunting car or -a brougham!” - -The two friends would go sometimes to the Montagne Verte, sometimes to -the Source des Dames, sometimes to the intermittent spring of Vesse. -The Montagne Verte is the highest point in the neighborhood of Vichy. -The hill is covered with vegetation, but scrubby vegetation, scarcely -rising above the surface of the earth, so that from a distance it looked -to them like the head of a giant covered with short and very thick hair. -When they reached the summit, they ascended to the mirador, and looked -through the great field-glass, examining the immense panorama that lay -spread before them. The gentle slopes, clad with vines, descended to the -Allier, which wound in the distance like an enormous blue snake. Far -away the chain of the Fonez raised its snow-capped hills, the giants of -Auvergne, vaporous and gray, looked like cloud-phantoms; the castle of -Borbon Busset emerged from the mists, its seignorial towers casting into -the shade the peaceful palace of Randan, with all the disdain of a -legitimate Bourbon for the degenerate branch of Orleans. Lucía’s -favorite excursion was to the Source des Dames; a narrow footpath, -shaded by leafy trees, gently followed the course of the Sichon, -pausing, when the river paused to form a shallow lake, and then -continuing its winding course along the border of the tranquil stream. -At every step some picturesque accident broke the monotony of the rows -of poplars and elms,--now a lavatory, now a little house standing on the -river’s brink, now a dam, now a mill, now a duck pond. The mill, in -particular, seemed as if it might have been placed there by some -landscape painter for artistic effect. Ancient and moss-grown, it rested -on wooden posts that were slowly decaying in the water; in the center of -the structure the wheel gleamed like an enormous eye shining in the -brown and wrinkled forehead of a Cyclops. The drops of liquid silver -that leaped from spoke to spoke with every revolution one might fancy -tears dropping from the immense eye, and the groan to which the massive -wheel gave utterance as it turned completed the resemblance, imitating -the breathing of the monster. Through the ill-joined planks of a bridge, -boldly thrown across the very bend of the cataract which formed the dam, -could be caught glimpses of the water foaming and roaring below. In the -dam some half-dozen ducks were lazily paddling, and innumerable sparrows -flew hither and thither under the irregular eaves of the roof, while in -the dark aperture of one of the irregularly placed windows grew a pot of -petunias. Lucía loved to sit and watch the mill from the bank opposite, -lulled by the monotonous snore of the wheel and the gentle plash of the -water. Pilar preferred the intermittent spring, which procured her the -emotions of which her sickly organization was so avid. The spring was -reached by a pleasant path, and from the bridge could be obtained a fine -view of the surrounding country. - -The Allier is a broad and deep stream, but at this season of the year -its waters are greatly diminished by the summer draughts, the channel -being almost dry, except in the deepest parts, leaving the sandy bed of -the river exposed to view in broad white bands. In places, dark rocks -intercepted the current, forming eddies where the water foamed angrily -and then went on its way, calm and placid as before. Beyond stretched an -open plain. Wide meadows, with here and there cows grazing and sheep -browsing, were bounded on the horizon line by pale green poplars, -straight, with pointed tops, like the artificial trees of the toy sets. -The osiers, on the contrary, were squat and round, looking like balls of -somber verdure dotting the meadow. In the distance could be seen the -summit of the Montagne Verte, outlined in pure dark green against the -sky with a certain hardness and distinctness, that reminded one of a -Flemish landscape. On the river bank the right arms of the washerwomen, -rising and falling like the arms of marionettes could be seen, and the -monotonous sound of the bat beating the linen could be heard. Carts -laden with sand and gravel slowly ascended the rough slope of the bank, -and then as slowly crossed the bridge, the team bathed in sweat, the -bells tinkling at rare intervals. Auvergnese peasant women walked along, -dressed in dull-colored garments, wearing the straw panier above the -white coif, guarding their cows, whose udders, swelling with milk, swung -as they went, and which, looking with melancholy gaze at the passers-by, -would suddenly start on an oblique run, lasting some ten seconds, after -which they resumed their former slow and resigned pace. At the corner of -the bridge a poor man, decently clad, and with the air of a soldier, -begged for charity with only a supplicating inflexion of the voice and a -sorrowful contraction of the brow. - -In proportion as they left the bridge behind them, penetrating more -deeply into the shade of the road leading to Vesse, the heart of Lucía, -who felt herself now really in the country, would grow lighter. The -trees here were wilder, less straight and symmetrical than in Vichy; the -path less even and more natural; the grass borders less trim, and the -villas and houses on either side of the road less neatly kept and -handsome. No zealous hand removed the dry leaves that formed a natural -carpet for the ground. At intervals was to be seen some shed, in whose -dark shadow gleamed the agricultural implements, and the rural and -pungent odor of the turned-up earth penetrated the lungs, healthy and -strengthening as the wholesome vegetables growing in the neighboring -gardens. The distance from the bridge to the spring was short. Arrived -there they crossed the hall of the little house, entered the garden, and -directed their steps toward the vine-covered arbor containing the -fountain. They found the basin empty; from the brass tube of the jet not -a drop of water flowed. But Pilar knew beforehand the precise time at -which the singular phenomenon would occur, and made her calculations -with exactness. During the interval before the water made its -appearance, she would remain leaning over the basin, her heart -palpitating, silently listening, with her right hand held like an -ear-trumpet to her ear. - -“He is coming; I hear him hissing,” Lucía would say, as if they were -speaking of some monster. - -“You will see that he won’t come for five minutes yet,” Pilar would -answer in a tone of conviction. - -“I tell you he is coming, my dear; he is sputtering now.” - -“Let me listen. No, no! It is the noise of the wind shaking the trees. -You are dreaming.” - -Then a short pause of complete silence would follow--a tragic interval. - -“Hist! now, now!” the sick girl would cry, clapping her hands; “now it -is coming, and in earnest!” - -In effect, a strange gurgling noise was heard, followed by a shrill -whistle, and then a jet of boiling water, which emitted an intolerable -odor of sulphur, rose straight, swift, and foaming to the very roof of -the high arbor. A thick steam enveloped the basin, and diffused itself -through the atmosphere, now filled with the sickening odor of the -sulphur. Thus the stream rose impetuously until the force below began to -diminish when, with the fury of impotence, it issued in wild leaps, like -the convulsions of an epileptic, writhing in anger, sputtering with -desperate articulation; at last it would fall down, vanquished and -powerless, sending forth only at rare intervals a thin stream, like the -last flashes of a dying taper. Its agony ended with two or three -hiccoughs from the tube at whose orifice the stream would appear, but -without sufficient force to emerge. The spring would not now flow again -for ten hours at least. - -Lucía and Pilar would often dispute together about the termination of -the phenomenon as they had done about its beginning. - -“It has stopped. He is going to sleep. Good-night, sir,” Lucía would -exclaim with a wave of the hand. - -“No, child. He will make his appearance three or four times yet before -he goes to rest.” - -“He can’t.” - -“He can. You shall see; he will give a few _little spits_ more, as the -servant of a cousin of mine, an artillery officer says. Hush, listen, -listen to him still snoring! One, two, three, now he is spitting!” - -“Four, five, six! There, he won’t come back again. The poor fellow is -tired out.” - -“No, he won’t come again now; he has given his last gasp.” - -Returning, the friends would find the bridge more animated than they had -found it on going to the spring. This was the hour at which the -townspeople and the bathers returned from their expeditions into the -country, and many equestrians were to be seen hastening to the town, -displaying their riding-trousers and buttoned gaiters, against which -gleamed brightly stirrup and spur. An occasional sociable, looking like -a light canoe, proceeded on its way, drawn by its handsome pair of -well-matched ponies, with lustrous coats and clean hoofs, proud of their -elegant burden. Hasty glimpses could be caught of wide straw hats, -profusely adorned with lilacs and poppies; of light gowns, laces, and -ribbons; light-colored muslin parasols; gay countenances, gay with the -gayety of good society, which is always set in a lower key than, the -gayety of common people. This latter was enjoyed by the pedestrians, for -the most part happy family parties, who wore contentedly the livery of -golden mediocrity or even of plain poverty; the father, obese, -gray-haired, red-faced, with gray or maroon coat, carrying on his -shoulder the long fishing pole; the daughter wearing a dark woolen gown, -a little black straw hat adorned with a single flower, carrying on her -left arm the little basket containing the flies and other piscatorial -appurtenances, and leading by the right hand the little brother who had -outgrown his trousers and jacket and who showed the ankles of his boots, -proudly holding the pail in which floated the foolish fishes, victims of -the death-dealing pastime of his father. - -Lucía took such delight in the view of the bridge and the river that she -retarded her steps in passing them in order to prolong the pleasure. -The green curtain of the new park stretched before her view. The whole -of this beautiful garden was a marsh, until the massive dykes erected by -Napoleon III to prevent the inundations following the rise of the -Allier, and the draining of the ground, transformed it into a paradise. -The choice trees growing in the fertile soil had for the most part tones -intense and soft, like green plush; but some of them, now turning -yellow, shone, in the light of the setting sun, like pyramids of golden -filagree work. Others were reddish with a brick-like red, that, where -the sun fell, showed carmine. The sick girl, as they returned to the -town, liked to sit and rest awhile on one of the benches of the park. -There were generally visitors there at this hour, and sometimes they -would meet members of the Spanish colony, acquaintances of Perico or -Miranda, with whom they would exchange salutations and the trivial -phrases current in society. Sometimes, too, the rich Cubans, the de -Amézegas, would flash like comets on their sight, with their -extraordinary hats, their enormous parasols, and their fanciful -adornments, always in the height of the fashion. Pilar could distinguish -them a league away by their famous hats, impossible to confound with any -other head-covering whatsoever. They resembled two large pudding dishes, -completely covered with small, fine, red feathers and adorned each with -a natural bird, a species of pheasant, artistically mounted with -outspread wing, and head turned gracefully to one side. This strange -semi-Indian ornament suited well the tropical pallor and flashing eyes -of the two young Cubans. When they drew near, Lucía would give Pilar a -push with her elbow, saying, with a touch of malice: - -“See, there come the wonderful foreign birds of those friends of yours.” - -The meeting with “the Amézegas,” as Perico called them, always produced -a slight degree of fever in Pilar, which left her prostrate for a couple -of hours afterward. When she descried them in the distance she -instinctively arranged her hair, put forward her foot covered with a -little Louis XV shoe of Morocco leather, and nervously passed her hand -over the brown lace of her wrap, bringing into full view the turquoise -arrow that fastened it. They would enter into conversation, the de -Amézegas speaking in languid or disdainful accents, looking at the sky -or at the passers-by and striking the ground with the knobs of their -parasols as they spoke. Short answers, lazily given--“What would you -have, child?” “It was magnificent,” “More people there than ever,” “Of -course the Swede was there,” “Cream-colored satin and grenadine the -color of heliotrope, combined,” “As usual, devoted to her,” “Yes, yes, -it is warm,” “Well, I am glad you are better, child,”--responded to the -eager questions of Pilar. Then the Cubans would continue on their way -with titters politely suppressed, half-finished phrases, and a rustle of -new fabrics, planting their heels firmly on the ground as they walked. -For at least a quarter of an hour afterward, Pilar did nothing but -criticise the belles, and others, also. - -“They are getting to be more and more extravagant and loud every day. -Now, do you like that odd gown with the head of a bird, to match the -bird on the hat, fastening every pleat? They look like a glass case in -the Museum of Natural History. Even on the fan a bird’s head! It is not -credible that Worth should have conceived that grotesque style. I -believe they make them at home themselves with the help of the maid and -then say they were ordered from Worth.” - -“But it is said for a fact that their father is a very wealthy banker in -Havana.” - -“Yes, yes; they have more tricks than _trapiches_,”[A] said Pilar, -repeating a jest that had been going the rounds of Madrid all the -winter, _à-propos_ of the Amézegas. - - [A] A sugar plantation in Cuba. - -“There is no doubt but that birds are a very curious ornament. I have -one, too, in a hat.” - -“Yes, in a toque; but that is different. Besides, a married lady can use -certain things that in the dress of a young girl----” - -“And for that reason Perico was quite right not to buy you that wrap -embroidered in colored beads that you took such a fancy to. It was very -striking.” - -“Nothing of the kind. It was very distinguished-looking. What do you -know of those matters?” - -“I? Nothing,” answered Lucía, smiling. - -“The gown of the Swede must have been lovely--cream-color and -heliotrope! I like the combination. But how she is making herself talked -about with Albares--a married man! Good need they both have of the -waters!” - -“Why, I heard your brother say that she does not take the slightest -notice of him.” - -“Bah! unless you would have them pay the town-crier to publish it! -Albares is a fool, inside and out, who loves to attract attention. The -fact is that every one in Vichy is talking about them.” - -Lucía remained thoughtful, her gaze fixed on the flower-knots of the -park, that looked like enameled medallions fastened on a green satin -skirt. They were formed of several varieties of the coleus; those in -the center had lance-shaped and brilliant leaves of dark brown, purplish -red, brick-red, red of the color of the turkey’s comb, rose-red. At the -edge, a row of ruins of Italy, showed their bluish disks against the -fresh vivid green of the grass. The larches and the pines formed, here -and there, in some retired corner of the park, woody, Swiss-like clumps, -their innumerable branches drooping languidly to the ground. Through the -light foliage of the majestic catalpas streamed the last rays of the -setting sun, and splashes of golden light danced here and there upon the -fine sanded walk. The place had the mysterious and secluded air of a -temple. A solemn, poetic silence prevailed, which it almost seemed a -sacrilege to break by a word or movement. - -The visitors had begun to leave the park, the light crunching of the -gravel under their feet sounding fainter and fainter in the distance. -But the two friends were in the habit of remaining to “lock up the -place” as the saying is, for it was precisely at the sunset hour that -Lucía thought the park most beautiful in this melancholy autumnal -season. The dying rays of the sun, now low in the western sky, fell -almost horizontally on the grassy meads, lighting them up with hues like -liquid gold. The dark cones of the fir trees dotted this ocean of light -in which their shadows were disproportionately prolonged. The plane -trees and the Indian chestnuts were dropping their leaves, and from time -to time a burr would fall to the ground with a hard, dull sound, and -opening allow the shining chestnut to roll out. In the large -flower-knots, which contrasted with the green of the grass, the pale -eglantine dropped its fragile petals at the faintest breeze, the -verbenas trailed themselves languidly, as if weary of life, their -capriciously growing stalks breaking the oval outlines of the bed; the -sweet milfoil raised its shower of blue stars, and the rare coleuses -displayed the exotic tints and the metallic luster of their spotted -leaves, resembling the scales of a serpent, white with black spots, -green with flesh-colored veins, dark amaranth striped with copperish -red. A profound thrill, precursor of winter, ran through all nature, who -seemed to have adorned herself in her richest attire for her death. -Thus, the virgin vine was arrayed in her splendid purple robe and the -white poplar raised coquettishly its plumy white crest; thus the -coralline decked itself with chains and rings of blood-red coral and the -zinnias ran through the whole scale of vivid colors in their broidered -petticoats. The striped maize shook its green and white-striped silken -skirts with melodious rustle, and far away on the edge of the meadow, -bathed in sunlight, a few tender saplings bent their youthful heads. The -dead leaves covered the paths in such abundance that Lucía felt with -delight her foot sink up to the ankle in the soft carpet. The contact of -the edge of her gown with the leaves produced a quick murmuring sound, -like the hurried breathing of some one following close behind; and, a -prey to childish terror, she would turn back her head now and again and -smile at herself when she saw that her fears were illusory. There were -many varieties of leaves, some dark, decayed, almost rotted; others dry, -brittle, shriveled; others yellow or still greenish, moist with the sap -of the branch through which they had drawn their life. The carpet lay -thicker in the shady spots by the borders of the lake, whose surface -rippled like undulating glass at the light contact of the evening -breeze, breaking into innumerable wavelets, that dashed unceasingly -against one another. - -Tall weeping-willows bent with a melancholy air above the water, that -reflected back their tremulous branches, among which could be seen the -disk of the sun, whose rays, concentrated by this species of camera -obscura, struck the eye with the force of arrows. In a labyrinth in the -lake, an enormous clump of malangas displayed their exuberant tropical -vegetation, their gigantic fan-like leaves motionless in the still air. -Swans and ducks paddled--the former, with their accustomed fantastic -grace, swaying their long necks, the latter, quacking harshly,--toward -the bank, the moment Lucía and Pilar appeared, in quest of bits of -bread, which they swallowed greedily, raising their tails in the air as -each mouthful went down. The islet, with its pine tree, cast a -mysterious shade over the surface of the lake. A sheaf of reeds raised -their slender forms and by their side the sharp poas shook their brushes -of chestnut velvet. - -A delightful coolness rose from the water. The landscape breathed a -tender melancholy, a gentle drowsiness, the repose of mother nature, -fatigued with the continued production of the summer, and preparing for -her winter sleep. Lucía was no longer a child; external objects now -spoke to her eloquently, and she began to listen to their voice. The -scene before her plunged her into vague meditation. Her soul seemed to -detach itself from her body, as the leaf detaches itself from the -branch, and like it to wander without aim or object, yielding itself up -to the delight of annihilation, to the sweetness of non-existence. And -how pleasant death must be, a death like that of the leaves,--a gentle -loosening of the bonds of life, the passage to more beautiful regions, -the satisfaction of the mysterious longings hidden in the recesses of -the soul! When ideas like these thronged to her mind, a bird, perhaps, -would fly down from some tree; she would hear the fluttering of its -wings in the air; it would hop along the sanded walk, ruffling its -feathers among the dead leaves; she would approach, and suddenly it -would fly away and go to perch on the topmost branch of the murmuring -acacias. - - - - -CHAPTER X. - - -The voice of the sick girl would break the spell. - -“Eh, child, what are you thinking about? How romantic those girls -brought up in the provinces are!” - -The sharp and clear-sighted eyes of Pilar fastened themselves, as she -said this, on Lucía’s face, where she descried a faint shadow, a sort of -gray veil extending from the forehead and the temples to the circles -under the eyes, and a certain sunkenness at the corners of the mouth. -Her morbid curiosity was awakened, inspiring her with a desire to -dissect for her pastime this simple heart. Her unerring woman’s -instinct had revealed many things to her, and unable to content herself -with a discreet guess, she desired to obtain the confidence of Lucía. It -would be one more emotion for her to enjoy during her stay at the -springs. - -“I don’t know what I was thinking about--nothing,” answered Lucía, -calling to her aid the most commonplace of excuses and the most common. - -“Because it sometimes seems as if you were sad, pretty one; and I don’t -know why you should be sad, for you are precisely in the most delightful -part of the honeymoon. Ah, you are to be envied! Miranda is very -agreeable. He has good manners, a good presence.” - -“Yes, indeed; a very good presence,” repeated Lucía, like an echo. - -“And he dotes upon you. Why, any one may see that. True, he goes about a -good deal with my brother--but what would you have, child? All men are -like that. The chief thing is that when they are with one they should be -amiable and affectionate--and that they should not be jealous. No, that -good quality, at least, Miranda has; he is not jealous.” - -Lucía turned red as fire, and, stooping down, gathered a handful of dry -leaves from the ground, in order to hide her confusion; then she amused -herself crumbling them between her thumb and forefinger and blowing the -dust into the air. - -“And yet,” continued Pilar, “any one else in his place--No, see, if I -were a man, I don’t know what I should have done--this thing of having a -stranger escorting one’s bride for so many days--in that way, in such -close company--and precisely when----” - -At this direct and brutal thrust, Lucía raised her head, and fixed on -her friend the ingenuous but dignified and severe glance which at times -shone in her eyes. Pilar, skillful in her tactics, drew back in order -the better to make her spring. - -“It is true that any one who knew you and him, would be just as -unsuspicious as Miranda. You, as we all know, a little saint, an angel -in a niche; and he--he is a gentleman of the old school, notwithstanding -his eccentricities--he is as honorable as the Cid. He takes it from far -back. I have known him very well for a long time past,” declared Pilar, -who, like all young girls of the middle class who have mixed in good -society, was eager to have it appear that she knew everybody. - -“You--you have known him for a long time?” murmured Lucía, conquered, -offering the sick girl her arm to lean upon. - -“Yes, child. He goes to Madrid every year; sometimes to spend the whole -winter there, but generally only a month or two in the spring. He has -little liking for society; he was invited to several houses, for his -father, the Carlist chief, was a distinguished man in his part of the -country, and he is connected with the Puenteanchas and with the Mijares, -who are also Urbietas, but he was so chary of his society that every one -was dying to have him. Once, because he danced a rigadoon, at -Puenteancha’s, with Isabelita Novelda, they teased her about it all the -evening--they said she could now undertake to tame wild beasts; that she -could take Plevna without firing a gun--Isabelita was as proud as a -peacock, and it turned out that the Puenteancha had requested him to -dance, as a favor to her, and that he had consented, saying that he -would dance with the first woman he met--he met Isabelita and he asked -her. Fancy how the silly girl looked when it was known! After being -convinced that she had made a conquest! Her nose grew longer than it -was, and it was long enough already--ha, ha!” - -The sick girl’s laughter ended in a cough--a little cough that tickled -her throat and took away her breath, compelling her to sit down on one -of the rustic benches of the park. Lucía slapped her gently on the back -without speaking, not wishing to say a word that might change the -current of the conversation. Her eyes spoke for her. - -“I can tell you it was a dreadful disappointment,” resumed Pilar, when -she had recovered her breath. “The hundreds of thousands of francs which -his father had laid by for him would have suited the Noveldita -exactly--but they say that he does not like women!” - -“He does not like women?” said Lucía, as if the pronoun _he_ could refer -to only one person. - -“They say, however, that as a son he has few equals--he pets his mother -like a baby. She is said to be a woman of great refinement, belonging to -the French aristocracy--extremely delicate in her health, and I even -think that long ago, when she was young----” - -The sick girl tapped her forehead significantly with her forefinger. - -“It seems the father desired that the child should be born on Spanish -soil and he brought his wife before her confinement to Ondarroa, his -native place; they accustomed the boy to speak Spanish, except with his -nurse, with whom he spoke the Basque dialect. Paco Mijares, who is a -relation of his and knows all about it, told me so.” - -Lucía listened eagerly, drinking in every word with avidity, to all -these insignificant details. - -“He has curious fancies and caprices. At one time he took the notion to -work and entered a commercial house. After that he studied medicine and -surgery, and I understand that he put Rubio and Camison in the shade. In -Madrid he went to the hospitals to study for pleasure; at the time of -the war he did the same thing. Do you know where I sometimes used to -meet him in Madrid? In the Retiro, looking fixedly at the large lake. -What is the matter, child?” - -Lucía, with closed eyes and deathly pale, leaned back against the trunk -of the tree that shaded the bench on which they sat. When she opened her -eyes, the shadow on her temples was more marked, and her gaze wandered -like that of a person recovering from a swoon. - -“I don’t know--I sometimes seem to lose consciousness in that way. It is -as if there were a sinking here,” she murmured, laying her hand on her -heart. - -“It is as I thought,” said Pilar to herself. “She has begun her capers -early,” she added, in her own mind, cynically. Night was falling -rapidly; a cold breeze stirred the foliage of the trees; the two -friends, shivering, drew their wraps closer around them. At the same -moment two dark figures appeared at the end of the avenue. They were -those of Miranda and Perico, who manifested some surprise at finding -Lucía and Pilar in the park at this late hour. - -“A pretty way, a pretty way to cure yourself! The devil! you’ll be lucky -if you don’t get an attack of pneumonia for this! get up, you crazy -girl; come, come!” - -Pilar rose, weak and pale, and took Miranda’s arm. Perico offered his to -Lucía, whose natural vigor of constitution had by this time got the -better of her momentary faintness. - -“I doubt if she can take the waters to-morrow,” the latter said to her -companion. “She was rather excited to-day, and now the reaction shows -itself in fatigue.” - -“I wager she would be strong enough, strong enough, if I offered to let -her go to the Casino!” - -“Ah, Periquillo of my soul!” cried the sick girl, whose fine ear had not -lost a word of the conversation, “will you let me go, eh? What harm -would that do me? Miranda, you intercede for me.” - -“Once in a while--it might be good for her--it would serve to distract -her.” - -“Don’t mind what he says, Gonzalvo. Señor Duhamel says she ought not to -go, and who knows best, she or the doctor?” said Lucía. - -“And you?” asked Perico, incited to a touch of gallantry by the hour, -the sight of the husband walking in front, and his inveterate -habits,--“and you, young and pretty as you are, why do you not come to -the Casino? All that finery that is lying idle in your trunks would be -better employed where it could be seen. Come, make up your mind, make up -your mind, and I will bring you a bunch of camellias like the one the -Swede carried last night.” - -“I have no desire to eclipse the Swede,” said Lucía, with a smile. -“Where would she be if I were to show myself?” - -“Well, although you say it in jest, in jest, it is the simple truth,” -and Perico traitorously lowered his voice. “You are worth a dozen -Swedes”; and in a louder tone, he added: “If Juanito Albares did not -make such a fool of himself, deuce a one would look at her, would look -at her.” - -(Juanito Albares, as Perico familiarly called him, was a duke, a grandee -of Spain, a count and a marquis, and had I know not how many other -titles besides, a fact worthy to be borne in mind by the future -biographers of the elegant Gonzalvo.) - -“Where are your eyes, then?” exclaimed Lucía, with Spanish frankness. -“You have great audacity to say that! The Swede is beautiful! Her -complexion is whiter than milk, and then her eyes----” - -“Put no confidence in whiteness,” interposed Pilar, “while Venus’s towel -and Paris white are to be bought. She is too large.” - -“Too tall,” declared Perico, like the fox in the fable. - -“Never mind,” said Miranda, in a low voice, to Pilar. “We will make that -obstinate brother of yours listen to reason, and you shall go some night -to the Casino. A pretty thing it would be if you were to leave Vichy -without seeing the theater and listening to the concert. It would be -unheard of.” - -“Ah, Miranda! You are my guardian angel! If there is no other way of -accomplishing it, you and I will run away some night--an elopement. We -will do as they do in the novels: you shall come on a fiery steed, I -will get up behind, and let them overtake us if they can. We will first -put Perico and Lucía under lock and key, and leave them there to do -penance for their sins, eh? What do you say?” - -When they reached the entrance to the _châlet_, where lights were -already shining among the dark foliage of the trees, Miranda said to -himself: - -“This one is more amusing than my wife. At least she says something, if -it is only nonsense; and she is cheerful, although she has half of one -lung God knows in what condition.” - -“This girl is more insipid than water, than water,” Perico, on his side, -said to himself on parting from Lucía. - -Meantime the longed-for day of the evening entertainment arrived. Pilar -was in the habit of spending a couple of hours daily in the Salle des -Dames of the Casino, generally from one to three o’clock in the -afternoon. The Salle des Dames is one of the many attractions of the -fine building which is the center of the gayety of the town, where the -ladies who are subscribers to the Casino can take refuge without fear of -masculine intrusion; there they are at home, and rule with absolute -sway; they play the piano, embroider, chat, and sometimes indulge in a -sherbet or some sweetmeat or bon-bon, which they nibble with as much -enjoyment as if they were mice let loose in a cupboard full of dainties. -It might be taken for a modern Moorish harem, a gynecæum, not hidden -within the modest shadow of the home, but situated in the most public of -all possible places. There congregated all the feminine stars of the -firmament of Vichy, and there Pilar met assembled the small but -brilliant Spanish-American colony--the de Amézegas, Luisa Natal, the -Countess of Monteros; and there was established a sort of Spanish -coterie which, if not very numerous, was none the less animated and gay. -While some blonde Englishwoman executed pieces of classic music on the -piano, and the Frenchwomen seized the occasion to display exquisite -worsted-work, at which they worked at the rate of two or three stitches -an hour, the Spanish women, more sincere, gave themselves up frankly to -idleness and spent the time chatting and fanning themselves. A fine -geographical globe at the farther end of the parlor seemed asking what -was its object and aim in such a place; and in exchange, the portraits -of the two sisters of Louis XVI, Victoria and Adelaide, traditional -_dames_ of Vichy, with powdered hair and rosy, smiling faces, presided -over the exhibition of frivolity continually being celebrated in their -honor. There were whisperings, like the flutterings of bird’s wings in -an aviary; sounds of laughter, like the sound of pearls dropping into a -crystal cup; the silky flutter of fans, the click of the sticks, the -noise made by the casters of the chairs rolling over the waxed floors, -the _frou-frou_ of skirts, like the rustling of insects’ wings. The air -was perfumed by the mingled odors of gardenia, toilet vinegar, -smelling-salts, and perfumery. On chairs and tables lay trinkets and -articles of adornment, long-handled silk parasols embroidered in gold, -work-boxes of Russian leather, work-baskets of straw ornamented with -worsted balls and tassels; here a lace scarf, there a lawn handkerchief; -here a bunch of flowers exhaling in death their sweetest perfume, there -a dotted tulle veil, and, resting on it, the pins used to fasten it. The -group of Spanish women, headed by Lola Amézega, who was of a very -resolute character, maintained a certain independence and intimacy among -themselves, very different from the reserve of the Englishwomen, between -whom and the Spanish group there was even perceptible a feeling of -secret hostility and mutual contempt. - -It afforded great diversion to the Spanish group to see the Englishwomen -gravely take out a newspaper, as large as a sheet, from their pockets, -and read it from the first word to the last. - -Pilar had been unable to persuade Lucía to accompany her to the Salle -des Dames; the shyness and timidity resulting from her provincial -education deterred her from going; she dreaded, more than fire, the -inquisitive glances of those women, who examined her toilet as minutely -as a skillful confessor examines the recesses of the conscience of his -penitent. Pilar, on the contrary, was there in her natural element. Her -rather shrill voice yielded in power only to the Cuban lisp of the -leader, Lola Amézega. - -Let us listen to the concert: - -“Well, I bought this to-day,” Lola was saying unconstrainedly, as she -turned up the sleeve of her pink muslin gown, trimmed with dark garnet -bows, and displaying to view a bracelet, from which hung a little pig -with curled-up tail and swelling sides, executed in fine enamel. - -“I have one in another style,” said Amalia Amézega, showing a pig no -less resplendent than her sister’s, which dug its snout into the lace of -her necktie. - -“Heavens! what an ugly fashion!” exclaimed Luisa Natal, a belle whose -attractions were now on the wane, and who was very careful to use no -ornaments except such as might serve to enhance her beauty. “For my -part, I would not wear such creatures. They make one think of -black-pudding, don’t they, countess?” - -The Countess of Monteros, a Spanish woman of the old-fashioned type, -very devout and somewhat austere, nodded in the affirmative. - -“I don’t know what they are going to invent next,” she said slowly. “I -have seen in the shops, elephants, lizards, frogs, and toads, and even -spiders,--in short, the most disgusting creatures possible,--as -ornaments for young ladies. In my youthful days we had no fancy for such -oddities; fine brilliants, beautiful pearls, a ruby heart--and, yes, we -wore cameos, also, but it was a charming caprice--one had one’s likeness -or that of some virgin or saint engraved on the stone.” - -There was a brief silence; the Amézegas, subjugated by the imperiousness -of that authoritative voice, did not venture to reply. - -“See, countess,” said Pilar, at last, delighted to have an opportunity -to enrage the Amézegas, “what is really pretty is that pin of Luisa’s.” - -Luisa drew from her hair the long golden pin with its head of amethyst -set with diamonds. - -“The Swede wore one like it yesterday,” she said, handing it to the -countess. “She had on the whole set--earrings, a necklace of amethyst -balls, and the pin. She looked magnificent with those and the heliotrope -gown.” - -“Last night?” asked Pilar. - -“Yes, at the theater. The other was gloomy and listless as usual; at ten -he entered her box and handed her the customary bouquet of camellias and -white azaleas; they say it costs him seventy francs a night. It is a -regular addition to his bill at the hotel.” - -“That nephew of mine has neither shame nor discretion,” said the -Countess of Monteros gravely. - -“A married man!” said Luisa Natal, who lived very happily with her -husband, who blindly obeyed all her caprices. - -“And is it known, finally, whether the Swede is the daughter or the wife -of that baron of--of--I never can remember his name--well, of that old -man who escorts her?” asked the countess, allowing herself to be drawn -at last, in spite of her dignity, into the current of curiosity. - -“Of Holdteufel?” asked Amalia Amézega, in a sing-song voice. “Bah! who -knows! But judging by the liberty he allows her he would seem to be her -husband rather than her father.” - -“One needs to have effrontery,” continued Luisa Natal, with gentle and -smiling condemnation, “to make one’s self the talk of every one in that -way.” - -“The idea!” said Pilar, in her thin voice. “Why, that is what he wants. -What do you suppose? The point of the thing and the pleasure of it are -in being talked about.” - -“Juanito was always the same--always fond of making a noise,” murmured -the countess softly, remembering how her nephew, when a wild boy of ten, -used to go to her house and give her a headache, teasing her for a -thousand nonsensical things. - -“Why, the day before yesterday----” - -Eager curiosity was expressed in every face. The group drew their chairs -closer together and for a full minute a sound of casters rolling over -the floors could be heard. - -“The day before yesterday,” continued Amalia Amézega, lowering her -voice, “she went to the shooting match----” - -“Do you shoot now?” asked Pilar and Luisa Natal simultaneously. - -“A little, for amusement,” and Lola smoothed down the straight black -fringe of hair that covered her forehead to within half an inch of the -eyebrows, making her look like a page of the Middle Ages, setting off -the tropical pallor of her face and her large eyes like those of a -child, but of a malicious and precocious child. - -“Well,” continued Amalia, seeing that her audience was listening -attentively, “Gimenez, and the little Marquis of Cañahejas, and Monsieur -Anatole were there, and they were all talking about a paragraph in -_Figaro_, alluding to a scandal caused at one of the most fashionable -watering places in France, or all Europe, by the insane passion of a -Spanish grandee for a Swedish lady----” - -“Only the initials of the names were given,” added Lola; “but it was as -clear as daylight. And to make it more clear it said, ‘_This worthy -grandson of the Count of Almaviva spends a fortune in flowers!_’” - -A chorus of laughter broke from the circle. Lola had a way of saying -things with a certain lisp and a movement of the eyelids that greatly -added to their piquancy. - -“And she? How does she receive his attentions?” asked Pilar. - -“She?” replied Lola. “Oh, every night, on receiving the bouquet, she -answers invariably: ‘Dhanks, tuke, you are too amiaple!’” - -They laughed more loudly than before. Even the countess smiled, holding -her fan before her face for the sake of propriety. - -“Hist!” said Luisa Natal, “there she comes.” - -“The Swede!” exclaimed Pilar. - -They all turned round, greatly excited. The door of the Ladies’ Parlor -opened slowly, an old man, dressed with elegant simplicity, with white -side-whiskers, the rest of his face being smoothly shaven, stood in a -courtly attitude at the threshold of the door, while a tall and graceful -woman passed into the room; her classic beauty was set off by her gown -of black silk, close-fitting and sparkling with jet; the hat of tulle, -trimmed with golden wheat-ears, rested on her brow like a diadem; her -walk was noble and queenly. Without deigning to salute any one, she went -straight to the piano and, seating herself before it, proceeded to play -a mazourka of Chopin’s in a masterly manner. Her attitude served to -display to advantage the stately grace of her figure--the long and -rounded arms, the hips, the shoulder-blades, which at every movement of -her white hands defined themselves clearly through the tight-fitting -bodice. - -“Is it not true,” said Pilar in a low voice to Luisa Natal, “that if -Lucía Miranda were to dress like her, she would resemble her somewhat in -her figure?” - -“Bah!” murmured Luisa Natal, “the Mirandita has not an atom of _chic_.” - -From the group of Englishwomen now broke forth the energetic hissing -sound which in every language signifies “Silence! hold your tongues and -listen, or at least permit others to listen.” The Spanish women touched -one another with their elbows and imperturbably went on with their -whispering. - -“Do you see that man?” said Lola Amézega. - -“Who? who? who?” They all asked in chorus. - -“Who do you suppose? Albares. There, there at the window. Take care. -Don’t let him see that you are observing him.” - -Looking in at the window overlooking the roof of the Casino was to be -seen, in effect, a youthful, almost boyish face defined against the -porcelain-like whiteness of the necktie, among whose folds rested one of -those agates called “cat’s eyes,” on which the caprice of fashion has of -late bestowed so exaggerated a value. A morning-suit of a soft, -exquisite shade of gray, a fine beaver hat, a gardenia in the -button-hole, and chamois gloves of a rather bright color--such were the -details of the costume of the inquisitive young man who was thus -exploring with his gaze the Salle des Dames. He presented a strange -mixture of weakness and strength; with an under-sized frame, he had the -muscles of a Hercules. Gymnastic exercises, fencing, riding, and hunting -had apparently hardened a constitution, which nature had made weakly, -almost sickly. He was short of stature, his limbs were delicate as a -woman’s, but the muscles were of steel. That this was the case was -apparent from the manner in which his garments hung upon him; from a -certain virile turn of the knees and the shoulders; in addition to this -he had that air of haughty superiority which wealth, birth, and the -habit of command, united, bestow. - -But if the duke had expected to be rewarded for his indiscretion, he -was doomed to disappointment; for the Swede, after she had played with -perfect self-possession and consummate skill some half-dozen mazourkas, -arose with no less majesty than she had displayed on her entrance to the -room, and without looking to the right or left walked straight toward -the door. This opened as if by magic, and the diplomat with the white -side-whiskers presented himself, grave and courteous as before, and -offered her his arm. It was the exit of a queen, _très réussie_, as the -group of Frenchwomen said among themselves. - -“One would think she was the Princess Micomicona,” said Lola Amézega, -who had spent no less than two hours before the looking-glass, that -morning, practicing the regal walk of the Swede. - -“What an air!” said Luisa Natal. “No, it cannot be denied that she is a -handsome woman. What a figure! and what hands! Have you noticed them?” - -“What a disappointment for Albares!” exclaimed Amalia; “she did not even -know he was there.” - -Every eye was turned toward the window. The duke had disappeared. - -“Now he has no doubt gone to the park to try to meet her; shall we go -see?” - -“Yes, yes; the sight will be amusing.” - -They rose, and hastily gathering up their fans, parasols, and veils, -hurried toward the door. - -“Eh, young ladies!” said the Countess of Monteros, “don’t walk so fast. -I am not so young as you are, and I shall be left behind. By my faith,” -she added, under her breath, “when I see my fine nephew I shall tell him -what I think of him for making that poor Matilde, who is an angel, -grieve herself to death by his conduct, as he is doing.” - -While Pilar amused herself in a manner so agreeable to her inclinations, -Lucía sat waiting for her on the balcony of the _châlet_. At this hour -neither Miranda nor Perico was in the house. The Casino had swallowed up -every one. Only at rare intervals was a passer-by to be seen in this -retired neighborhood. The only sound to be heard was the monotonous -noise of the machine on which the daughter of the _concierge_ was -sewing. In the garden, the roses, drunk with the sunshine which they had -been quaffing all the morning, exhaled themselves in perfumes; even the -cold white roses showed the effects of the heat in a tinge, like pale -flesh-color, but flesh-color still. It seemed as if all the odors of the -garden had mingled together to form one sole odor, penetrating, -powerful, inebriating, like the fragrance of a single rose, but a rose -of gigantic size--a glowing rose that exhaled from its purple mouth an -intoxicating and deadly fragrance. Lucía had taken her work and busied -herself at it for a while, but after a quarter of an hour or so the -cushion fell from her lap, the thimble slipped from her finger, and she -sat with vacant gaze fixed on the clump of rose bushes, until at last -her eyelids closed of themselves, and leaning her forehead against the -vine that covered the balcony, she abandoned herself to the delicious -enjoyment of the balmy air, unconscious of external sights or sounds, -scarcely breathing. Two months before she could not have remained quiet -for half an hour; the beauty of nature would have incited her to -physical activity. Now, on the contrary, it invited her to repose, it -produced in her a sort of half-conscious torpor, like that of the lizard -sleeping in the sun. - -One afternoon Pilar, returning from the clubhouse, found Lucía more -pensive than usual. - -“Silly child,” she said, “of what are you thinking? If you were to go to -the Casino it would amuse you greatly.” - -“Pilarcita,” murmured Lucía, throwing her arms around the neck of her -friend, “will you keep a secret for me if I tell you one?” - -The eyes of the sick girl lighted up. - -“Of course I will! open your heart to me, child. In confidence, is it -not so? You may tell me anything. I have seen so many things--there is -nothing that could surprise me.” - -“Listen,” said Lucía, “I want to know, at all costs, how Don Ignacio -Artegui’s mother is.” - -Pilar drew back, disappointed; then laughing, with her cynical laugh, -she cried: - -“Is that all? A great secret that! What a big handful three flies make.” - -“For Heaven’s sake!” entreated Lucía uneasily, “don’t give a hint of -this to any one. I am dying to know, but if any one should hear--Miranda -or----” - -“Simpleton! I shall soon learn what you wish to know, and without any -one hearing anything about it. I have a hundred ways of finding out. I -promise you your curiosity shall be gratified.” - -Pilar tapped Lucía, who looked serious and a little confused, two or -three times on the cheek. - -“Are we going to take a walk to-day, madam nurse?” she asked. - -“Yes, and you shall drink some milk in Vesse. But put on a warmer dress, -for Heaven’s sake; you are so careless, you are quite capable of -exposing yourself to taking a cold. Have you not observed how fragrant -the roses are? In Leon there are hardly any roses; I remember that I -used to place all I could find before the image of the Virgin, which I -have there in my room.” - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - - -The Casino was for Perico and Miranda, as for all the other idlers of -the colony, house and home during the time they spent at the springs. -The great edifice, taken as a whole, might be likened to a concert of -voices, inviting to the enjoyment of the rapid and easy life of our age. -The spacious peristyle, the principal façade with its broad roof, its -private garden where exotic plants grow in graceful baskets, and its -rich and fanciful ornamentation of dazzling whiteness; the tall columns -of burnished porphyry that support the interior portion of the building; -its luxurious arm-chairs and broad divans; the mischievous cupids -(artistic symbol of the ephemeral passions that last during a two weeks’ -course of the waters), that run around the cornice of the large -ball-room or hover on the blue background of the broad panels of the -theater; the profusion of gold, artistically disposed in touches, like -points of light, or in long stripes, like sunbeams; the large -window--everything, in short, contributes to give one the idea of an -Athenian temple, improved and enriched with the benefits and pleasures -of modern civilization. A glance at the southern façade of the Casino -discovers at once the _numen_ to whom worship and sacrifice are here -paid, the nymph of the waters, gracefully inclining her urn, while from -some rushes at her feet emerge two cupids, one of them supporting a -shell, which receives in its hollow the sacred water that flows in a -copious stream from the urn. The priests and flamens of the temple of -the nymphs are the waiters of the Casino who, at a sign, a movement of -the lips, hasten, swiftly and silently, to bring the desired -article--cigars, newspapers, writing-materials, refreshments, even the -waters, which they carry at a run, in a little tank, turned mouth -downward over a plate, so that they may not lose their temperature or -the gases which give them their value. - -Miranda’s favorite resort was the reading-room, where were to be found -various Spanish periodicals, including the organ of Colmenar, which he -read with the air of a statesman. Perico was more frequently to be found -in another apartment, gloomy as a cave, with hangings of a dirty gray, -adorned with red fringe, in which a row of spotted guttapercha benches -stood fronting a row of tables covered with the traditional melodramatic -and much worn green cloth. As the out-going tide deposits on the shore -fringe after fringe of seaweed, so on the backs of the red guttapercha -benches had the heads and shoulders of the players deposited a series of -layers of filth, signs which grew more marked in proportion as the -benches receded and the play rose from harmless piquet to exciting -_écarté_, for the row began with social games and ended with games of -chance. The benches at the entrance were clean in comparison with those -at the far end of the room. This apartment, in which rites so unholy -were practiced in honor of the nymph of the waters, had witnessed many -deeds of prowess of Perico, which, from the resemblance they bore to -others of the same order, do not deserve special mention. Still less -worthy of description are the scenes, dear to the novelist, that -succeeded one another at the gaming tables. Play at Vichy partakes, to -some extent, of the hygienic refinement characteristic of the place, -whose inhabitants take pleasure in saying that no one has ever blown his -brains out in their town on account of the green cloth, as constantly -happens at Monaco; so that the hall of the Casino does not lend itself -to descriptions of the dramatic or soul-harrowing order. There the -loser puts his hands into his pockets and walks out of the room, more or -less disgusted according as he happens to be of the nervous or the -lymphatic temperament, but satisfied that he has been fleeced in a -perfectly legitimate manner, a fact which is guaranteed to him by the -presence there of government officials and agents of the company of -lessees with the purpose of preventing cheating, quarreling, or -disturbances of a similar kind, proper only to low gambling houses and -not at all in place in those Olympic regions in which the cards are -dealt with gloved hands. - -It is to be adverted that although Perico was one of those who most -contributed, by the pomade on his hair and the friction of his -shoulders, to grease and polish the backs of the guttapercha benches, he -did not correspond to the traditional type of the gambler, as portrayed -in pictures of a moral and edifying character. When he lost, it never -occurred to him to tear his hair, blaspheme, or raise his clenched fists -to Heaven. It is true, indeed, that he took every precaution which it -was possible to take not to lose. Play is like war; fortune and chance -are said to decide the victory in both; but the skillful strategist -knows very well that a plan which is the result at once of insight and -of reflection, which is at the same time analytic and synthetic, -generally secures an easy triumph. In both cases, an error in -calculation may lead to ruin, and in both, if it be true that the -skillful generally vanquish, it is no less true that the daring at times -sweep all before them and conquer in their turn. Perico possessed a -profound knowledge of the science of play, and, in addition, carefully -studied the character of his adversaries, a course which seldom fails to -produce happy results. There are people who grow angry or confused in -playing, and act according to the mood they chance to be in, so that it -is easy to surprise and vanquish them. Perhaps the enigma called luck, -chance, or happy inspiration is nothing but the superiority of the man -who retains his judgment and his self-possession over other men who are -mad with passion. In short, Perico, who, although impulsive and -loquacious to excess, had a head cool as ice, understood so well the -marches and counter-marches of the battle fought every day in the -Casino, that after winning many small fortunes he succeeded in winning a -large fortune in the shape of a good-sized bundle of thousand-franc -notes, which he quietly put into his waistcoat pocket and then walked -out of the hall with his accustomed air and bearing, leaving the loser -to reflect on the transitoriness of all earthly possessions. This -happened on the day following that on which Lucía had manifested to -Pilar so great an interest in the health of Artegui’s mother. Perico was -not naturally parsimonious, at least not unless he needed money for his -amusements, when he would economize a maravedi, and making a sign to -Pilar, who was in the Salle des Dames, to walk with him outside on the -roof, he said to her, giving her his arm: - -“So that you may not be always saying that I did not buy you anything at -Vichy, see, I am going to make you a present.” - -“A present?” and Pilar opened wide her eyes. - -“A present, yes. One would think that I had never made you a present -before. Come, say what you want, say what you want.” - -“But are you in earnest? How generous you are getting!” said the sick -girl; “will you buy me _anything_ I ask you?” - -“Come to the shops and choose,” he said, leading the way. - -Pilar hesitated long, like a child before a dish of various kinds of -sweetmeats; at last she made choice of two diamonds, clear as two drops -of water, for her ears, and a hand mirror, with a frame of chased gold, -a novel and fanciful trinket worn hanging from the belt, a style of -ornament which no one in Vichy but the Swede had yet been seen to wear. -On returning home with her purchases, the sick girl’s eyes shone so -brightly and her cheeks were so rosy that Perico said: - -“You women are the very devil. One has only to give you a tambourine or -a bell, a bell, to cure you of all your ailments. I laugh at drugs, I -laugh at drugs. I wager you have no pain in the stomach, now.” - -“Periquillo! You are a jewel! See, I am wild with joy, and if you would -only--ah! say yes.” - -“If I would only--Do you want me to buy you something else? No, child, -enough for to-day.” - -“No, nothing of the sort--but to-night--I should like to go to the -concert to show the mirror; neither Luisa Natal nor either of the -Amézegas has one like it, or even knows that such a thing is to be had -in Vichy. They will open their eyes with astonishment. Come, Periquin, -you _will_ take me, won’t you. For once, come, say yes.” - -Lucía begged Pilar, almost on her knees, to give up the dangerous -pleasure she longed for. It was precisely the most critical stage of her -malady. Duhamel hoped that nature, aided by a regular way of life, would -conquer in the struggle, and that perhaps a couple of weeks of -determined self-denial on her part would decide the victory in her -favor. But it was impossible to dissuade the sick girl from her purpose. -She spent the day feverishly examining the contents of her wardrobe; -when night came she went to the Casino, escorted by Miranda; she wore a -dress which she had not before worn, thinking it too thin and summery--a -gown of white gauze spotted with carnations of various colors; from her -belt hung the mirror; in her ears sparkled the solitaires, and in her -hair, placed with Spanish grace, was a bunch of carnations. Thus -arrayed, and flushed with fever and gratified vanity, she looked almost -handsome, notwithstanding her freckles and the emaciation of her -features, worn by illness. She had, then, a great success at the Casino; -it may be said that she shared the honors of the evening with the Swede, -and with an eccentric English lord, of whom it was rumored that he had -the floor of his stable covered with a Turkish carpet and his -reception-room paved with stone. Happy and admired, to Pilar the Casino -seemed like a scene from the Arabian Nights, with its countless -gas-lights, its perfumed atmosphere, through which floated the strains -of the magnificent orchestra; its ball-room where the sportive cupids on -the ceiling seemed to hover in a golden mist. Gimenez, the little -Marquis of Cañahejas, and Monsieur Anatole disputed with one another the -pleasure of dancing with her. Miranda danced a rigadoon with her, and, -to crown her happiness and triumph, the Arézegas kept casting furtive -glances, during the evening, at the little mirror--a style of trinket -like which there was but one other in the room, that which gleamed at -the side of the Swede. It was, in short, one of those moments that stand -alone in the life of a vain girl, when gratified pride gives rise to -emotions so sweet as almost to be mistaken for feelings deeper and -purer, that forever remain unknown to such natures. Pilar danced with -each one of her partners as if he had been her favored lover, so -brightly did her eyes sparkle, so happy did she seem. Perico could not -but say to her, _sotto voce_: - -“You are dancing, eh? We shall see what Duhamel will say to-morrow. It -will be heavenly, heavenly. To-morrow I shall make my escape, my escape. -To a certainty you will explode, you will explode like a firecracker.” - -“Don’t imagine it. I feel so well!” she exclaimed, drinking a glass of -iced water flavored with currant syrup which Monsieur Anatole, the -Hispanomaniac had just brought her. - -On the following morning, when Lucía went to waken Pilar, she -involuntarily started back when she saw her. The sick girl lay with one -cheek buried in the pillows; her sleep was uneasy and broken; in her -ears, colorless as wax, the solitaires still gleamed, their limpid -purity contrasting with the ashen hue of the cheek and neck. There were -black shadows under her eyes. Her tightly-drawn lips resembled two -withered rose-leaves. The general effect was corpse-like. On the chairs -were scattered various articles of clothing used the night before; the -white satin shoes, heel upward, were at the foot of the bed; on the -floor some carnations were lying, and the never-enough-to-be-admired -mirror, the innocent cause of all this evil, rested on the night table. -Lucía softly touched the shoulder of the sleeping girl, who awoke with a -start and raised herself on her elbow; her half-opened eyes were dull -and glazed, like the eyes of a dead animal; a heavy, fetid odor was -perceptible; the sick girl was bathed in perspiration. - -She could not get up, for on placing her foot on the floor she was -seized with a chill, her teeth chattered, an icy sweat bathed her limbs, -and she was obliged to cover herself up again with the bed-clothes. She -felt, in addition, a sharp and violent pain in her left side. She shook -like a reed in the wind and all the coverings which were put over her -were ineffectual in restoring warmth to her chilled body. - -Lucía rushed to the room of her husband, who, between sleeping and -waking, was smoking a cigarette. The waters agreed with Miranda: the -faded tones of his skin, under which the blood was beginning again to -circulate and the adipose tissue to be renewed, were disappearing, -giving place to that look of mature freshness which bestows a certain -beauty on stout well-preserved women of middle-age. Such was the -physical effect of the waters upon Miranda; their moral effect was a -desire for rest and selfish ease, an inclination to fall into a regular -way of living, such as is often observable in persons of mature years, -and which makes them regard as an irreparable misfortune half-an-hour’s -delay in dinner or bed-time. The ex-beau desired to lead an easy -comfortable existence, to take care of his precious health, and, in -short, to sustain the traditional reputation for respectability and -importance of the Mirandas. Lucía entered the room like a whirlwind, and -pale and trembling said: - -“Get up; go and see if you can find Señor Duhamel and bring him at once. -Pilar is very ill.” - -Miranda sat up in bed. - -“Of course the crazy creature is ill. Why, she danced last night as if -she were out of her senses! She was well-employed!” - -Lucía looked at her husband in astonishment. - -“Go at once,” she said, “go at once! She has had a chill--she complains -of a pain in her side, and she has almost lost her voice.” - -Miranda rose grumbling. - -“I don’t know what her brother is here for,” he muttered, drawing on his -boots. “He might very well go.” - -“Tell him so, you, if you wish,” said Lucía, her eyes swimming in tears. -“I cannot go into Gonzalvo’s room to waken him. In any case you were -going to rise now to drink the waters.” - -“It would be time enough for that in three quarters of an hour. One -would suppose that girl was the only person here whose health is of any -consequence. Other people, too, are sick and have to take care of -themselves. To-day, precisely, I am feeling wretched.” - -Lucía had been in the habit of manifesting a deep interest in Miranda’s -health, asking him every day those minute particulars which mothers are -wont to ask their children--and which bore the indifferent; but on this -occasion she turned her back on him and went to the kitchen where she -asked the wife of the _concierge_ for a cup of lime-leaf tea and carried -it herself to Pilar. - -Duhamel frowned when he saw the patient. What most displeased him was to -learn that she had taken two or three iced drinks at the ball. Duhamel -was a little old man with skin like parchment, in whose bright and -searching eyes all the vitality of his body seemed to have concentrated -itself. His hair and eyebrows were gray, but of his teeth, which were -long and yellow as ivory, and which he showed when he smiled, which was -often, not one was wanting. - -In his movements he was quick and gliding as an eel. Having at one time -gone to Brazil on a scientific expedition, he possessed a smattering of -Brazilian Portuguese, which he persisted in trying to pass off for -Spanish. - -“Let the whole treatment, _ó tratamento_, be stopped,” he said, -addressing himself exclusively to Lucía, although the sick girl’s -brother was present, guided doubtless by that infallible instinct -possessed by the physician and which enables him to distinguish at once -the person most interested in his instructions and most capable of -carrying them out: “The patient, _a doente_, has done wrong in -disobeying my orders in this way.” - -“But now, what is to be done?” - -“We will try a strong counter-irritant; there is congestion of the -lungs; we must try to dissipate it. _Bon Dieu!_ to dance and take iced -drinks! And now we have the sweats to fight against.” - -This dialogue between the doctor and Lucía took place at a sufficient -distance from the sick girl’s bed to prevent her from hearing it. Lucía -informed herself minutely regarding all that concerned the nursing of -the patient, the hours at which nourishment was to be given to her, and -the precautions which it was necessary to observe. After she had applied -to Pilar the remedies prescribed by the doctor, she set the room in -order, moving about on tiptoe, half closed the shutters, and then -installed herself at the bedside in a low sewing-chair. Pilar was very -feverish and suffered greatly from thirst. At every moment Lucía would -put to her lips the glass of gum-water, previously warmed on the little -stove. In the afternoon Duhamel came again and found that the -counter-irritant had had the effect of restoring to some extent the sick -girl’s voice, and rendering her breathing easier. The fever, however, -was high, the perspiration having been checked. The pulmonary congestion -lasted for eight days, and when, in obedience to Duhamel’s orders--as -lying in bed increased the fever and debilitated her--Pilar rose, the -girl looked like a specter; to the symptoms, bad enough in themselves, -of anæmia were now added others more alarming still. Her limbs no longer -supported the weight of her clothing, which slipped down from them as if -they had been the limbs of a badly stuffed doll. She herself was -alarmed, and in one of those moments of clairvoyance which are apt to -visit persons suffering from the dreadful disease which now held her in -its clutches, she asked for the famous mirror, which Lucía, in order not -to vex her, gave her very unwillingly. When Pilar saw herself in the -glass she recalled her image as she had seen it on the night of the -ball, the carnations in her artistically arranged hair, her face beaming -with happiness. The contrast between her face as she now saw it and as -she had seen it a week ago, was so strong that Pilar threw the mirror -with a quick movement on the ground. The glass was broken and the -exquisitely chased frame dinted by the blow. - -It was not long, however, before the flattering illusion which -mercifully blinds the consumptive to his danger and smooths his path to -the very portals of the tomb, again took possession of her. The symptoms -of the disease were so marked that seeing them in another she would -have regarded them as fatal; and yet Pilar, animated as ever, continued -to lay out plans for the future and thought she was suffering only from -an obstinate cold, which would eventually cure itself. She had a -constant hacking cough, with viscous expectoration; the slightest -increase of temperature excited profuse perspiration, and instead of her -former capricious appetite she had now an intense loathing for food. In -vain the wife of the _concierge_ put in practice all her culinary arts, -inventing a hundred dainty dishes. Pilar regarded them all alike with -repugnance, especially such as were of a nutritious kind. There began -now for both the friends a valetudinarian existence. Lucía scarcely ever -left Pilar, taking her out on the balcony to breathe the fresh air if -the weather was fine, keeping her company in her room if it was bad, -using all her efforts to amuse her and to make the hours seem less -tedious. The sick girl now began to feel the impatience, the desire for -change of scene, which generally seizes those affected by the disease -from which she suffered. Vichy had become intolerable to her; the more -so, as she saw that the season was now drawing to a close, that the -Casino was fast becoming deserted, that the opera-troupe were about to -depart, and the brilliant swallows of fashion to take flight for other -regions. The Amézegas had come to bid her good-by, and to give her the -last vexation of the season. If Lucía had followed her own inclinations, -she would have received them in the little parlor down-stairs, making -some excuse for Pilar; but the latter persisted in her desire that they -should come up to her room, and Lucía was compelled to yield. The Cubans -were triumphantly happy because they were going to Paris to make their -purchases for the winter, and from thence to display their finery at the -most fashionable entertainments in Madrid and in the Retiro, and they -spoke with the lisp and with the affected airs habitual to them on such -occasions. - -“Yes, child, who could endure it here any longer--this place has grown -so stupid--not a soul to be seen. Yes, Krauss has gone. She has a -contract in Paris. She scored a triumph on the last night of ‘Mignon.’ -Some of the hotels are closed already. As you may suppose the rope has -followed the pail; when the Swede left, was it likely he was going to -remain? He will follow her to Stockholm. Yes, indeed! but have you not -heard? On the day of her departure he filled her carriage with flowers. -A whole parlor carriage filled with gardenias and camellias; just think -of it! He has spent a small fortune already in flowers. Luisa -Natal?--why, where should she go but to Madrid? Ah! the countess will -stop at Lourdes on her way--she intends to remain at least a week there. -Yes, Cañahejas is going on a visit to a castle belonging to some -relations of Monsieur Anatole, where they will shoot until November. -Gimenez? I don’t know, child; he is always engaged in some mysterious -affair or other. They say that Laurent, the soprano of the company--that -cross-eyed woman--I don’t believe a word of it--he is an incorrigible -braggart----” - -“And you, you remain here, eh?” added Amalia, joining her lisp to -Lola’s. “How long, child? But you will die of _ennui_, here. This is a -convent, now! Why, that is nothing--what signifies a cold? Cheer up. -This winter the Puenteanchas will give some private theatricals--the -Monteros told me so. The Torreplanas de Arganzon have already signified -their intention of receiving on Thursdays. We shall have Patti in the -Real, and Gayarré,--think of it! We have sent to secure a box in case we -should not arrive in time.” - -“I am going to order a couple of frocks from Worth--simple ones, as I am -not married. One for skating--I dote upon skating! In the Casa de Campo -last year--do you remember, Amalia?--that day----” - -“That the king complimented you on your skating? Yes, I remember it, of -course.” - -And the voices of both sisters mingled in a concert of little laughs of -gratified pride; both saw again in imagination the frozen lake, the -trees covered with their embroidery of frost, the early morning mist, -and the youthful figure of the king, his countenance pale with cold, -with his effeminate frame, his easy and elegant manners, and his -half-mischievous, half-courteous smile as he bent forward to compliment -the skater on her skill. - -The visit left Pilar more impatient, more feverish, more excited than -ever. Pilar was desperate; at any cost she desired to leave Vichy, to -fly away, to break from the dark prison of sickness and make her -appearance once more, a brilliant butterfly, in the world of fashion. -She fully believed herself able to do so; she did not doubt but that her -strength was equal to it. No less impatient than herself were two other -persons--Miranda and Perico. Perico, accustomed to live in perpetual -divorce from himself, could not endure solitude, which compelled him to -keep his own company; and as for Miranda, the period prescribed for his -drinking the waters being now at an end and his health notably -improved, he thought it was time to betake himself to winter quarters -and enjoy in peace the result of the treatment. It annoyed him extremely -to see that his wife, appointed by high decrees to nurse himself, should -neglect, as she did, her providential mission, dedicating her days and -nights to a stranger suffering from a malady painful to witness and -perhaps contagious. Therefore, he suggested to Lucía that they should -take their departure, leaving the Gonzalvos to their fate, as those are -left behind, in a shipwreck, for whom there is no room in the lifeboat. -But contrary to all his expectations, he met with a vehement and -obstinate resistance from Lucía. She indemnified herself now, by giving -free utterance to her feelings, for all she had hitherto concealed, even -from herself. - -“It would be necessary to have no heart--to have no heart!” she said. -“Poor Pilar, she would be well off indeed with her brother, who does not -know even how to arrange her pillows, for a nurse. What would become of -her? I cannot bear even to think of it.” - -“She could send for a sister of charity--she would not be the first who -has done so,” answered Miranda roughly. - -“How cruel--poor girl! To talk like that is even worse than leaving her -to die alone like a dog.” - -“Well, as for her, confound me if she would have stayed behind for you -or for me, or for the angel Gabriel himself. And what obligation are we -under to nurse her? One would think----” - -“Do you not say that you are Gonzalvo’s friend?” said Lucía, riveting -her gaze on her husband. - -“His friend, yes, in a social way. What do you know about those things? -We are friends as hundreds of other people are friends.” - -“Then why do we live in the same house with the Gonzalvos. They were not -my friends; but now I have come to like her, and the idea of going away -and leaving her so ill----” - -“Good Heavens! has she not her father, her aunt, her brother? Let them -come, in the devil’s name, to take care of her. What have we to do with -the matter? If your vocation was to be a sister of charity, you should -have said so before, and not have got married, my child. Your duty now -is to see to your husband and your house, and nothing more.” - -“Well,” said Lucía, raising her face, in which the rounded and -evanescent contours of youth were beginning to lose themselves in the -firmer outlines of early womanhood: “I will go, if you command me; but I -am none the less convinced that it is a wicked action to abandon a -friend in this way in her dying moments.” - -She left the room. In her mind there was beginning to germinate a -singular conception of marital authority; she thought her husband had a -perfect, incontestable and manifest right to forbid her every species of -enjoyment or happiness, but that she was free to suffer; and that to -forbid her to suffer, to forbid her to devote herself, as she wished to -do, to the care of the sick girl, was cruel tyranny. These strange -notions are common enough with the unhappy, who often take refuge in -suffering as in a sanctuary, in order to avail themselves of the -immunity it confers. - -The question, however, settled itself better than Lucía could have -anticipated, for that very afternoon Perico took part in it, and decided -it with his accustomed effrontery. - -“Good-by, my dear boy,” he said, entering Miranda’s room, dressed in -traveling attire, wearing cloth gaiters and a felt cap, and carrying a -double-barreled fowling-piece slung across his shoulder. - -And as Miranda looked at him in amazement: - -“I have made up my mind,” he said. “Vichy is too stupid, and as Anatole -makes a point of it----” - -“You are going to Auvergne?” - -“To the Castle of Ceyssat, of Ceyssat. It seems there are hares and deer -there by the hundred, by the hundred--and one can have a good time at -the castle; there is a large party--eighteen guests.” - -Miranda put as much energy as he could summon into his voice and -gestures, and said to the enthusiastic sportsman: - -“But Lucía and I had decided on returning to Spain in two or three days -at the latest, and as Pilar is--in delicate health--your presence here -is indispensable.” - -“Go to the deuce, to the deuce!” exclaimed Perico, faithful to his rule -of always speaking his mind freely. “Can’t you wait a fortnight to -oblige me? What are you going to do in Spain? To bury yourself in Leon, -and vegetate there, vegetate there. Here you are in the honeymoon, the -honeymoon. Not a word, not a word. I will leave my sister with you. I -know she will be well taken care of, well taken care of. Good-by; I must -catch the train. I will bring you back a deer’s head for a cane-rack. - -“But listen; see here----” - -Perico was already at the door. Miranda called to him from the window; -but the young man turned round smiling, and waving him an adieu, hurried -on in the direction of the station. And so it was that in this struggle -between two selfish natures, the most daring, if not the bravest or the -noblest, conquered. - -Miranda was in a diabolical humor when Duhamel came to afford him some -slight consolation, saying that the sick girl during the last few days -had shown signs of improvement and that she ought to avail herself of -them to return to Spain in search of a milder climate, adding, in his -broken French-Portuguese that, as he intended, like most of the other -consulting physicians of Vichy, to return soon to Paris, they might -travel together, and in this way he would be able to see how the motion -of the train agreed with the patient, and to determine whether she -needed to rest or whether she could bear the journey to Spain without -further delay. The doctor’s advice appeared to every one to be very -judicious and Lucía wrote a letter to Perico, at the dictation of Pilar, -charging him to return within a fortnight, as that was the date fixed -upon by Duhamel to close his office at Vichy. The new arrangement -moderated in some slight degree the ill-humor of Miranda, consoled -Lucía, and rejoiced the patient, who longed, above all things, to return -to Madrid. - -It was true; the very frailty of Pilar’s constitution, opposing less -resistance to the disease, retarded the inevitable termination of her -sufferings; and as the hurricane that uproots oaks only bends the reed, -so was the progress of the malady which had declared itself less violent -in this delicate frame than it would have been in a more vigorous one. -In a portion of one of the lungs, tubercles were present, and those -terrible breaches had already been made in it which doctors call -cavities; but the other lung was still unaffected. It is with the lungs, -however, as it is with fruit--a very brief space of time is sufficient -to infect a sound one if the one beside it be decayed. At all events, -the momentary improvement in Pilar was so marked as to allow of her -taking a short walk every morning, leaning on Lucía’s arm; and her -disinclination for food was now not so obstinate as before. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - - -The aspect of Vichy, in truth, in those last days of October, was well -calculated to inspire sadness. Dead leaves lay everywhere. The park, -formerly so full of animation, was deserted; only a few visitors, who -had come late in the season to drink the waters--and who were really -ill--were to be seen promenading the asphalt pavement lately thronged -with richly-dressed people and enlivened by the buzz of cheerful -conversation. No one hastened now to sweep up and carry away the yellow -leaves that covered the ground like a carpet, for Vichy, so clean and -attractive in the season, becomes neglected-looking and filthy as soon -as its fashionable summer guests have turned their backs upon it. The -whole town looked as if a general removal were taking place; the -adornments of the balconies of the _châlets_, deserted now by their -tenants, had been removed, so that they might not be injured by the -rains; in the streets were heaps of brick and mortar to be used in -building, which no one had ventured to undertake in the summer, not -wishing to mar the beauty of the place during the season. The shops for -the sale of articles of luxury had, one after another, closed their -shutters, and their owners, taking with them their wares, had departed -for Nice, Cannes, or some other wintering place of the kind. A few shops -still remained open, and their show-cases served to divert Lucía and -Pilar when they went out for their leisurely walks. The chief of these -was a shop for the sale of curiosities, antiques, and objects of art, -situated almost in front of the famous “Nymph,” and consequently at the -back of the Casino. The shop being too small to conveniently hold the -_mare magnum_ of objects which it contained, they overflowed its limits -and invaded the sidewalk. It was a delightful occupation to rummage -among its recesses, and to pry into its corners, making at every instant -some new and curious discovery. The proprietors of the shop, having -little business at this season, made no objection to their doing so. -They were a married couple: the husband a Bohemian from the Rastro, with -sleepy eyes, a well worn coat and a torn necktie worthy of a place among -the antiques of his shop; the wife fair, thin, willowy, and agile as a -garret cat, gliding among the precious objects heaped up to the ceiling. -Lucía and Pilar found great amusement in examining the heterogeneous -assemblage. In the center of the shop, a superb table of Sèvres -porcelain and gilt-bronze proudly displayed its splendor. On the central -medallion was represented in enamel, on a blue background of the shade -peculiar to _pâte tendre_, the broad, good-natured, but rather sad -countenance of Louis XVI; around this was a circle of smaller -medallions, representing the graceful heads of the ladies of the court -of the guillotined king--some with powdered hair, piled high on the -head, and surmounted by a large basket of flowers; others with hoods of -black lace fastened under the chin; all with immodestly _décolleté_ -gowns, all smiling and richly dressed, with the freshest of complexions -and the rosiest of lips. If Lucía and Pilar had been learned in history, -how many reflections would have been suggested to them by the sight of -all these ivory necks adorned with diamond necklaces or tight velvet -bands, destined, doubtless, like that of the king who presided with -melancholy air over the beautiful bevy, to bow to the executioner’s -knife. - -The pride of the collection was the ceramics. There were a number of -Dresden figures, pure, soft, and delicate in coloring as the clouds -painted by the dawn; rosy cupids garlanded with wreaths of sky-blue -flowers; shepherdesses with a complexion of milk and roses guarding -sheep adorned with crimson bows; nymphs and swans who exchanged amorous -compliments in groves of a pale green, planted with roses; violinists -holding the bow with affected grace, advancing the right foot, ready to -take part in a minuet; flower-girls who simperingly pointed to the -basket of flowers which they carried on their left arms. Side by side -with these pastoral fancies, rare products of Asiatic art displayed -their strange and deformed shapes, like idols of a barbarous faith; -across rotund vases, adorned with yellow leaves and purple or -flame-colored flowers, flew bands of unnatural-looking birds or glided -monstrous reptiles; on the dark background of flat-sided vases stood out -boldly fantastic scenes--green rivers flowing over ochre beds; kiosks of -crimson lake, hung with golden bells; mandarins with gorgeous trains -falling in straight lines, sleek, drooping mustaches, oblique eyes, and -heads like pumpkins. The Majolica and Palissy plates seemed fragments -taken from the bed of the sea, pieces of some sunken reef or of some -oozy river-bed. There, among sea-weed and algae, glided the gleaming, -slimy eel, the mussel opened its fluted shell, the silver bream flapped -its tail, the snail lifted up its agate horn, the frog stared with stony -eyes, and the many-clawed crab, looking like an enormous black spider, -moved along with a sidewise motion. There was a dish on which Galatea -reclined among the waves, her coursers, blue as the sea, pawing the air -with their webbed hoofs, while Tritons, with puffed-out cheeks, blew -their winding trumpets. In addition to the porcelain there were pieces -of silver, antique and heavy, such as are handed down from father to -son in honest provincial families; enormous salvers, broad trays, huge -soup-tureens with massive artichokes for handles; there were wooden -coffers inlaid with pearl and ivory; iron chests carved with the -delicacy of filagree-work; china tankards of antique shape, with metal -bands that recalled the beer-drinkers immortalized by Flemish art. - -Pilar was enchanted especially with the agate cup-shaped jewel-cases, -with the jewelry of different epochs, from the amulet of the Roman lady -to the necklace of false stones and fine enamels of the time of Marie -Antoinette; but what most delighted Lucía were the church ornaments, -which awoke in her the religious sentiment, so well calculated to move -her sincere and ardent soul. The figures of two of the apostles, -solemnly pointing heavenward, stood outlined in brass on two stained -glass windows, doubtless torn from the ogive of some dismantled -monastery. On a triptych of brownish yellow ivory were represented Eve, -with meager nude figure, offering Adam the fatal apple, and the Virgin -in the mysteries of the Annunciation and of the Ascension; all -incorrectly done, with that divine candor of early sacred art, in the -ages of faith. Notwithstanding the rudeness of the design, the face of -the Virgin, the modesty of her downcast look, the mystic ideality of -her attitude charmed Lucía. If she had had money enough, she would -certainly have bought a crucifix which lay unnoticed among the other -curiosities of the shop. It was of ivory also, and was made in a single -piece, with the exception of the arms. The expression of the dying -Christ, nailed to a rich pearl cross, was painfully realistic, the -nerves and muscles showing the contraction of the death agony. Three -diamond nails pierced the hands and feet. Lucía said a paternoster every -day before it and even kissed the knees when she thought herself -unobserved. - -She enjoyed looking at paintings; all the more as she could understand -them, which was not the case with all of the objects of art, some of -which she thought ugly and extravagant enough. It was plain that that -fierce swaggerer, rushing, sword in hand, on his adversary, was going to -cleave his heart in twain at a blow. What a lovely sunrise in that -Daubigny! With what naturalness those sheep of Jacque--valued at a -thousand francs apiece (there were twelve in the picture) were browsing! -How white the feet which that Favorite Sultana of Cala y Mora was -dipping in the marble basin! The head of the young girl, after Greuze, -was a marvel of innocent grace. And that Quarrel in a Flemish Inn--it -was enough to make one laugh to see how the earthenware flew around in -fragments, and the copper saucepans rolled about, and the two plowmen of -St. Oustade, misshapen and clownish-looking, distributed blows and cuffs -on all sides, their ape-like ugliness heightened by the grotesqueness of -their attitudes. - -But even more than the bazar of objects of art, where so great a -diversity of forms and colors, styles and artistic ideals, after all -confused her, did one among the many stalls at the edge of the sidewalk -near the Casino, interest Lucía. These stalls represented the modest and -unpretending branches of trade. Here an old German cried his -wares--glasses to drink the waters--engraving on them with an emery -wheel the initials of the purchasers’ names in their presence; there a -Swiss offered for sale toys, dolls, little boxes, and book folders -carved in beech-wood by the shepherds; here lenses were sold, there -combs and writing-materials. Lucía’s favorite stall was one presided -over by a peddler of curiosities from Jerusalem and the Holy Land. -Mother-of-pearl calvaries with simple carvings in relief, pen handles of -olive-wood terminating in a cross, heads of the Virgin cut on shell, -brooches and trinkets of enamel adorned with arabesques, cups of black -bitumen, aromatic lozenges--such were the contents of the peddler’s -box. All this was sold by an Israelite of not unpleasing appearance, -with black eyes and yellow skin, wearing a dark red Arab fez and wide -trousers, gentle, insinuating, a Levantine in everything, with a -smattering of many languages and a good knowledge of Spanish, which, but -for the use of an occasional archaism, he spoke like a native. In this -man’s conversation Lucía found entertainment in the absence of other -sources of interest. She would question him about the holy village of -Bethlehem, the sacred house of Nazareth, Mount Olivet, and all the other -holy places which she had pictured to herself as situated rather in some -mysterious and remote paradise than on the earth. Between Lucía and the -peddler there was thus established the habit of having a ten minutes -chat every afternoon in the open air, which she enjoyed all the more -when he told her that he was a Christian and a Catholic, catechized and -instructed by the Franciscans of Bethlehem. Lucía bought specimens of -all his wares, even to a rosary of those opaque greenish beads, called, -not without some analogical similitude, Job’s tears. - -“I don’t know how you can like that ugly rosary,” said Pilar. - -“But just see,” exclaimed Lucía, “they look like real tears.” - -But the swallow of the Levant, too, flew away in his turn, in search of -milder climes. One day they did not find Ibrahan Antonio in his -accustomed place; discouraged, perhaps, by a day without a sale, he had -packed up his wares and departed, no one knew whither. Lucía missed him; -but the retreat was a general one; on all sides, closed up and empty -shops were to be seen. On the pavements were mountains of straw, piles -of wrapping paper, packing cases and boxes bearing in large letters the -word “fragile.” The gloom, the disorder, the ever-increasing bareness of -a removal reigned. Pilar thought Vichy in this condition so unattractive -that she planned excursions which should take her away from the -principal streets. One morning she took a fancy to go to the -pastry-cook’s shop and witnessed the manufacture of two or three -thousand cakes and bonbons. On another morning she visited the -subterranean galleries which contain the immense reservoirs of water and -the enormous pipes that supply the baths of the thermal establishment. -They descended a narrow staircase whose lowest steps were lost in the -obscurity of the gallery. The keeper preceded them, carrying in her hand -a miner’s flat-shaped lamp, which emitted a disagreeable odor. Miranda -carried another lamp, and a little street urchin, who made his -appearance among them as suddenly as if he had fallen down from the -clouds, took charge of a third. The vaulted roof was so low that Miranda -was obliged to stoop down in order to avoid striking his head against -it. The narrow passage made an abrupt turn and they suddenly found -themselves in another gallery, which received, as in a yawning mouth, -the pipes that, owing to the perpetual dampness, were here covered with -rust. From the roof exuded a fine white moisture that sparkled in the -light; on either hand flowed a stream of water over a bed of residuum -and alkaline phosphates, white and floury, like newly fallen snow. As -they advanced further into the long subterranean gallery, a suffocating -heat announced the passage of the overflow of the Grande Grille, the -temperature of whose waters was still higher in this confined atmosphere -than it was at its source. From the walls, covered with patches of -mildew and limy scales, hung monstrous fungi, cryptogamous plants full -of venom, whose noxious whiteness gleamed on the wall like a pale and -sinister eye gleaming in a livid countenance. Dusty cobwebs shrouded the -elbows of the pipes like gray winding-sheets shrouding forgotten -corpses. Through the loose stones of the pavement could be caught -glimpses of the black water below. They could hear plainly the steps of -the people passing overhead, and the hard sound of the horses’ hoofs. At -intervals there was an airhole, through the iron grating of which came -the daylight, livid and sepulchral, imparting a yellow tinge to the red -flame of the lamps. The pipes wound like intestines through the damp -passage, now dragging themselves along the ground like gigantic -serpents, now reaching upward to the roof, like the black tentacles of -some enormous polypus. At one time they emerged from the corridors into -a brighter spot--a species of circular cave with a skylight, in whose -far end yawned the open mouth of the Lucas well, disclosing the still, -somber, and unfathomable water within. The urchin held his lamp over the -brink and looked down. The keeper seized him by the arm. - -“Eh, my friend,” she said, “take care that you don’t fall in there. It -would not be easy to go down a hundred yards, which is the depth of that -hole, to look for you.” - -Lucía, fascinated, approached the mouth of the well. The mephitic gases -it exhaled made the smoky flames of the lamps flicker. Here the -temperature was not warm, but cold--a dense, airless cold, which made -breathing difficult. An iron door opened into another gallery, on -entering which they all drew back in alarm, with the exception of the -keeper, at finding themselves surrounded by a vast expanse of water, a -sort of subterranean lake. They were standing on a narrow plank, thrown -like a bridge across the reservoir. The water, lying in its stone tomb, -had a stillness and limpidity that had something lugubrious in them. The -flame of one of the lamps, that had been left on the opposite bank to -show the extent of the deposit, threw long lines of wavering light over -the gloomy transparence of the lake, and looked, in the distance, like -the torch of a hired assassin in some Venetian prison. So fantastic was -the aspect of this lake, overhung by a granite sky, that one might fancy -it peopled with floating corpses. Lucía and Pilar experienced a vague -terror, and like children, or rather, like women, they were especially -horrified at the idea that in some one of the narrow and confused -passages, they might stumble over a rat. They knew that the deposits of -water communicated with the sewers, and two or three times already they -had turned pale, fancying they had seen a black shadow pass by, which -was only the wavering shadow of some parasites cast by the light of the -lamps upon the wall. Suddenly both women uttered a cry; this time there -was no room for doubt, they heard the sharp, shrill squeal of a rat. -Lucía stood for an instant motionless, with dilated eyes; it was -impossible here to run away. But the street urchin and the keeper burst -out laughing; they were both familiar with the sound, which was produced -by the corking of the bottles of mineral water on the other side of the -wall. The two women breathed more freely, however, when they emerged -from the gloomy labyrinth, and saw once more the light of day and felt -the fresh air blowing across their perspiring brows. - -One place only did Lucía visit unaccompanied--the church of St. Louis. -At first the Leonese, accustomed to the grandeur of the superb basilica -of her native place, was not greatly pleased with the edifice. St. Louis -is a poor mediæval rhapsody conceived by a modern architect; the -interior is disfigured by being painted in tawdry colors; in a word, it -resembles an actress masquerading as a saint. But Lucía found in the -temple a Virgin of Lourdes, which charmed her exceedingly. It stood in a -grotto of blooming roses and chrysanthemums, and above its head was the -legend: I am the Immaculate Conception. Lucía knew very little about the -apparitions of Bernadette, the shepherdess, or the miracles of the -sacred mountain; but notwithstanding this, the image exercised a -singular fascination over her, seeming to call to her with mysterious -voice that floated among the grateful perfumes of the flowers, and the -flickering of the tall white tapers. The image, gay, smiling, and -simple, with floating robes and blue mantle, touched Lucía’s soul more -than the stiff images of the cathedral of Leon, clad in their pompous -garments, had ever done. One afternoon, as she was going to the church, -she saw a funeral procession pass along and she followed it. It was the -funeral of a young girl, a Child of Mary. The beadle, dressed in black, -a silver chain around his neck, walked with official gravity at the head -of the procession; four young girls, dressed in white, followed him, -their teeth chattering with cold, their cheeks violet, but proud of -their important rôle of carrying the ribbons. Then came the priests, -grave and composed, their rich voices swelling at intervals on the still -air. Inside the hearse, adorned with black and white plumes, was the -coffin covered with a snow-white cloth starred with orange-blossoms, -white roses, and heaps of lilacs that swayed with every movement of the -car. The Children of Mary, the companions of the deceased, walked along -almost gayly, lifting up their muslin skirts to keep them from touching -the muddy ground. The civil commissary, in his robes, headed the -mourners; behind him came a crowd of women dressed in black, in the -midst of whom walked the family of the dead girl, their faces red and -their eyes swollen with weeping. The church bells tolled with melancholy -sound while the coffin was being taken out of the hearse and placed on -the catafalque. Lucía entered the nave and piously knelt down among -those who were mourning for one whom she had never seen. She listened -with a melancholy pleasure to the office for the dead, the prayers -intoned in full and mellow voices by the priests. Those unknown Latin -phrases had for her a clear signification; she did not understand the -words, but she could comprehend without difficulty that they were -laments, menaces, complaints, and at times ardent and tender sighs of -love. And then, as had happened in the park, there came to her mind the -secret thought, the desire to die, and she said to herself that the dead -girl lying there in her coffin, covered with flowers, calm and -peaceful,--seeing nothing, hearing nothing of the miseries of this -wretched world, that goes round and round, and yet in all its countless -revolutions never brings a good day nor an hour of happiness,--was more -to be envied than she who was alive and obliged to feel, to think, and -to act. - -“Yes, but--the soul!” Lucía said to herself. - -Thus curiously did a simple and ignorant girl repeat the thought -expressed in the philosophical soliloquy of the Danish dreamer! - -“Ah, and how good it must be to be dead,” thought Lucía. “Don Ignacio -was right in saying that--that--well, that there is no such thing as -happiness. If one only knew what fate awaited one in the other world! -Where now is the soul of that body that lies there! And what would be -the use of dying if after all one does not cease to exist, and to be -conscious of what is going on around one.” - -Certain it is that these wild imaginings, aided by the sleepless hours -passed at the sick girl’s bedside, and perhaps by another cause, also, -dimmed the freshness of Lucía’s complexion, and tinged with gloom her -once happy and tranquil disposition. Miranda, who, cut off from all -other society, now sought that of his wife, was struck by the melancholy -expression of her countenance, and thoughts, never fully set at rest -since the unfortunate mishap of the wedding journey, sprung up again in -his mind. This thorn, which pierced his vanity, the keenest of his -feelings, to the quick, could never cease to rankle. Had Miranda’s -nature been more amiable, he might have won by love the open and -generous heart of the young Leonese, but it would seem as if some demon -inspired him always to do exactly the opposite of what he ought to have -done. He acquired the habit of speaking harshly to Lucía, and of -treating her with a certain scorn, as if he never forgot her inferiority -of station. He reminded her by covert allusions of her social position. -He spied upon her every action, reproached her with the time spent in -taking care of Perico’s sister, and, in short, adopted a system of -opposition and tyranny, admirably adapted to succeed with weak or -perverse women, whom it subjugates and charms. Lucía it brought to the -verge of desperation. - -A few days before the one fixed for Perico’s return, Pilar received from -him a letter which she handed to Lucía to read. He announced in it his -near return and gave at the same time some details of the fashionable -life he was leading at the Castle of Ceyssat, and, among other pieces of -news, mentioned the death of the mother of Ignacio Artegui, which -Anatole had communicated to him, thinking it would interest him as -concerning a compatriot. He added that the son had taken the body to -Brittany, to the same old castle of Houdan, at which his childhood had -been passed, for interment. Miranda was present when this paragraph was -read, and noticed the rapid glance of intelligence that passed between -Pilar and Lucía and the sudden pallor that overspread the face of his -wife. Lucía left the house that afternoon and went to the church of St. -Louis, in which she spent half an hour or so. She went back to the -_châlet_, entered her room, where there were writing materials, wrote a -letter, which she hid in her bosom, ran down-stairs and walked rapidly -in the direction of the main street. Night was falling, the first lamps -were being lighted, and the street urchins, the choirboys of -civilization, were standing about on the pavement, crying out the names -of the Paris papers which had just arrived. Lucía went straight toward -the red lamp of the shop and dropped her letter into the wooden -letter-box. At the same instant she felt her arm seized in a vise-like -grip and turned around. Miranda was beside her. - -“What is the meaning of this,” he cried, in a voice of suppressed anger. -“You here, and alone,--what are you doing?” - -“Nothing,” she stammered. - -“Nothing! why, have you not just dropped a letter into the letter-box?” - -“Yes, a letter,” she answered. - -“Why did you lie, then?” exclaimed the husband, in furious accents, his -mouth and chin trembling with jealous rage. - -“I don’t know what I may have said when you hurt my arm,” answered -Lucía, recovering her self-possession. “What is true is that I dropped a -letter there just now.” - -“And why did you not give it to me to post? Why did you come here -yourself--alone?” - -“I wished to post it myself.” - -Some passers-by turned around to listen to the dialogue carried on in -angry tones and in a foreign tongue. - -“We are making a scene,” said Miranda. “Come.” - -They turned into a solitary street and for the space of a few minutes -both maintained an eloquent silence. - -“For whom was that letter?” the husband at last asked abruptly. - -“For Don Ignacio Artegui,” answered Lucía, in a firm and composed voice. - -“I knew it!” said Miranda under his breath, suppressing a malediction. - -“He has lost his mother. You yourself heard so to-day.” - -“It is highly indecorous, highly ridiculous,” said Miranda, whose voice -sounded harsh and broken like the crackling of burning brambles, “for a -lady to write in this unceremonious fashion to a man.” - -“I am indebted to Señor de Artegui for services and favors,” said Lucía, -“which compel me to take a part in his griefs.” - -“Those services, if there be such, it is my duty to acknowledge. I would -have written to him.” - -“Your letter,” objected Lucía simply, “would not have served to console -him, while mine would; and as it was not a question of etiquette but -of----” - -“Hold your tongue,” cried Miranda rudely; “hold your tongue and don’t -talk nonsense,” he continued, with that roughness which even men of -culture do not hesitate to display when speaking to their wives. “Before -marrying you should have learned how to conduct yourself in society, so -as not to bring ridicule upon me by committing silly actions, which are -in bad taste. But I have no right to complain; what better could I have -expected when I married the daughter of a retailer of oil and vinegar!” - -Miranda walked with long strides, dragging rather than supporting his -wife, and they had now almost reached the _châlet_. At this offensive -speech Lucía, with pale cheeks and flashing eyes, freed herself -violently from his clasp, and stood still in the middle of the road. - -“My father,” she cried, in a loud voice, making an effort to keep back -her sobs, “is an honest man, and he has taught me to be honest, too.” - -“Well, one would never have known it,” replied Miranda, with a bitter -and ironical laugh. “To judge by appearances he has taught you to palm -off the spurious article for the genuine as he himself probably did with -his provisions.” - -At this last stab Lucía rushed forward, passed through the gate, hurried -up the stairs as quickly as she had a short time before descended them, -and shutting herself in her room gave free vent to her anguish. Of the -thoughts that passed through her mind during this long night, which she -spent extended on a sofa, the following letter, assuredly not intended -by its author for publication and still less intended to awaken the -applause of future generations, will give some idea: - - DEAR FATHER URTAZU: The fits of rage you warned me about are - beginning to come, and that sooner and with more frequency than I - had thought possible. The worst of it is, that thinking well over - the matter, it seems to me that I myself am in some sort to blame. - Don’t laugh at me, for pity’s sake, for I am trying to keep my - tears back while I write, and this blot, which I hope you will - excuse, is even caused by one of them falling upon the paper. I am - going to tell you everything as if I were in Leon, kneeling before - you in the confessional. The mother of Señor de Artegui is dead. - You already know from my previous letters that this is a terrible - misfortune, for it may bring with it others--which I do not wish - even to think about, father. In short, I reflected that Señor de - Artegui would be very sad, very sad, and that perhaps no one would - think of saying a kind word to him and especially of speaking to - him of our Lord, in whom he cannot but believe--is it not so, - father?--but whom he may forget, perhaps, in the bitterness of his - grief. Moved by these considerations I wrote him a letter, - consoling him as best I could--I wish you could have seen it. I - said a great many things in it that I think were very fine and very - comforting. I told him that God sends us sorrows so as to make us - turn to Him in our grief; that then it is He is most with us--in - short, all that you have taught me. I told him, besides, to be - assured that he was not the only one who mourned for that poor - lady, that saint; that I mingled my tears with his, although I knew - that she was now in glory, and that I envied her. Ah, and that is - the truth, father! Who so happy as she? To die, to go to heaven! - When shall I attain such happiness! - - But to return to my story. I went to post the letter and Miranda - followed me and seized me by the arm, and heaped insults upon me, - calling me all sorts of bad names, and, what I felt more than all, - insulting my father. Poor, dear father! How is he to blame for what - I may do? Tell him nothing of all this, Father Urtazu, for the love - of God! I was so indignant that I answered him haughtily, and then - went and shut myself up into my room. I feel as crushed as if the - house had fallen in upon me. - - My health is beginning to suffer from all these things. Tell Señor - Velez de Rada that when he sees me he will no longer be pleased - with my looks. My head is dizzy just now and I often have severe - fits of giddiness. Good-by, father; advise me, for I am bewildered - by all this. Sometimes I think I have done wrong, and again I think - I am not in any way to blame. Is pity a sin? When I look into my - heart I find only pity there; nothing more. - - Excuse the writing, for my hand trembles greatly. Write soon, for - charity’s sake, for we are shortly to leave this place, and I - should like to receive a letter from you before we go. Your - respectful daughter in Jesus Christ, - - LUCÍA GONZALEZ. - - - -To those familiar with the conversational style of Father Urtazu, and -who desire to have some knowledge of the epistolary style employed by so -learned a man, the following letter will afford satisfaction: - - LUCIGÜELA OF MY SINS: Ah, child, how well we know how to represent - things so as to put our dear little selves in the best light! Pity, - eh? I’ll give you pity! You did wrong, and very wrong, to write - that letter without your husband’s knowledge, and I am not - surprised that he should have behaved like a very dragon about it. - You should have asked his permission; and if he had refused - it--patience! Did I not tell you, child, that to be a good wife and - to make the journey in peace you should put a couple of arrobas of - patience in your trunks? We forget to do that, and this is the - result. Go, unlucky child, and buy a supply of patience now where - you are, and feed upon it, for you stand sorely in need of it. Your - husband ought not to have insulted your good, kind father (although - in some respects he deserves it, and I know myself the reason why), - but remember that he was angry, and when one is excited,--I, who - have a hot temper myself, can make allowance for him! As I said - before, patience, patience, and no more clandestine notes. What - call had you to turn preacher? And there is no need to grieve. God - tightens the cord, but he does not strangle; he is no executioner, - and perhaps when you least expect it, he will send you - consolation--as a gift, and not because of your own merits. And - good-by, for the mail is closing; and besides, I have the lungs of - a frog on the slide of a microscope, and I am going to study the - manner in which those little people breathe. Remember to say a few - prayers, eh? And that will take down our pride a little. The - blessing of God and of San Ignacio be with you, child. - - ALONZO URTAZU, S.J. - - - -When these counsels reached her, Lucía had already done by instinct what -Father Urtazu advised her to do. Mild and gentle now as a lamb, her -every glance was a mute petition for pardon. Miranda persistently -avoided looking at her, treating her with icy contempt. From the -constant strain on her feelings, and her continued attendance on Pilar, -the roses in Lucía’s cheeks had turned to lilies, and she had grown -noticeably thinner, although her appetite continued good. One morning -Duhamel called her aside, and said to her in his Portuguese-French. - -“You must take care of your health, _menina_. _Conservar-se. Vae cair -doente._ Less watching, less fatigue, regular sleep. So much nursing -_altera-the a saude_.” - -“Do you think I shall take Pilar’s disease?” asked Lucía, in so tranquil -a voice that Duhamel stared at her. - -“No, it is not that.” And the physician, lowering his voice still more, -entered into a long and serious conversation with her. - -That night Lucía answered Father Urtazu’s letter in these words: - - DEAR FATHER: Blessed be your lips! for it almost seems as if you - had the gift of prophecy, so true were your words when you said - that I should receive consolation. I am wild with joy, and I hardly - know what I am writing.... A child! what happiness, Father Urtazu! - To-morrow I am going to begin working on the baby-clothes, that the - little angel may not run any risk of coming into the world, like - our Lord, without swaddling clothes in which to wrap him. I am - putting a great deal of nonsense in this letter and a few tears, - too, but not like the last--these are tears of joy. - - To-morrow or the day after we shall leave Vichy. Miranda and I are - to spend a few days in Paris before returning to Leon. (I am wild - to be there to tell father the news; don’t tell him you, however; I - want to give him a surprise.) Poor Pilar and her brother are going - on to Spain, if the state of her health will admit of it, and she - has not to stop at some place on the road--to die, perhaps. For I - am not deceived by her apparent improvement; she is marked for - death. What I regret most is to have to leave her two or three - weeks before--But I am so happy that I don’t want to think of that. - Offer up a prayer for me. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - - -The Gonzalvos were unable to go on to Spain, for midway on the journey -Pilar was seized with symptoms so alarming, such sweats, swoons, fits of -retching and exhaustion, that they thought her last hour was at hand, -and that it would be fortunate if she reached Paris alive; in which case -Doctor Duhamel was not without hope that a few days rest there would -restore her strength sufficiently to allow of their proceeding on their -way. Miranda, who had thought himself already rid of the dying girl, -whom, although he did not nurse her himself, it annoyed him to see -others nursing, accepted this change of program with ill-concealed -discontent; Lucía, who could not reconcile herself to the idea of -deserting her friend on the brink of the grave, as it were, with a -lightening of the heart; and Perico, confident as he was that his sister -would lack no attention, with the secret determination to see all there -was to be seen in Paris. As for Pilar herself, possessed by the strange -optimism characteristic of her malady, she manifested great delight at -the prospect of visiting the capital of luxury and fashion, resolving to -make her purchases for the winter there that she might be as good as -“those affected Amézegas.” - -They arrived in the great French capital on a dark and foggy morning and -were at once assailed by innumerable runners from the hotels, each -calling their attention to his omnibus and disputing their possession -with his rivals. One of these runners, with a dark face crossed by a -long scar, approached Miranda and said to him in good Spanish: - -“Hotel de la Alavesa, Señor--Spanish spoken--Spanish waiters--olla -served every day--Rue Saint-Honoré, the most central situation.” - -“It would be well to go there,” said Duhamel, touching Miranda on the -arm. “In a Spanish hotel _a doente_ will receive better attention.” - -“Let us go, then,” said Miranda resignedly, giving the check for his -luggage to the runner. “Look here,” he added, addressing Perico, “you -and I will go with the luggage in the hotel omnibus, and we will send -Lucía and Pilar in one of those hackney-coaches--they do not jolt so -much.” - -They carried Pilar almost bodily from the railway carriage to the coach. -The runner installed himself on the box after giving many charges and -instructions to the postillion of the omnibus, and the driver whipped up -his sorry-looking nag. After driving through several broad and -magnificent streets they stopped in front of the Hotel de la Alavesa, -and Lucía, springing lightly as a bird to the ground, said to the -runner: - -“Do me the favor to assist me in helping this young lady out of the -carriage, she is ill.” - -But suddenly recognizing the man’s face, she cried excitedly: - -“Sardiola!” - -“Señorita!” responded the Biscayan, showing no less joy, cordiality, and -surprise than Lucía had done. “And I did not recognize you! How stupid -of me! But one sees so many travelers at that blessed station, meeting -them there when they arrive, and taking them there when they are going -away, that it is not to be wondered at.” - -And after looking at Lucía for a few moments longer, he added: - -“But the truth is, too, that you yourself are greatly changed. Why, you -don’t look like the same person as when Señorito Ignacio was with -you----” - -At the sound of this name, so long unheard by her, Lucía turned as red -as a cherry, and dropping her eyes, she murmured: - -“We will go at once to our rooms. Come, Pilar. Here, put your arm around -my neck--now the other around Sardiola’s--don’t be afraid to lean; -there! Shall we carry you in the queen’s chair?” - -And the Biscayan and her valorous friend, crossing hands, raised the -sick girl gently in the improvised throne, on which she sank like an -inert mass, letting her head fall on Lucía’s shoulder. In this way they -went up-stairs to the _entresol_, where Sardiola showed the two women -into a large and airy room, containing the customary marble -mantle-piece, the immense beds with hangings, the _moquette_ carpet, -somewhat soiled and worn in places, the wash-stand and the traditional -clothes-rack. The windows of the room looked out into a small garden, in -the center of which was a light kiosk constructed of wood and glass, -which served as a bath-house. They placed Pilar in an arm-chair and -Sardiola stood waiting for further orders. His eyes, dark and brilliant -as those of a Newfoundland pup, were fixed on Lucía with a submissive -and affectionate look truly canine. She, on her side, had to bite her -lips to keep back the questions which crowded impatiently to them. -Sardiola, divining her thoughts with the loyal instinct of the domestic -animal, anticipated her words. - -“If the ladies should need anything,” he said hesitatingly, as if -fearing to seem intrusive, “let them call upon me at any time. If I am -at the station, Juanilla will come; she is the chambermaid of this -floor--an obliging girl, and quick as lightning. But if ever I can be of -any service--well, it would delight me greatly; it is enough for me to -have seen the Señorita with Señorito Ignacio----” - -And as Lucía remained silent, questioning only with the mute and ardent -language of the eyes, the Biscayan continued: - -“Because--did the Señorita not know? Well it was the Señorito himself -who got me this place. As the Alavese took Juanilla, who is a cousin of -mine, with her and it made me, well--sad, to see those hills which no -one but us country lads and the wild beasts had, with God’s help, ever -climbed before, overrun by government troops, and, in short, as I was -dying of sadness in that station, I wrote to the Señorito--his mother, -may her soul rest in glory, was still living--and he recommended me to -the Alavesa, and here I am at your service, living in clover.” - -Lucía’s eyes continued their mute questioning, more eager than ever. -Sardiola continued: - -“But what most pleased me was to live so near the Señorito----” - -“So near?” mutely asked the shining eyes. - -“So near,” he said in response, “so very near that--why it is -delightful!--you have only to cross the garden there to reach his -house.” - -Lucía ran to the balcony, and, as pale as wax, looked with wild eyes at -the building opposite. Sardiola followed her to the window and even the -sick girl turned her head around with curiosity. - -“Look there,” explained Sardiola. “Do you see that wall there and that -other wall which joins it at a right angle? Well, those are the walls of -the hotel. Now look at that other wall, which forms the third side of -the square--that is the wall of Don Ignacio’s house; it opens on the Rue -de Rivoli. Do you see those steps leading into the garden? You ascend by -those into the corridor on the first floor, into which the dining-room -opens--a very handsome room! The whole house is handsome. Don Ignacio’s -father accumulated a great deal of money. Do you see that little tree -there at the foot of the steps, that sickly-looking plane tree? That is -where the Señorito used to take his mother to sit to breathe the air; -she died of a disease the name of which I don’t remember, but which -means--well, that the heart becomes greatly enlarged--and as she had -dreadful fits of oppression at times so that she could scarcely breathe, -just like a fish when it is taken out of the water; she had to be -brought down into the garden, and even then there was not air enough for -her, and she would sit for an hour trying to get her breath. If you had -seen the Señorito! That was what might be called devotion! He supported -her head, he warmed her feet with his hands, he kissed her a thousand -times in an hour, he fanned her--well, it was a sight worth seeing! A -purer soul God never sent into the world nor shall we see another like -her in our time. After death the blessed saint looked so smiling and so -natural and so handsome, with her fair hair! He it was that looked like -a dead person; if he had been lying in the coffin any one would have -taken him for the corpse.” - -“Silence!” the eloquent eyes suddenly commanded. - -And Sardiola obeyed. Duhamel, Miranda, and Perico were entering the -room. Duhamel examined the apartment minutely and declared it, in his -Lusitanian-French jargon, to be sheltered, convenient, not too high, yet -well ventilated, and in every way suitable for the patient. Miranda and -Perico retired to the adjoining room to wash themselves after the -journey, and tacitly, without debating the question, it was decided that -patient and nurse should room together, and that the two men should -occupy together also the room in which they were. Miranda interposed no -objection to this sacrifice on Lucía’s part; for Duhamel, calling him -aside, informed him that the disease was rapidly nearing its fatal -termination, and that he thought the sick girl could hardly live a month -longer, in view of which fact Miranda silently resolved to depart with -his wife in eight or ten days’ time under some pretext or other. But -fate, which had ordained that these events should have a very different -_dénouement_, disposed matters in such a way, employing Perico as her -instrument, that Miranda very soon began to find himself contented, -diverted, and happy in this Parisian Babylon; this gulf among whose -reefs and shoals the artful Gonzalvo piloted him with more skill and -dexterity than singleness of purpose. - -“What the deuce, what the deuce are you going to bury yourself in Leon -for now?” exclaimed Perico. “You will have time enough, time enough to -bore yourself there! Take my advice and avail yourself of the -opportunity. Why, you are well enough now! Those waters have made you -look ten years younger.” - -The sly fellow knew very well what he was about. Neither her father nor -her aunt had manifested any very great desire to come and take care of -Pilar, and he foresaw that on him would devolve the disagreeable office -of sick nurse. His mind, fertile in wiles, suggested a thousand -artifices by which to charm Miranda in that magical city that of itself -turns the heads of all who set foot in it. Lucía’s husband made -acquaintance with the refinements of the French _cuisine_ in the best -_restaurateurs_, (close your eyes, ye purists!) and the experienced -_gourmet_ of middle age came to take a profound interest in the question -as to whether the _sauce Holandaise_ were better in this restaurant or -in the one two doors below, and when the stuffed mushrooms had their -richest flavor. In addition to these gastronomic enjoyments he took -pleasure in frequenting the variety theaters, of which there are so many -in Paris. He was amused by the comic songs, the contortions of the -clown, the rollicking music, and the airy and almost Eden-like costumes -of the nymphs, who went disguised as saucepans, violins, or puppets. It -is even stated--but on evidence insufficient to establish it as a -historical fact--that the illustrious ex-beau sought to recall his past -glories and to refresh his dry and withered laurels, and selected for -his victim a certain proscenium-rat, in the high-sounding language of -the stage, called Zulma, although every one was well aware that in less -exalted regions she might be called Antonia, Dionisia, or the like. -This creature sang with inimitable grace the refrains of certain -_chansonnettes_, and it was enough to make one split one’s sides -laughing to see her when, with her hand on her hip, her right leg in the -air, a wink in her eye, and parted lips she uttered some slang -expression--a cry from the fish-stands or the market, repeated by her -rosy mouth for the delectation and delight of the audience. Nor were -these the only graces and accomplishments of the singer, for the -choicest part of her repertory, the quintessence of her art, she kept -rather for her hours of dalliance with those fortunate mortals who -succeeded in obtaining access, well-provided with gold-dust, to this -Danaë of the stage. What feline wiles did she employ with her adorers; -calling grave men of sixty her little mice, her little dogs, her little -cats, her _bébés_, and other endearing and delightful names, sweeter to -them than honey. And what shall I say of the incomparable humor and -grace with which she held between her pearly teeth a Russian pipe while -she sent into the air wreaths of blue smoke; the contraction of her -lips, accentuating the curves of her _retroussé_ nose and the dimples of -her puffed-out cheeks? What of the skill with which she balanced herself -on two chairs at once without sitting, properly speaking, on either of -them, since her shoulders rested against the back of the one and her -heels on the seat of the other? What of the agility and dexterity with -which she swallowed in ten minutes ten dozen of raw oysters, accompanied -with two or three bottles of Rhine wine, so that it almost seemed as if -her throat had been annointed with oil to let them slip down smoothly? -What of the smiling eloquence with which she proved to some friend that -such or such a diamond ring was too small for his finger while it fitted -hers as if it had been made for it? In short, if the adventure that was -then whispered in the corridors of a certain variety theater and at the -_table d’hôte_ of the Alavesa seems unworthy of the traditional splendor -of the house of Miranda, at least it is but just to record that its -heroine was the most entertaining, cajoling, and dangerous of the feline -tribe that then mewed discordantly on the Parisian stage. - -While Perico and Miranda kept off the blues in this way, Pilar’s -remaining lung was gradually being consumed, as a plank is consumed with -dry-rot. She did not grow worse because that was now impossible, and her -existence, rather than life, was a lingering death, not very painful, -disturbed only by an occasional fit of coughing which threatened to -choke her. Life was in her like the flickering flame of a candle burned -to the socket, which the slightest movement, the least breath of air -will suffice to extinguish. She had lost her voice almost entirely, so -that she could speak only in soft, low tones, such as a drum stuffed -with cotton might emit. Fits of somnolence, frequent and protracted, -would overpower her, periods of profound stupor, of utter exhaustion, -which simulated and foreshadowed the final repose of the tomb. Her eyes -closed, her body motionless, her feet side by side as if she already lay -in her coffin, she would lie for hours and hours on the bed, giving no -other sign of life than a faint, sibilant breathing. It was generally at -the noonday hour that this comatose sleep took possession of her, and -her nurse, who could do nothing for her but leave her to repose, and who -was oppressed by the heavy atmosphere of the room, impregnated with the -emanations from the medicines and the vapor of the perspiration--atoms -of this human being in process of dissolution--would go out on the -balcony, descend the stairs leading into the garden, and seating herself -in the shade of the stunted plane tree, would pass there the hours of -the _siesta_, sewing or crocheting. Her work consisted of diminutive -shirts, bibs equally diminutive, petticoats neatly scalloped. In this -sweet and secret occupation the hours passed by unnoticed, and -occasionally the needle would slip from her skillful fingers and the -silence, the solitude, the serenity of the heavens, the soft rustle of -the sickly looking trees would tempt the industrious needlewoman into a -pensive revery. The sun darted his golden arrows through the foliage -across the sanded paths at this hour, and the air was dry and mild. The -walls of the hotel and of Artegui’s house formed a sort of natural -stove, attracting the solar heat and diffusing it through the garden. -The railing which shut in the square bordered the Rue de Rivoli, and -through its bars could be seen pass by, enveloped in the blue mists of -evening, coaches, light victorias, landaus, whirled rapidly along by -their costly teams, equestrians who at a distance looked like puppets, -and workmen who looked like shadows cast from a Chinese lantern. In the -distance gleamed at intervals the steel of a stirrup, the gay color of a -gown or of a livery, the varnished spokes of a swiftly revolving wheel. -Lucía’s attention was attracted by the many varieties of horses. There -were Normandy horses with powerful haunches, strong necks and lustrous -coats, deliberate in pace, that drew, with a movement at once powerful -and gentle, the heavy vehicles to which they were harnessed; there were -English horses with long necks, ungraceful, but stylish, that trotted -with the precision of marvelous automatons; Arabian horses, with -flashing eyes, quivering and dilated nostrils, shining hoofs, dry coats, -and thin flanks; Spanish horses--although of these there were but -few--with luxuriant manes, superb chests, broad loins, and forefeet that -proudly pawed the air. As the sun sank lower in the west, the carriages -could be distinguished in the distance by the scintillation of the -lamps, but their forms and colors all blending together confusedly, -Lucía’s eyes soon wearied of the effort of following them, and with -renewed melancholy she fixed her gaze on the puny and -consumptive-looking plants of the garden. At times her solitude was -broken in upon, not by any traveler, either male or female--for visitors -to Paris as a general thing do not spend the afternoon under a plane -tree working--but by Sardiola, _in propria persona_, who, under pretext -of watering the plants, plucking up a weed here and there, or rolling -the sand of the path, held long conversations with his pensive -compatriot. Certain it is that they were never in want of a subject on -which to talk. Lucía’s eyes were no less tireless in asking questions -than Sardiola’s tongue was eager to respond to them. Never were matters -insignificant in themselves described with greater minuteness of detail. -Lucía was now familiar with the eccentricities, the tastes and the ideas -of Artegui, and knew by heart his traits of character, and the events of -his life, which were in no wise remarkable. The reader may find matter -for surprise in the fact that Sardiola should be so well acquainted with -all that related to a man with whom his intercourse had been so slight, -but it is to be observed that the Biscayan’s native place was at no -great distance from the family estate of the Arteguis, and that he was -the intimate friend of Ignacio’s former nurse, on whom the care of the -solitary house now devolved. The pair held long and intimate -conversations together in their diabolical dialect, and the poor woman -never wearied of relating the wonderful sayings and doings of her -nursling, which Sardiola heard with as much delight as if he had himself -performed the feminine functions of Engracia. Through this channel Lucía -came to have at her finger’s ends the minutest particulars regarding the -disposition and character of Ignacio; his melancholy and silence as a -child, his misanthropy as a youth, and many other details relating to -his parents, his family, and his fortune. Does fate indeed at times -please herself by bringing together mysteriously and by tortuous ways -two lives that constantly come in contact with and influence each other, -without apparent cause or reason? Is it true that, as there are secret -bonds of sympathy between souls, so there are other bonds connecting -events, which link them together in the sphere of the material and the -tangible? - -“Don Ignacio,” said the good Sardiola, “was always so. You see they say -that he never had any bodily ailment, not even so much as a toothache. -But his nurse Engracia says that from the cradle he suffered from a kind -of sickness of the soul or the mind, or whatever it may be called. When -he was a child, he was subject to strange fits of terror when night -came, without any known cause for them. His eyes would grow larger and -larger like that” (Sardiola traced in the air with his thumb and -forefinger a series of gradually widening circles) “and he would hide in -a corner of the room, huddled up like a ball, and stay there without -budging until morning dawned. He would never tell his visions, but one -day he confessed to his mother that he saw terrible things--all the -members of his family, with the faces of corpses, bathing and splashing -about in a pool of blood. In short, a thousand wild fancies. The -strangest part of the matter was that in the daytime the Señorito was as -brave as a lion, as everybody knows. At the time of the war it was a -pleasure to see him. Why bless you! he would go among the balls as if -they were sugar plums. He never carried arms, only a hanging satchel -containing I don’t know how many things--bistouris, lancets, pincers, -bandages, sticking-plaster. Besides this he had his pockets stuffed with -lint and rags and cotton batting. I can tell you, Señorita, that if -promotion were to be earned by showing no disgust for those -good-for-nothing liberals, no one would be better entitled to it than -Don Ignacio. On one occasion a bomb fell not two steps away from him. He -stood looking at it, waiting for it to explode, no doubt, and if -Sergeant Urrea, who was standing beside him at the time, had not caught -him by the arm---- Why, he would not retire even when the enemy charged -on us with the bayonet. In one of these charges a guiri[B] -soldier--accursed be every one of his race--charged at him with his -bayonet. And what do you suppose Don Ignacio did?--it would not have -occurred even to the devil himself to do it--he brushed him aside with -his hand as if he had been a mosquito, and the barbarian lowered his -bayonet and allowed himself to be brushed aside. The Señorito gave him a -look. Heavens! such a look, half-serious, half-smiling, that must have -made the boor blush for shame.” - - [B] Government. - -Then followed an account of the attentions lavished by the son upon his -mother during her last illness. - -“I fancy I can see them now. There, there where you are sitting, Doña -Armanda; and he just here where I am standing, be it said with all -respect. Well, he would bring her down into the garden and he would -place her feet on a stool and put a dozen pillows of all sizes and -shapes behind her head, to help the poor lady to breathe easier. And the -potions! and the draughts!--digitalis here, atropina there. But it was -all of no use--at last the poor lady died. Would you believe that Don -Ignacio showed no extravagant grief? He is like a well; he keeps -everything inside, so that, having no outlet, it suffocates him. But he -did not deceive me with his calmness, for when he said to me, ‘Sardiola, -will you watch by her with me to-night,’ I thought of--see what a -foolish fancy, Señorita--but I thought of a cornet in our ranks who used -to play a famous reveille, that was so clear and full and beautiful; and -one day he played out of tune, and as we laughed at him he took his -cornet and blew it and said, ‘Boys, my poor little instrument has met -with a misfortune, and it has cracked.’ Well, the same difference of -sound that I noticed in the cornet of that fool, Triguillos, I noticed -in the voice of the Señorito. You know what a sonorous voice he has, -that it would be a pleasure to hear him give the word of command; but -that day his voice was--well, cracked. In short, he himself arrayed Doña -Armanda in her shroud, and he and I sat up with her, and at daybreak off -to Brittany in a special train,--with the body in a lignum-vitæ coffin, -trimmed with silver,--to the old castle, to bury the poor lady among her -parents, her grandparents, and all the rest of her ancestors.” - -Lucía, who, her work fallen on her lap, had been listening with all her -faculties, now concentrated them in her eyes to put a mute question to -Sardiola. The quick-witted Biscayan answered it at once. - -“He has never come back since and no one knows what he intends to do. -Engracia has not had a word from him. Although, indeed, for that matter, -he never tells his plans to a living soul. Engracia is there alone by -herself, for he dismissed all the other servants, rewarding them well, -before he went away. She attends to the little, the nothing, indeed, -there is to attend to, opening the windows occasionally, so that the -dampness may not have it all its own way with the furniture,--passing a -duster----” - -Lucía turned her head and looked intently at the windows, closed at the -time, behind which she could see passing at intervals the figure of an -elderly woman, whose head was covered with the traditional Guipuscoan -cap, fastened with its two gilt pins. - -“The house ought to be taken care of,” continued Sardiola, “for that -blessed Doña Armanda kept it like a silver cup--it is handsomely -furnished and very spacious. And now that it occurs to me,” he exclaimed -suddenly, slapping his forehead, “why don’t you go to see it, Señorita? -I will speak to Engracia, she will show us over it. Come, make up your -mind to go.” - -“No,” answered Lucía faintly; “what for?” - -“Why, to see it, of course. You will see Señorito Ignacio’s room, with -his books and the toys he had when he was a child, for his nurse -Engracia has kept them all.” - -“Very well, Sardiola,” answered Lucía, as if asking a respite. “Some day -when I am in the humor. To-day I am not in the mood for it. I will tell -you when I am.” - -Lucía was, in fact, greatly preoccupied by a matter which gave more -anxiety to her than to any one else. Duhamel had told her that Pilar’s -end was drawing near, and Pilar, who had not the slightest suspicion of -this, gave no indication of wishing to prepare her soul for the solemn -change. They talked to her of God, and she answered, in a scarcely -audible voice, with remarks about fashions or pleasure parties; they -wished to turn her thoughts toward solemn things and the unhappy girl, -with scarcely a breath of life left in her body, uttered some jest that -sounded funereal, coming from her livid lips. - -All Lucía’s pious eloquence was of no avail to conquer the invincible -and beneficent illusion that remained with Pilar to the last. She -appealed to Miranda and Perico, but they both shrugged their shoulders -and declared themselves altogether inexperienced in such duties and but -little adapted for them. The very day on which it occurred to her to -speak to them of the matter, they had a supper arranged with Zulma and -some of her gay companions in the snuggest and most retired little -dining-room at Brébant’s--a fit time this to think of such things. -Lucía, however, found some one to help her out of her difficulty, and -this was no other than Sardiola, who was acquainted with a Jesuit, a -compatriot of his, Father Arrigoitia, and who brought him in a trice. -Father Arrigoitia was as tall as a bean-pole, with stooping shoulders; -and was as gentle and insinuating in his manners as his compatriot, -Father Urtazu, was harsh and abrupt. He made his first visit with the -pretext of bringing news from Pilar’s aunt; he returned to inquire, with -a great appearance of interest, about the bodily health of the sick -girl; he brought her some earth from the holy grotto of Manresa, and -some pectoral lozenges of Belmet, all wrapped up carefully together; -and, in short, used so much tact and skill that after a week’s -acquaintance with him Pilar asked of her own accord for what the Jesuit -so greatly desired to give her. As Father Arrigoitia was leaving the -room of the now dying girl, after having pronounced the words of -absolution, he heard behind the door sobs, and a voice saying: “Thanks, -many thanks!” Lucía was there, weeping bitterly. - -“Give them to God,” answered the Jesuit gently. “Come, there is no -occasion for grief, Señora Doña Lucía; on the contrary, we have cause -for congratulation.” - -“No, no; I am weeping for joy,” answered the nurse. And as the black -cassock and the tall belted figure of the Jesuit were receding from -view, she softly called to him. The priest retraced his steps. - -“I too, Father Arrigoitia, desire to confess myself, and soon, very -soon,” she said. - -“Ah, very good, very good. But you are in no danger of death, thanks be -to God. In San Sulpicio, in the confessional to the right, as you -enter--I am always at your service, Señora. I shall return shortly to -see our little patient. There, don’t cry, you look like a Magdalen.” - -That afternoon Lucía went down as usual into the garden. But so -exhausted was she both in mind and body that, leaning back against the -trunk of the plane tree, she soon fell fast asleep. Before long she -began to dream, and the oddest part of her dream was that she did not -imagine she was in any strange or unknown place, but in the very spot -where she sat in the garden, only that this, in the capricious mirroring -of her dream, instead of being small and narrow, seemed to be enormous. -It was the same garden but seen through a colossal magnifying-glass. The -railing had receded far, far away into the distance and looked like a -row of points of light on the horizon; and this increase in its size -increased the gloom of the little garden, making it seem like a dry and -parched field. Casting her eyes around, Lucía fixed her gaze on what -seemed to be the front of Artegui’s house, from one of whose open -windows issued a pale hand that made signs to her. Was it a man’s hand -or a woman’s hand? Was it the hand of a living being or of a corpse? -Lucía did not know, but the mysterious beckoning of that unknown hand -exercised a spell over her that grew stronger every moment and she ran -on and on, trying to approach the house. But the field continued to -stretch away; one sandy belt followed another; and after walking hours -and hours she still saw before her the long row of sickly plane trees -fading into the distance and Artegui’s house further off than ever. But -the hand continued to beckon furiously, impatiently, like the hand of an -epileptic agitating itself in the air; its five fingers resembled -whirling asps, and Lucía, breathless, panting, continued to run on and -on, and one plane tree succeeded another and the house was still in the -distance. “Fool that I am!” she cried, “since I cannot reach it running, -I will fly.” No sooner said than done; with the ease with which one -flies in dreams, Lucía stood on tip-toe, and presto! she was in the air -at a bound. Oh, happiness! oh, bliss! the field lay beneath her, she -winged her way through the serene, pure blue atmosphere; and now the -house was no longer distant, and now there was an end to the -interminable row of plane trees, and now she distinguished the form to -which the hand belonged. It was a form, slender, without being meager, -surmounted by a countenance manly, though of a melancholy cast, but -which now smiled kindly, with infinite tenderness. How fast Lucía flew! -how blissfully she drew her breath in the serene atmosphere! Courage, it -is but a little distance now! Lucía could hear the flapping of her -wings, for she had wings, and the grateful coolness refreshed her heart. -Now she was close beside the window. - -Suddenly she felt two sharp pains pierce her flesh as if she had -received two wounds at once, made by two different weapons; hovering in -the air above her she saw an enormous pair of shears, two white dove’s -wings stained with blood fell to the ground, and losing her power she, -too, fell, down, down, not on the soil of the garden, but into an abyss, -a deep, deep gulf. At the bottom two lights were burning, and the -pitying eyes of a woman dressed in white were fixed upon her. It seemed -to her as if she had fallen into the grotto at Lourdes--it could be no -other; it was exactly as she had seen it in the church of St. Louis at -Vichy, even to the roses and the chrysanthemums of the Virgin. Oh, how -fresh and beautiful was the grotto with its murmuring spring! Lucía -longed to reach it--but as generally happens in nightmares, she was -wakened by the shock of her fall. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - - -A few days after she had made her confession, Pilar expired. Her death -was almost sweet, and altogether different from what they had expected -it would be, inasmuch as it was painless. A more severe fit of coughing -than usual interrupted her respiration and the flame of life went out, -as the flame goes out in a lamp when the oil is exhausted. Lucía was -alone with the sick girl at the time, supporting her while she was -coughing, when suddenly dropping her head forward she expired. The -horrible malady, consumption, has so many different phases and aspects -that, while some of its victims feel life slowly ebbing away from them -hour by hour, others fall into eternity as suddenly as the wild animal -falls into the snare. Lucía, who had never seen any one die before, did -not suppose that this was anything more than a deep swoon; she could not -think that the spirit abandoned, without a greater struggle and sharper -pangs, its mortal tenement. She ran out of the room calling for -assistance. Sardiola was the first to come to the bedside in answer to -her cries, and shaking his head he said, “It is all over.” Miranda and -Perico came shortly afterward; they were both in the hotel at the time, -it being eleven o’clock, the hour at which they left the bed for the -breakfast table. Miranda raised his eyebrows when he received the -intelligence and setting his voice in a solemn key, said: - -“It was to be feared, it was to be feared. Yes, we knew she was very -ill. But so suddenly, good heavens!--it does not seem possible.” - -As for Perico, he hid his face in his hands, and murmured more than -thirty times in succession, “Good heavens! Good heavens! What a -misfortune! What a misfortune!” And I must add, in honor of the -sensibility of the illustrious schemer, that he even changed countenance -perceptibly, and that he made desperate attempts to shed, and did at -last succeed in shedding a few of those drops called by poets the dew of -the soul. I have not wished to omit these details lest it might be -thought that Perico was heartless, the fact being that curious and -minute statistical researches show him to have been less so than -two-thirds of the progeny of Adam. Sorrowful and dejected in very truth, -he allowed Miranda to lead him to his room, and it has also been -ascertained for a fact that in the whole course of that day no other -nourishment passed his lips than two cups of tea and a boiled egg, which -at nightfall extreme debility obliged him to swallow. - -Father Arrigoitia and Doctor Duhamel, in union with Miranda, empowered -by telegraph by the sorrowing family of Gonzalvo, provided the dead girl -with all that she now needed--a shroud and a coffin. Pilar, arrayed in -the robe of a Carmelite nun, was placed in the casket which was laid on -the bed she had occupied when living. Candles were lighted and the body -left, in accordance with the Spanish custom, in the chamber of death, -the French custom being to place the corpse, surrounded by lighted -candles, at the entrance to the room, in order that every one who passes -the door may sprinkle it with holy water, using for the purpose a sprig -of box floating in a vessel standing near by. The funeral services and -the interment were to take place on the following day. - -The arrangements for these were soon made, and at about three in the -afternoon, Father Arrigoitia was already reading from his breviary, -beside the open window in the chamber of death (from which all traces of -disorder had disappeared), the prayers for the dead, Lucía answering -“Amen” between her sobs. The flame of the tapers, paled by the glorious -brightness of the sun, showed like a reddish point of light, with the -black line of the wick strongly marked in the center. The rumbling of -approaching and receding carriage wheels could be heard, causing the -windows to rattle as they passed by; and above the noises of the street -the voice of the Jesuit father, saying: - -“_Qui quasi putredo consumendus sum, et quasi vestimentum quod comeditur -a tinea._” - -As if in protest to the funeral hymn, the glorious winter sun darted his -rays upon the bowed gray head of the priest, and lighted with warm tones -Lucía’s neck, bowed also. - -And the prayer continued: - -“_Hen mihi, Domine, quia peccavi nimis in vita mea._” - -A sunbeam, brighter and more daring than its fellows, stole into the -room and fell across the form of the dead girl. Pilar was wasted away -almost to a skeleton; death had bestowed neither beauty nor majesty on -this body, emaciated, diseased, and consumed by fever. The white -head-dress brought into relief the greenish pallor of the sunken -countenance. She seemed to have shrunk and diminished in size. Her -expression was undecided, between a smile and a grimace. Her teeth, of -an ivory hue, were visible. On her breast gleamed in the sunlight the -metal of a crucifix which Father Arrigoitia had placed between her -hands. - -The Jesuit and the friend of the dead girl prayed for about an hour. At -the end of that time the priest rose, saying that he would return to -watch beside the body after he had attended to some urgent business, -which required his presence at his own house. He looked at Lucía and, -noticing that her cheeks were pale and her eyes swollen, he said to her -kindly: - -“Go rest a little, child; you are as pale as the corpse. God does not -require that you should treat yourself in this way.” - -“Instead of resting, father,” returned Lucía. “I will go down into the -garden to breathe the fresh air awhile--Juanilla will remain here. I -feel the need of air, my head is burning.” - -The Jesuit fixed his glance on her anew, and, suddenly putting his mouth -close to her ear, he whispered, as if he were in the confessional: - -“Now that this poor girl is dead, you know what my advice is, do you -not? Put miles between you, daughter; this neighborhood, this place does -not suit you. Return to Leon. If I chance to be sent there--I shall be -able to congratulate you.” - -And as Lucía gave him an eloquent glance, he added: - -“Yes, yes, put miles between you. How many sick souls have I cured with -only this remedy! Well, good-by, good-by for a little while. Yes, my -dear child, yes; God keeps an account of all these things in Heaven.” - -“Father, I wish I were in her place,” murmured Lucía, pointing to the -dead girl. - -“Holy Virgin! No, child. You must live in order to serve God by -fulfilling his will. Good-by for a while, eh?” - -When Lucía went down into the garden, to her eyes, fatigued with -weeping, it seemed less sickly-looking and arid than usual. The yucas -raised their majestic heads wearing perennial crowns; the plants exhaled -a faint rural odor, more grateful, at any rate, than the odor of the -wax. The sun was sinking low in the west, but his rays still gilded the -points of the lance-shaped heads of the railings. Lucía, from habit, -seated herself under the plane tree, which the blasts of winter had -despoiled of its last withered leaf. The quiet of this solitary retreat -brought familiar thoughts again to her mind. No, Lucía could weep no -more; her dry eyes could not shed another tear; what she desired was -rest--rest. God and nature had forbidden her to wish for death; so that, -employing an ingenious subterfuge, she wished for a long sleep, a sleep -without end. While she was absorbed in these thoughts, she saw Sardiola -running toward her. - -“Señorita! Señorita!” The good Biscayan was panting for breath. - -“What is the matter?” she asked, languidly raising her head. - -“He is there,” said Sardiola, gasping. - -“He is--there.” Lucía sat erect, rigid as a statue, and pressed her -hands to her heart. - -“The Señorito--Señorito Ignacio. He arrived this morning--he is going -away again to-night--where, no one knows--he refused to see me--Engracia -says he looks worse even than when he left for Brittany.” - -“Sardiola,” said Lucía, in a faint voice, feeling her heart contract -until it seemed to be no bigger than a hazelnut; “Sardiola----” - -“I must go back, they need me at every moment. On account of to-day’s -misfortune there are a hundred errands to be done. Can I do anything for -you, Señorita?” - -“Nothing.” And Lucía’s faint voice died away in her throat. There was a -buzzing sound in her ears, and railing, walls, plane tree and yucas -seemed to whirl around her. There are in life supreme moments like this, -when feeling, long suppressed, rises mighty and triumphant, and -proclaims itself master of the soul. It was this already; but the soul -was perhaps ignorant, or only vaguely conscious of its subjection, when -suddenly it feels itself stamped, as with a red-hot iron, with the seal -of its bondage. Although the comparison may appear irreverent, I shall -say that the same thing happens here, in a measure, as in conversions; -the soul wavers, undecided for a time, knowing neither what course it is -taking, nor what is the cause of its disquiet, until a voice from on -high, a dazzling light, suddenly come to dispel every doubt. The assault -is swift, the resistance faint, the victory sure. - -The sun was sinking rapidly in the west, the garden was in shadow, -Sardiola, the faithful watch-dog who had given the alarm, was no longer -there. Lucía looked around with wandering gaze, and put her hand to her -throat, as if she were strangling. Then she fixed her eyes on the house -opposite as if by some magic art its walls of stone could transform -themselves into walls of glass, and disclose to her what was within. She -gazed at it fascinated, suppressing the cry that rose to her lips. The -dining-room door stood ajar. This was not unusual, the nurse Engracia -frequently standing at its threshold of an afternoon to breathe the -fresh air and chat awhile with Sardiola; but there was something now in -the aspect of the half-open door that froze Lucía’s heart with terror, -and at the same time filled her soul with ardent joy. Through her brain, -incapable of thought, ran the refrain, with the monotonous regularity -of the ticking of a clock: - -“He came this morning; he is going away to-night.” - -Then, her nerves irritated by this iteration, the sounds blended -confusedly together and she heard clearly only the last word of the -refrain--“night, night, night,” which seemed to sink and swell like -those luminous points that we see in the darkness during sleepless -hours, which approach and recede, without apparent change of place, by -the mere vibration of their atoms. She pressed her temples between her -hands as if she sought to arrest the movement of the persistent -pendulum, and rising, walked slowly, step by step, toward the vestibule -of Artegui’s house. As she put her foot on the first step of the stairs, -there was a buzzing in her ears like the humming of a hundred gadflies, -that seemed to say: - -“Do not go; do not go.” - -And another voice, low and mysterious, like the voice of the wind among -the dry boughs of the plane tree, murmured in a prolonged whisper: - -“Go, go, go!” - -She mounted the steps. When she reached the second step she stumbled -forward, tripping on the hem of her merino dressing-gown, which she now -noticed, for the first time, not only bore the traces of her attendance -in the sick room, but was both ugly and of an unfashionable cut. She -noticed, too, that her cuffs were limp and wet with the tears she had -lately shed, and on her skirt were bits of thread, evidences of her -sewing. She passed both hands over her dress, mechanically brushing off -the threads, and smoothed out her cuffs as she went toward the door. -Here she hesitated again, but the semi-obscurity that now reigned gave -her courage. She pushed open the door and found herself in a large and -gloomy apartment--the dining-room, whose dark, leather-covered walls, -high presses of carved oak, and chairs of the same wood, gave it an air -of still greater gloom. - -“This is the dining-room,” said Lucía aloud, and she looked around in -search of the door. It was situated at the far end, fronting the door -which led from the garden. Lucía walked toward it, raised the heavy -portière, turned the knob with her trembling hand, and emerged into a -corridor which was almost dark. She stood there breathless and uncertain -which way to turn, regretting now that she had so persistently refused -to visit the house before. Suddenly she heard a sound, the rattling of -plate and china. Engracia was doubtless washing the dishes in the -kitchen. She turned and walked along, the corridor in the opposite -direction. The thick carpet deadened the sound of her footsteps. She -groped her way along the wall in search of a door. At last she felt a -door yield to her touch, and, still groping, she entered a small room, -stumbling, as she went, over various objects; among others, the metal -bars of a bedstead. From this room she passed into another and much -larger apartment, faintly illuminated by the expiring daylight, that -entered through a high window. Lucía immediately came to the conclusion -that this must be Artegui’s room. There were in it shelves laden with -books, costly skins scattered around carelessly on the carpet, a divan, -a panoply of handsome weapons, some anatomical figures, a massive -writing-table littered with papers, several bronze and terra-cotta -figures, and above the divan hung the portrait of a woman whose features -she was unable to distinguish. Half-fainting, Lucía dropped on the sofa, -clasping both hands over her breast that heaved with the wild throbbing -of her heart, and said aloud: - -“His room!” - -She remained thus for a time, without a thought, without a wish, -abandoning herself to the happiness of being here, in this spot, where -Artegui had been. Night was rapidly approaching, and she would soon have -found herself in utter darkness if some one had not just then lighted a -lamp outside, whose light entered through the window. At sight of the -light Lucía started. - -“It must be night,” she exclaimed, this time also aloud. - -A thousand thoughts rushed through her mind. No doubt they were already -inquiring about her in the hotel. Perhaps Father Arrigoitia had already -returned, and they might even now be searching for her in the garden, in -her room, everywhere. She herself did not know why it was that the -thought of Father Arrigoitia came to her mind before that of -Miranda--but certain it is that her chief fear was that she might -suddenly come face to face with the amiable Jesuit who would say to her, -“Where have you been, my child?” Troubled by these fancies, she rose -tremblingly to her feet, saying in a low tone to herself: - -“It is not right to leave the corpse alone--alone.” - -And she tried to find the door, but suddenly she stood motionless, like -an automaton whose works have run down. She heard steps in the corridor, -approaching steps, firm and resolute; no, they were not those of -Engracia. The door of the room opened, and a man entered. Lucía was now -in the little room, concealed behind the curtain. This was not -completely, drawn, and through the opening she saw the man light a match -and then light a candle in one of the candlesticks; but the light was -unnecessary, she had already recognized Artegui. - -Yes, it was he, but he looked even more dejected, and his face bore -stronger traces of suffering than when she had last seen him. His -countenance was almost livid, his black beard heightening its pallor, -and his eyes shone feverishly. He sat down at the table and began to -write some letters. He was seated directly opposite Lucía, and she -devoured him with her eyes. As he finished each letter she said to -herself: - -“I have seen him; I will go now.” - -But she still remained. At last Artegui rose and did a curious thing; he -went over to the portrait hanging above the divan and kissed it. Lucía, -who had followed his every movement with intense interest, saw that the -likeness was that of a woman who closely resembled Artegui, and softly -murmured: - -“His mother!” - -The skeptic then opened a drawer in his writing-table, and drew from it -an oblong shining object, which he examined with minute care. He was -absorbed in his occupation, when suddenly he felt his arm grasped -convulsively and saw beside him a woman with a countenance paler than -his own, eyes fixed and burning like two coals of fire, lips parted to -speak but mute, mute. He dropped the pistol on the floor and caught hold -of her. Her form yielded to his touch like a flower broken on its stem, -and he found himself with Lucía lying insensible in his arms. - -Alarmed, he laid her on the divan, and going to his dressing-room -brought from it a bottle of lavender water, which he poured over her -brow and temples, at the same time tearing open her gown to allow her to -breathe more freely. Not for an instant did it occur to him to call -Engracia; on the contrary, he murmured in low tones: - -“Lucía, do you hear me? Lucía--Lucía; it is I, only I--Lucía!” - -She opened her dazed eyes and answered in a voice low, also, but clear: - -“I am here, Don Ignacio. Where are you?” - -“Here, here--do you not see me?--here at your side.” - -“Yes, yes; I see you now. Is it really you?” - -“Tell me, I entreat you, Lucía, what this--this miracle means. How did -you come here?” - -“Tell you--tell you--I cannot, Don Ignacio--my head feels confused. As -you were here, I wished to see you and I said to myself, I must see him. -No, it was not I that said so; it was a chorus of little birds that sang -it within me, and so I came. That is all.” - -“Rest,” said Artegui, in gentlest accents, as if he were speaking to a -child. “Lean your head on the cushion. Would you like a cup of tea--or -anything else? Do you feel better now?” - -“No, let me rest, let me rest.” Lucía closed her eyes, leaned back on -the divan, and remained silent. Artegui gazed at her anxiously with -dilated eyes, still trembling with excitement. He placed a footstool -under her feet, over which he drew the folds of her gown. Lucía remained -passive, murmuring disconnected words in a low voice, still slightly -wandering, but speaking now less incoherently and with clearer -enunciation. - -“I don’t know how I came here--I was afraid, so much afraid of meeting -some one--of meeting--Engracia--but I said to myself, on, on! Sardiola -says he is going away to-day, and if he goes away--you too are going to -Leon--and then, for all time to come, Lucía, unless it be in heaven, I -don’t know where you will see him again! When thoughts like these come -to one’s mind, one is afraid of nothing. I trembled, I trembled like a -leaf--it may be that I broke something in the little room--I should be -sorry for it if I did--and I should be sorry, too, if Father Urtazu and -Father Arrigoitia should blame me, as they will, oh, indeed they will--I -shall tell them I only wanted to see him for an instant--as the light -fell upon his face I could see him clearly; he looks so pale, always so -pale! Pilar too, is pale, and I--and everybody--and the world, yes, the -world that was rose-colored and azure before--but now---- Well, as I -wanted to see him, I entered. The dining-room is large. Engracia was -washing the dishes. How I ran! It was a chance to have found his room. -It is a pretty room. His mother’s likeness is there--poor lady! Duhamel -is a great doctor, but there are diseases for which there is no cure, as -I well know, but the grave. That is a cure for everything. How pleasant -it must be there--and here too. It is pleasant; one feels like sleeping, -because----” - -“Sleep, Lucía, my life, my soul,” murmured a passionate and vibrant -voice. “Sleep, while I guard your slumbers, and fear nothing. Sleep; -never in your cradle, watched over by your mother, did you sleep more -secure. Let them come, let them come to seek you here!” - -Like a hind wounded by an arrow from some unseen hand, Lucía started at -the sound of those words, and opening her eyes, and passing her hand -over her forehead, she sprang to her feet and standing before Artegui -looked around her, her cheeks flushed with sudden shame; her glance and -her intelligence now clear. - -“What is this?” she cried, in a changed voice--“I here--yes, I know now -what brought me here, why I came and when--and I remember, too--ah! Don -Ignacio, Don Ignacio! You must be surprised, and with good reason, to -meet me again when you least expected. At what a moment did I come! -Thanks, Holy Virgin; now I am in possession of all my senses and my -reason, and I can throw myself at your feet, Don Ignacio, and say to -you, ‘For God’s sake, by the memory of your mother who is in -heaven,--by--by--all you hold sacred, never again, promise me, never -again to think of taking the life you can employ so usefully!’ If I knew -how to speak, if I were learned like Father Urtazu, I would put it in -better words, but you know what I mean--is it not so?--promise me never -again--never again----” - -And Lucía, with disheveled hair, pathetic, beautiful, threw herself at -Artegui’s feet and embraced his knees. Artegui raised her with -difficulty. - -“You know,” he said, with confusion, “that I have attached little value -to life; more, that I have hated it ever since I have realized its -hollowness, and have known what a useless burden it is to man; and now -that my mother is dead, and there is no one to feel my loss----” - -A torrent of tears and sobs straight from the heart were Lucía’s answer. -Artegui lifted her in his arms, and, placing her on the sofa, seated -himself beside her. - -“Don’t cry,” he said, speaking more composedly; “don’t cry; rejoice -rather, for you have conquered. And is this to be wondered at since you -embody the illusion dearest to man, the one illusion that is worth a -hundred realities, the illusion that vanishes only with life! The most -persistent and invincible of all the illusions that nature has contrived -to attach us to life and prevent the world going back to chaos! Listen -to me! I will not tell you that you are for me happiness, for happiness -does not exist, and I will not deceive you; but what I will say is this, -that for your sake a noble spirit may worthily prefer life to death. -Among the deceptions which attach us to life, there is one that cheats -us more sweetly than all the others, with delights so blissful, so -intoxicating, that a man may well give himself up to a joy that, though -it be a fictitious one, can thus embellish and gild existence. Hear me, -hear me. I have always shunned women, for knowing the mysterious doom of -sorrow pronounced on man, the irremediable suffering of life, I did not -wish to attach myself through them to this abode of misery, nor give -life to beings who should inherit as their birthright suffering, the -only inheritance which every human being has the certainty of -transmitting to his children. Yes, I regard it as a matter of conscience -to act thus and diminish by so much the sum of sorrows and evils; when I -considered how overwhelming was this sum, I cursed the sun that -engenders life and suffering on the earth; the stars that are the abodes -of misery; the world that is the prison in which our doom is fulfilled, -and finally love, love which sustains and preserves and perpetuates -unhappiness, interrupting, in order to prolong it, the sacred repose of -annihilation. Annihilation! Annihilation was the haven of repose which -my weary spirit wished to reach. Annihilation, nothingness, absorption -in the universe, dissolution for the body, peace and eternal silence for -the spirit. If I had had faith, how beautiful and attractive and sweet -would the cloister have seemed to me! Neither will, nor desire, nor -feelings, nor passions--a robe of sackcloth, a walking corpse beneath. -But----” Artegui bent toward Lucía uneasily. - -“Do you comprehend me?” he suddenly asked. - -“Yes, yes,” she said, and a shiver ran through her frame. - -“But I saw you,” continued Artegui. “I saw you by chance; by chance, -too, and without any volition of my own, I remained for a time at your -side, I breathed the same air, and against my will--against my will--I -knew--I did not wish to acknowledge your victory to myself, nor did I -know it until I left you to the embraces of another. Ah, how I have -cursed my folly in not taking you with me then! When I received your -letter of condolence, I was on the point of going to seek you----” - -Artegui paused for a moment. - -“You were the illusion. Yes, through you, nature, inexorable and -persistent, once more entangled my soul in her snares. I was vanquished. -It was not possible now to obtain the quietude of soul, the -annihilation, the perfect and contemplative tranquillity to which I -aspired; therefore I desired to end the life that each day grew more -intolerable to me.” - -He paused again, and, seeing that Lucía continued silent, added: - -“It may be that you do not fully comprehend me. There are things which, -although true, are difficult of comprehension to those who hear them for -the first time. But you will understand me if I tell you plainly that I -will not die because I love you and you love me; and now, come what may, -I will live.” - -He pronounced these words with an energy that had more of violence than -of love in it, and throwing his arms around Lucía, he drew her to him -with resistless force. She felt as if she were clasped in a fiery -embrace, in which her strength was gradually melting away, and summoning -all the power of her will, by a desperate effort she tore herself from -Artegui’s arms and stood trembling, but erect, before him. Her tall -form, her gesture of supreme indignation might have made her seem like a -Greek statue, had it not been for the black merino gown, which served to -destroy the illusion. - -“Don Ignacio,” stammered the young Leonese, “you deceive yourself, you -deceive yourself. I do not love you--that is to say, not in that way; -no, never!” - -“Swear it, if you dare!” he thundered. - -“No, no; it is enough for me to say so,” replied Lucía, with growing -firmness. “Not that.” And she took two steps toward the door. - -“Listen to me for an instant,” he said, detaining her; “only for an -instant. I have wealth, more than I can make use of. I have made -arrangements to leave this place to-night. We are in a free country; we -will go to a country still more free. In the United States no one asks -any one where he comes from, whither he is going, who he is, or what is -his business. We will go away together. A life spent together, do you -hear? See, I know you desire it. Your heart urges you to consent. I know -with absolute certainty that you are neither happy, nor well married; -that your health is failing; that you suffer. Do not imagine that I do -not know this. No one loves you but me, and I offer you----” - -Lucía took two steps more, but this time toward Artegui, and with one of -those rapid, childish, joyous gestures which women sometimes employ on -the most solemn and serious occasions, she said to him: - -“Do you believe that? Well then, Don Ignacio, God will send me by-and-by -some one who will love me!” - -Ignacio bent his head, vanquished by that cry of victorious nature. -Lucía seemed to him the personification of the great Mother he had -calumniated and cursed, that, smiling, fecund, provident and indulgent, -symbolized life, indestructible and inexhaustible, saying to him: -“Foolish skeptic! see how unavailing are your efforts against me. I am -eternal.” - -“No matter,” he murmured, resigned and humble. “For that very reason I -will respect your sacred rights.” - -He caught her by the folds of her gown, and gently made her sit down -again. - -“Now let us talk together,” he said quietly. “Tell me why you refuse. I -cannot understand you,” he added, with renewed vehemence. “Was it not -love, was it not love you showed me on the journey and in Bayonne? Is it -not love that makes you come here to-day--alone--to see me? Oh, you -cannot deny it. You may invent a thousand sophisms, you may weave a -thousand subtleties, but--it is plain to be seen! Do you know that if -you deny it, you say what is not true? I did not know that in your -innocent nature there was room for falsehood.” - -Lucía raised her head. - -“No, Don Ignacio,” she said, “I will speak the truth--I think it is -better that I should do so now, for you are right, I came here--yes, you -must hear me. I have loved you madly ever since that day at Bayonne--no, -ever since the moment I first saw you. Now you know it. I am not to -blame; it was against my will, God knows. At first I thought it could -not be possible, that all I felt for you was pity, and--well, gratitude, -for all the services you had rendered me. I believed that a married -woman could feel love for no one but her husband. If any one had told me -it was that, I should certainly have denied it indignantly. But by dint -of thinking--no, it was not I who made the discovery; I did not even -suspect it. It was another person, one who knows more than I do about -the mysteries of the heart. See, if I had known that you were happy, I -should have been cured of my love--or if any one had shown me, in my -turn, pity. Charity! Pity! I have it for every one and for me--no one, -no one has it. So that--do you remember how light-hearted I was? You -declared that my presence brought with it joy. Well--now I have fallen -into the habit of indulging in thoughts as gloomy as your own--and of -wishing for death. If it were not for the hope I have, nothing would -make me happier than to lie down in Pilar’s place. I used to be strong -and healthy--I never know now what it is to be well for a moment. This -has come upon me like a thunderbolt. It is a punishment from God. The -greatest bitterness of all is to think of you--that you must be unhappy -in this world, lost in the next.” - -Artegui listened with mingled joy and pity. - -“So that, Lucía----” he said meaningly. - -“So that you who are so good, for if you were not good I should not have -cared for you in this way, will let me go now. Or if you do not, I shall -go without your leave, even if I should have to jump out of the window.” - -“Unhappy woman!” he murmured gloomily, relapsing into his former state -of dejection, “you have stumbled across happiness--that is to say, not -happiness, but at least its shadow, but a shadow so beautiful----” - -He rose to his feet suddenly, shaking himself and writhing like a lion -in his death agony. - -“Give me a reason!” he cried, “or I shall kill myself at your feet. Let -me at least know why you refuse. Is it for your father’s sake? your -husband’s? your child’s? the world’s? Is it----” - -“It is,” she murmured, bending her head, and speaking with great -sweetness, “it is for the sake of God.” - -“God!” groaned the skeptic. “And if there be no----” - -A hand was placed upon his mouth. - -“Can you still doubt his existence when to-day, by a miracle--you -yourself have said it--by a miracle--he preserved your life?” - -“But your God is angry with you,” he objected. “You offended him by -loving me; you offend him by continuing to love me; by coming here you -have offended him still more deeply----” - -“Though I stood on the brink of perdition, though I were sinking in the -flames of hell--my God is ready to save and to pardon me if my will be -turned to Him. Now, now I will ask Him to save me.” - -“And He will not save you,” replied Artegui, taking both her hands in -his; “He will not save you; for wherever you may go, though you should -hide yourself from me in the very center of the earth, though you should -take refuge in the cell of a convent, you will still adore me, you will -offend Him by thinking of me. No, the sincerity of your nature will not -permit you to deny it. Ah! if one could only love or not love at will! -But your conscience tells you plainly that, do what you may, I shall -always be in your thoughts--always. And for the very reason that it -horrifies you that this should be so, so it will be. And more--the day -will come when, like to-day, you will desire to see me, although it be -but for a moment, and overcoming all the obstacles that lie in your way, -and breaking down the barriers that oppose themselves to your will, you -will come to me--to me.” - -And he shook her violently by the wrists, as the hurricane shakes the -tender sapling. - -“God,” she murmured faintly, “God is more powerful than you or I or any -one. I will ask Him to protect me and He will do it; He must do it; He -will do it, He will do it.” - -“No,” responded Artegui energetically. “I know that you will come, that -you will fall, as the stone falls, drawn by its own weight, into this -abyss or this heaven; you will come. See, I am so certain of this, that -you need not fear now that I shall kill myself. I will not die because I -know that one day you will inevitably come to me; and on that day--which -will arrive--I wish to be still in the world that I may open my arms to -you thus.” - -Had not Lucía’s back been turned to the light, Artegui must have -perceived the joy that diffused itself over her countenance, and the -swift glance of gratitude she raised to heaven. He waited with -outstretched arms. Lucía bowed her form, and, swift as the swallow that -skims the crest of the waves in its flight across the seas, rushed -toward him, and rested her head for an instant on his shoulder. - -Then, and no less swiftly, she went toward the table, and taking from it -the candlestick handed it to him and said in a firm and tranquil voice: - -“Show me the way out.” - -Artegui led the way without uttering a word. His blood had suddenly -cooled, and after the terrible crisis his habitual weariness and -melancholy were greater than before. They passed through his room and -entered the corridor in silence. In the corridor Lucía turned her head -for an instant and fixed her eyes on Artegui’s countenance as if she -wished to engrave his image in indelible characters on her memory. The -light of the candle fell full upon it, bringing it out in strong relief -against the dark background of the embossed leather that covered the -walls. It was a handsome face; handsomer, even, from its expression and -character than from the regularity of its features. The blackness of the -beard contrasted with its interesting pallor, and its air of dejection -made it resemble those dead faces of John the Baptist, so vigorous in -_chiaroscuro_, produced by our national tragic school of painting. -Artegui returned Lucía’s gaze with one so full of pain and pity that she -could bear her feelings no longer, and ran to the door. At the threshold -Artegui looked down into the dark recesses of the garden. - -“Shall I accompany you?” he said. - -“Do not advance a step. Put out the light, and close the door.” - -Artegui obeyed the first command; but, before executing the second, he -murmured in Lucía’s ear: - -“In Bayonne you once said to me, ‘Are you going to leave me alone?’ It -is my turn to ask you the same question now. Remain. There is still -time. Have pity on me and on yourself.” - -“Because I have pity” she replied, in a choking voice, “for that very -reason--farewell, Don Ignacio.” - -“Good-by,” he answered, almost inaudibly. The door closed. - -Lucía looked at the sky in which the stars were shining brightly, and -shivered with cold. She knelt down in the vestibule and leaned her face -against the door. At that moment she remembered a trivial -circumstance--that the door was covered on the inner side with a brocade -of a dark red color, harmonizing with the color of the leather on the -walls. She did not know why she remembered this detail; but so it often -happens in supreme moments like this, ideas come to the mind that -possess no importance in themselves, and have no bearing on any of the -momentous events which are taking place. - -Miranda had gone out that afternoon,--to clear his brain, as he said. On -his return to the hotel, he went up to the death-chamber and found -Juanilla watching there by the dead girl, and worn out with fatigue and -terror. She said complainingly that the Señorita Lucía had asked her to -watch for a little while in the room, but that she had now been a long, -long time here, and that she could bear it no longer. Not the faintest -misgiving entered the suspicious mind of Miranda, then, and he answered -with naturalness: - -“The Señorita has probably gone to lie down for a while, she must be -very tired,--but you can go. I will send Sardiola to take your place.” - -He did so; and the dinner-bell of the hotel sounding immediately -afterward, he went down into the dining-room, having that day an -excellent appetite, a thing by no means of daily occurrence in the -present debilitated condition of his stomach. The bell was yet to ring -twice before the soup should be served, and knots of the guests were -standing about the room, conversing while they waited; the greater -number of them were talking about Pilar’s death, in low tones, through -consideration for Miranda, whom they knew to be her friend. But one -group, composed of Navarrese and Biscayans, were talking aloud, the -subject of their conversation being of a nature that called for no such -precaution. Nevertheless, so strongly was Miranda’s attention attracted -by their words that he stood motionless, all his faculties concentrated -in the one faculty of hearing, and scarcely daring to breathe. After -listening for ten minutes he knew more than he desired to know: that -Artegui was in Paris, that he lived in the neighboring house, and that -his dwelling could be reached by crossing the garden, since one of the -Biscayans mentioned that he had gone that way to visit him in the -morning. The waiter, who was passing at the moment with a tray full of -plates of steaming soup, signified to Miranda that he might now take his -place at the table; but the latter, without heeding him, ran up-stairs -like a madman and rushed into the chamber of death. - -“Where is the Señorita Lucía?” he abruptly asked Sardiola, who was -watching by the body. - -“I do not know.” The Biscayan looked up and by a swift intuition he read -in the distorted features of the husband a hundred things at once. -Miranda rushed out like a rocket, and went through the rooms calling -Lucía’s name. There was no answer. Then he went quickly out on the -balcony and ran down into the garden. - -A dark form at the same moment descended the stairs leading from the -vestibule of Artegui’s home. By the light of the stars and of the -distant street lamps could be perceived the unsteadiness of the gait, -the frequent pressing of the hands over the face. Miranda waited, like -the hunter lying in wait for his prey. The figure drew nearer. Suddenly -from a clump of bushes emerged the form of a man, and the silence was -broken by a vulgar exclamation, which in polite language might be -rendered: - -“Shameless woman!” - -Sounds of violence followed, and a body fell to the ground. At this -moment another figure came running down the staircase of the hotel, and -rushing between the two, bent down to raise Lucía from the ground. -Miranda gesticulated wildly, and in a hoarse, choking voice, stuttering -with rage, and throwing every vestige of good-breeding to the winds, -cried: - -“Out of this, boor, intermeddler! What business is this--is this of -yours? I struck--struck her, because I had--had--had the right to do so, -and because I wished to do it. I am her husband. If you don’t take -yourself off without delay I will cut--cut you in two. I will let -daylight through you.” - -If Sardiola had been a stone wall he could not have paid less heed to -the words of Miranda than he did. With supreme indifference to his -threats, and with Herculean force, he took the unconscious form in his -arms, and thrusting the husband aside with a vigorous movement, carried -his lovely burden up the stairs, not stopping till he had placed it on a -sofa in the chamber of death. The madman followed close behind, but he -controlled himself somewhat, seeing the warlike attitude and the -flashing eyes of the Carlist ex-volunteer, who formed a rampart with his -body for the defense of the insensible woman. - -“If you do not take yourself off----” yelled Miranda, shaking his -clenched fists. - -“Take myself off!” repeated Sardiola quietly. “In order that you may -strangle her at your ease. You ought to be ashamed of yourself to touch -even so much as a thread of the Señorita’s garments.” - -“But you--by what authority do you come here? Who has sent for you?” and -Miranda’s countenance was convulsed with senile rage. “Begone!” he -cried, with renewed anger, “or I shall find a weapon.” The bloodshot -eyes of the husband glanced around the room until they fell upon the -corpse, which preserved in the midst of all this violence its vague -funereal smile. Sardiola, meantime, putting his hand into his waistcoat -pocket, drew from it a medium-sized knife, probably used for cutting -tobacco, and threw it at his adversary’s feet. - -“There is one!” he cried, with the proud and chivalric air so frequently -seen among the Spanish populace. “God has given me good hands with which -to defend myself.” - -Miranda stood for a moment, hesitating, then his rage boiled over again -and he yelled out: - -“I warn you that I will use it! I will use it! Go away, then, before I -lose my patience.” - -“Use it,” replied Sardiola, smiling disdainfully, “let us see how much -courage there is behind those bold words--for, as for my leaving the -room--unless the Señorita herself commands me to do so----” - -“Go, Sardiola,” said a faint voice from the sofa, and Lucía, opening her -eyes, fixed them with a look of mingled gratitude and authority on the -waiter. - -“But Señorita, to go away and----” - -“Go, I say.” And Lucía sat erect, apparently quite calm. Miranda held -the knife in his right hand. Sardiola, throwing himself upon him, -snatched the weapon from his grasp, and taking a sudden resolution ran -out into the corridor shouting, “Help! help! the Señorita has been taken -ill.” At his cries, two persons who had just come up the stairs hurried -forward into the chamber of death. They were Father Arrigoitia and -Duhamel, the physician. A strange scene met their view; at the foot of -the bed, on which lay the dead girl, a woman stood with outstretched -hands trying to protect her sides and her bosom from the blows which a -man was showering down upon her with his clenched fists. With a vigor -not to be looked for in one of his frail physique, Father Arrigoitia -rushed between the pair, receiving as he did so, if report speak truly, -a blow or two on his venerable tonsured crown, and Duhamel, emulating, -in the honor of science, the courage of the Jesuit, seized the furious -man by the arm, and succeeded in preventing further violence. Pity it is -that no stenographer could have been present at the time to take down -the eloquent discourse, in broken French-Lusitanian-Brazilian, addressed -by the doctor to Miranda for the purpose of demonstrating to him the -cruelty and barbarity of striking in this way a _menina_, in Lucía’s -condition. Miranda listened with a countenance that grew darker and -darker every moment, while Father Arrigoitia lavished cares and -affectionate attentions on the maltreated woman. Suddenly the husband -confronted the doctor and asked something in a hoarse voice. - -“Yes,” answered Duhamel, nodding his head affirmatively, with the quick -and energetic movement of a pasteboard doll moved by a string. - -Miranda looked around the room, he fixed his eyes in turn on his wife, -on the Jesuit, on the doctor. Then he took a hand of each of the two -latter, and begged them, with much stuttering, to grant him an interview -of a few minutes. They went into the adjoining room and Lucía remained -alone with the corpse. She might almost have fancied all that had passed -a terrible nightmare. Through the open window could be seen the dark -masses of the trees of the garden; the stars shone brightly, inviting to -sweet meditation; the tapers burned beside Pilar, and in Artegui’s -dwelling the light could be seen shining behind the curtains. To descend -ten steps and find herself in the garden, to cross the garden and find -herself clasped to a loving heart, for her soft as wax, but hard as -steel for her enemies--horrible temptation! Lucía pressed her hands with -all her force to her heart, she dug her nails into her breast. One of -the blows which she had received caused her intense pain; it was on the -shoulder blade, and it seemed as if a screw were twisting the muscles -until they must snap asunder. If Artegui were to present himself now! To -weep, to weep, with her head resting on his shoulder! At last she -remembered a prayer which Father Urtazu had taught her, and said: “My -God, by your cross grant me patience, patience.” She remained for a -long time repeating between her moans--“patience.” - -Father Arrigoitia at last made his appearance. His sallow forehead was -contracted in a frown, and clouded with gloom. He and Lucía stood for a -long time conversing together on the balcony without either of them -feeling the cold, which was sharp. Lucía at last gave free rein to her -grief. - -“You may judge if I would speak falsely--with that corpse lying there -before me. This very moment I might go away with him, father--and if God -were not above in the heavens----” - -“But he is, he is, and he is looking at us now,” said the Jesuit, gently -stroking her cold hands. “Enough of madness. Do you not see how your -punishment has already begun? You are innocent of what Don Aurelio -charges you with and yet his atrocious suspicion is not without some -appearance of foundation--you yourself have given it by going to that -man’s house to-day. God has punished you in that which is dearest to -you--in the little angel that has not yet come into the world.” - -Lucía sobbed bitterly. - -“Come, courage daughter; courage, my poor child,” continued the -spiritual father, in accents that every moment grew more tender and -consoling. “And in the name of God and of His Holy Mother, to Spain! To -Spain, to-morrow!” - -“With him?” asked Lucía, terrified. - -“He is packing his trunks to leave Paris to-night. He is going to -Madrid. He is leaving you. If you would throw yourself at his feet and -humbly and repentantly----” - -“Not that, Father,” cried the proud Castilian. “He would think I was -what he has called me; no, no.” And more gently she added: “Father, I -have done what is right to-day, but I am exhausted. Ask nothing more -from me to-day. I have no strength left. Pity, Señor; pity!” - -“Yes, I will ask you for the love of Jesus Christ to set out to-morrow -for Spain. I shall not leave you until I put you on board the train. Go, -my dear daughter, to your father. Can you not see that I am right in -advising you as I do? What would your husband think of you if you were -to remain here?--with only a wall between you. You are too good and -prudent even to think of such a thing. In the name of your child! That -its father may be convinced--for in time, witnessing your conduct, he -will be convinced. Ah, let man not divide those whom God has joined -together. He will return, he will return to his wife. Do not doubt it. -To-day he has allowed himself to be carried away by his anger--but -later----” - -Sobs deeper and more piteous than before were Lucía’s only answer. - -Father Arrigoitia pressed the hands of the weeping woman tenderly in -his. - -“Will you give me your promise?” he murmured, with earnest entreaty, but -also with the authority of one accustomed to exact spiritual obedience. - -“Yes,” answered Lucía, “I will go to-morrow; but let me give way to my -misery now--I can bear it no longer.” - -“Yes, weep,” answered the Jesuit. “Relieve your sorrow-laden heart. -Meanwhile, I will pray.” - -And returning to the bedroom he knelt down beside the bed of death, and -taking out his breviary began in grave and composed accents to read by -the flickering light of the tapers the solemn service for the dead. - - * * * * * - -For more than a fortnight the idle tongues of Leon found food for gossip -in the strange circumstance of Lucía Gonzalez’s arrival alone, sad and -deteriorated in looks, at her father’s home. The wildest stories were -invented to explain the mystery of her return, the seclusion in which -she chose to live, the heavy cloud of gloom that rested constantly on -the countenance of Uncle Joaquin Gonzalez, the disappearance of the -husband, and the innumerable other things which hinted at scandal or -domestic infelicity. As usually happens in similar cases, a few grains -of truth were mixed up with a great deal of fiction, and some of what -was said was not without a semblance of reason; but for want of the -necessary data wherewith to complete and elucidate the known facts of -the story, public opinion groped about blindly for a time and at last -went altogether astray. As may be inferred, however, the scandalmongers -performed their part with diligence and zeal, some criticising the -mature dandy who had wanted to marry a young wife; some the vain and -foolish father who had sacrificed his daughter’s happiness to his wish -to make her a lady; some the crazy girl who---- In short, they tacked on -so many morals to Lucía’s story, that I may well be excused from adding -another. What was most severely criticized, however, was the modern -fashion of the _wedding trip_, a foreign and reprehensible innovation, -calculated only to give rise to disgusts and annoyances of all kinds. I -suspect that, warned by Lucía’s sad example, handed down by tradition, -and repeated in turn to all the marriageable girls of the place, that -for a century to come not a Leonese bride will be found willing to stir -an inch from the domestic hearth, at least during the first ten years of -her married life. - -THE END. - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Wedding Trip, by Emilia Pardo Bazán - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A WEDDING TRIP *** - -***** This file should be named 54577-0.txt or 54577-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/4/5/7/54577/ - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at Google Books) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, -set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to -copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to -protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project -Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you -charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you -do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the -rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose -such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and -research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do -practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is -subject to the trademark license, especially commercial -redistribution. - - - -*** START: FULL LICENSE *** - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project -Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at -http://gutenberg.org/license). - - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy -all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. -If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the -terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or -entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement -and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" -or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the -collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an -individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are -located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from -copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative -works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg -are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project -Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by -freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of -this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with -the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by -keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project -Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in -a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check -the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement -before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or -creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project -Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning -the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United -States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate -access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently -whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, -copied or distributed: - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived -from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is -posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied -and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees -or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work -with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the -work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 -through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the -Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or -1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional -terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked -to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the -permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any -word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or -distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than -"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version -posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), -you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a -copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon -request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other -form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided -that - -- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is - owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he - has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the - Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments - must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you - prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax - returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and - sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the - address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to - the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." - -- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or - destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium - and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of - Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any - money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days - of receipt of the work. - -- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set -forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from -both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael -Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the -Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm -collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain -"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or -corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual -property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a -computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by -your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with -your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with -the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a -refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity -providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to -receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy -is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further -opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER -WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO -WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. -If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the -law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be -interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by -the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any -provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance -with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, -promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, -harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, -that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do -or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm -work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any -Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. - - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers -including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists -because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from -people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. -To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 -and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. - - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive -Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at -http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent -permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. -Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered -throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at -809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email -business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact -information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official -page at http://pglaf.org - -For additional contact information: - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To -SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any -particular state visit http://pglaf.org - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. -To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate - - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm -concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared -with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project -Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. - - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. -unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily -keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. - - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: - - http://www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/old/54577-0.zip b/old/54577-0.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index f7fe7f0..0000000 --- a/old/54577-0.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/54577-h.zip b/old/54577-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 5c4b931..0000000 --- a/old/54577-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/54577-h/54577-h.htm b/old/54577-h/54577-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 5f4f2f1..0000000 --- a/old/54577-h/54577-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8515 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" -"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> - -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en" xml:lang="en"> - <head> <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> -<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> -<title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Wedding Trip, by Emilia Pardo Bazán. -</title> -<style type="text/css"> - p {margin-top:.2em;text-align:justify;margin-bottom:.2em;text-indent:4%;} - -.c {text-align:center;text-indent:0%;} - -.ctoc {text-align:center;text-indent:0%; -border:3px ridge gray;padding:.5em;margin:auto auto 1em auto; -max-width:25em;} - -.lftspc {margin-left:.25em;} - -.r {text-align:right;margin-right: 5%;} - -small {font-size: 70%;} - -big {font-size: 130%;} - - h1 {margin-top:5%;text-align:center;clear:both;} - - h2 {margin-top:4%;margin-bottom:2%;text-align:center;clear:both; - font-size:120%;} - - hr {width:10%;margin:.5em auto .5em auto;clear:both;color:black;} - - hr.full {width: 90%;margin:2% auto 2% auto;border-top:1px solid black; -padding:.1em;border-bottom:1px solid black;border-left:none;border-right:none;} - - table {margin-top:2%;margin-bottom:2%;margin-left:auto;margin-right:auto;border:none;} - - body{margin-left:4%;margin-right:6%;background:#ffffff;color:black;font-family:"Times New Roman", serif;font-size:medium;} - -a:link {background-color:#ffffff;color:blue;text-decoration:none;} - - link {background-color:#ffffff;color:blue;text-decoration:none;} - -a:visited {background-color:#ffffff;color:purple;text-decoration:none;} - -a:hover {background-color:#ffffff;color:#FF0000;text-decoration:underline;} - -.smcap {font-variant:small-caps;font-size:100%;} - - img {border:none;} - -.blockquot {margin-top:2%;margin-bottom:2%;font-size:90%;} - -.footnote {width:95%;margin:auto 3% 1% auto;font-size:0.9em;position:relative;} - -.label {position:relative;left:-.5em;top:0;text-align:left;font-size:.8em;} - -.fnanchor {vertical-align:30%;font-size:.8em;} - -div.poetry {text-align:center;} -div.poem {font-size:90%;margin:auto auto;text-indent:0%; -display: inline-block; text-align: left;} - -.pagenum {font-style:normal;position:absolute; -left:95%;font-size:55%;text-align:right;color:gray; -background-color:#ffffff;font-variant:normal;font-style:normal;font-weight:normal;text-decoration:none;text-indent:0em;} -@media print, handheld -{.pagenum - {display: none;} - } -</style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Wedding Trip, by Emilia Pardo Bazán - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: A Wedding Trip - -Author: Emilia Pardo Bazán - -Release Date: April 23, 2017 [EBook #54577] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A WEDDING TRIP *** - - - - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at Google Books) - - - - - - -</pre> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<p class="c">A WEDDING TRIP</p> - -<p class="c"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="341" height="500" alt="[Image -of the book-cover unavailable.]" /> -</p> - -<h1> -A WEDDING TRIP</h1> - -<p class="c">BY<br /> -<br /> -EMILIA PARDO BAZÁN<br /> -<br /> -<small>TRANSLATED BY</small><br /> -MARY J. SERRANO<br /> -<br /> -<small>TRANSLATOR OF “MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF, THE JOURNAL<br /> -OF A YOUNG ARTIST,” ETC.</small><br /> -————<br /><br /> -CASSELL PUBLISHING COMPANY<br /> -<span class="smcap">104 & 106 Fourth Avenue</span><br /> -<br /> -<small><span class="smcap">Copyright, 1891, by</span><br /> -<br /> -CASSELL PUBLISHING COMPANY.<br /> -<br /> -<i>All rights reserved.</i><br /> -<br /> -THE MERSHON COMPANY PRESS,<br /> -RAHWAY, N. J.</small> -</p> - -<h1>A WEDDING TRIP.</h1> - -<p class="ctoc"> -<a href="#CHAPTER_I">Chapter I., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_II"> II., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_III"> III., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_IV"> IV., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_V"> V., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VI"> VI., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VII"> VII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VIII"> VIII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_IX"> IX., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_X"> X., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XI"> XI., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XII"> XII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XIII"> XIII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XIV"> XIV.</a> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">That</span> the wedding was not a fashionable one was to be seen at a glance. -The bride and groom, indeed, so far as could be judged from externals, -might mix in the most select society, but the greater number of the -guests—the chorus, so to say—belonged to that portion of the middle -class which merges into and is scarcely to be distinguished from the -mass of the people. Among them were some curious and picturesque groups, -the platform of the railway station at Leon presenting a scene that -would have greatly interested a <i>genre</i> painter.</p> - -<p>Just as in the ideal bridal scenes that we see painted on fans, it was -noticeable here that the train of the bride was composed exclusively of -the gentler, that of the bridegroom of the sterner sex. There was also -noticeable a striking difference between the social conditions of the -two parties. The bride’s escort, much the more numerous of the two, -looked like a populous ant-hill. The women, both young and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_002" id="page_002"></a>{2}</span> old, wore -the traditional black woolen dress, which, for the women of the lower -classes who have some pretentions to gentility, has almost come to be -the prescribed costume of ceremony; for the people still retain the -privilege of donning gay colored garments on festive and joyous -occasions. Among these human ants were several who were young and -pretty, some of them joyous and excited with thoughts of the wedding, -others lugubrious looking, their eyes red with weeping, thinking of the -approaching parting. They were marshaled by half a dozen duennas of -mature years who, from out the folds of their <i>manto</i>, cast around them -on all sides sharp and suspicious glances. The whole troop of female -friends flocked around the newly made bride, manifesting the puerile and -eager curiosity which the spectacle of the supreme situations of life is -apt to awaken in the breasts of the multitude. They devoured with their -eyes the girl they had seen a thousand times before, whose every feature -they knew by heart—the bride who, arrayed in her traveling dress, -seemed to them a different being from the girl they had hitherto known.</p> - -<p>The heroine of the occasion might be some eighteen years old; she might -be thought younger, if one judged by the childish expression<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_003" id="page_003"></a>{3}</span> of her -mouth and the rounded contour of her cheeks, older, judging by the -luxuriant curves of her figure and the exuberant life and vigor revealed -in her whole person. Here were no high and narrow shoulders and -impossible hips such as we see represented in fashion plates, that put -one in mind of a doll stuffed with bran; this was a woman, not of the -conventional type of an ephemeral fashion, but of the eternal type of -the feminine form, such as nature and classic art have designed it. -Perhaps this physical superiority detracted to a certain extent from the -effect of the fanciful traveling dress of the bride, perhaps curves less -rounded, firmer outlines of the arm and neck were required in order to -wear with the necessary ease the semi-masculine dress of maroon-colored -cloth and the coarse straw toque, on whose crown perched, with wings -outspread over a nest formed of feathers, a humming-bird with -irridescent plumage.</p> - -<p>It was evident that these adornments of dress were new to the bride, and -that the skirt, gathered and fastened around the waist, and the tight -jacket, which followed closely the lines of the bust, made her feel ill -at ease as a young girl at her first ball feels ill at ease in her -<i>décolleté</i> gown, for in every unaccustomed fashion in dress there is -something immodest<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_004" id="page_004"></a>{4}</span> for the woman of simple habits. Besides, the mold -was too narrow for the beautiful statue which it inclosed and which -threatened at every moment to burst it, not so much by reason of its -volume as because of the freedom and vigor of its youthful movements. -The race of the strong and robust old man, the father, who stood there -erect, his eyes fastened on his daughter, was not belied in this -splendid specimen of womanhood. The old man, tall, firm and upright as a -telegraph post, and a middle-aged Jesuit of short stature, were the only -men noticeable among the feminine swarm.</p> - -<p>The bridegroom was accompanied by some half-dozen friends, and if the -retinue of the bride was the link that joins the middle class to the -people, that of the bridegroom touched on the boundary line, in Spain as -vague as it is extensive, between the middle class and the higher ranks. -A certain air of official gravity, a complexion faded and smoked by the -flare of the gas-jets, an indefinable expression of optimistic -satisfaction and maturity of age, were signs indicative of men who had -reached the summit of human aspirations in those countries which are in -their decline—a government situation. One among them seemed to take -precedence of the rest, by whom he was treated with marked deference.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_005" id="page_005"></a>{5}</span></p> - -<p>This group was animated by a noisy joviality restrained by official -decorum; curiosity was rife here too, less open and ingenuous but keener -and more epigrammatic in its expression than among the swarm of the -female friends of the bride. There were whispered conversations, -witticisms of the <i>café</i>, accentuated by a gesture of the hand or a push -of the elbow, bursts of laughter quickly suppressed, glances of -intelligence; cigar-ends were thrown on the ground with a martial air, -arms were folded as if they had a tacit understanding with each other. -The gray overcoat of the groom was noticeable among the black coats, and -his tall figure dominated the figures of the men around him. Half a -century, less a lustrum, successfully combated by the skill of the -tailor and the arts of the toilet, shoulders that stooped in spite of -their owner’s efforts to hold them erect, a countenance against whose -pallor, suggestive of habitual late hours, were defined, sharply as -lines drawn with pen and ink, the pointed ends of the mustache, hair -whose scantiness was apparent even under the smooth brim of the -ash-colored felt hat, skin wrinkled and pursy under the eyes, eyelids of -a leaden hue, eyes lusterless and dull but a carriage still graceful, -and the carefully preserved remains of former good looks—such<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_006" id="page_006"></a>{6}</span> was the -picture presented by the bridegroom. Perhaps the very elegance of his -dress served to make all the more evident the ravages of time; the long -overcoat was a trifle too tight for the waist, less slender than it had -once been, the felt hat, jauntily tipped to one side, called loudly for -the smooth cheeks and temples of youth. But all this notwithstanding, -among that assemblage of vulgar provincial figures the figure of the -bridegroom had a certain air of courtliness, the ease of a man -accustomed to the commodious and comfortable life of great cities, and -the dash of one who knows no scruples and stops at nothing when -self-interest is in question. He showed himself superior to the group of -his friends even in the good-humored reserve with which he received the -innuendos and whispered jests, so appropriate to the <i>bourgeois</i> -character of the wedding.</p> - -<p>The engine now announced by a shrill whistle or two the approaching -departure of the train; the hurry and movement on the platform increased -and the floor trembled under the weight of the baggage-laden barrows. -The warning cries of the officials were at last heard. Up to this time -the wedding party had been conversing in groups in low and confidential -tones; the approaching crisis seemed to reanimate them, to break the -spell<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_007" id="page_007"></a>{7}</span> as it were, transforming the scene in an instant. The bride ran -to her father with open arms, and the old man and the young girl clasped -each other in a long embrace—the hearty embrace of the people in which -the bones crack and the breathing is impeded. From the lips of both, -almost simultaneously, came rapid phrases in quick succession.</p> - -<p>“Be sure and write to me every day, eh? Take care not to drink water -when you are perspiring. Your husband has money—ask more if that should -run out.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t worry, father. I will do all in my power to come back soon. Take -care of yourself, for Heaven’s sake—take care of your asthma. Go once -in a while to see Señor de Rada. If you should fall ill, send me a -telegram on the instant. On your word of honor?”</p> - -<p>Then followed the hugs and hearty kisses, the sobs and snifflings of the -retinue of the bride, and the last commissions, the last good-wishes.</p> - -<p>“May you be as happy as the patriarchs of old.”</p> - -<p>“San Rafael be with you, child.”</p> - -<p>“Lucky girl that you are! To be in France without as much as stirring -from your seat!”</p> - -<p>“Don’t forget my wrap. Are the measures<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_008" id="page_008"></a>{8}</span> in the trunk? Will you be sure -not to mistake the threads?”</p> - -<p>“Take care not to get open-work embroidery—that is to be had here.”</p> - -<p>“Open wide those big eyes of yours and look about you, so that when you -come back you will be able to give us an account of all that you have -seen.”</p> - -<p>“Father Urtazu,” said the bride, approaching the Jesuit already -mentioned, and taking hold of his hand, on which she pressed her lips, -letting fall on it at the same time two crystalline tears, “pray for -me.”</p> - -<p>And drawing closer to him, she added, in a low voice:</p> - -<p>“If anything should happen to papa you will let me know at once, will -you not? I will send you our address at every place where we may make -any stay. Take care of him for me. Promise me to go occasionally to see -how he is getting on. He will be so lonely.”</p> - -<p>The Jesuit raised his head and fixed on the young girl his eyes, that -squinted slightly, as is apt to be the case with the eyes of persons -accustomed to concentrate their gaze; then, with the vague smile -characteristic of those given to meditation, and in the confidential -tone befitting the occasion:</p> - -<p>“Go in peace,” he answered, “and God our<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_009" id="page_009"></a>{9}</span> Lord be with you, for He is a -safe companion. I have said the Itinerary for you that we may come back -well and happy. Bear in mind what I have told you, little one; we are -now, so to speak, a dignified married lady, and although we think our -path is going to be strewn with roses and that everything is to be honey -and sweetness in our new state, and that we are going out into the world -to throw care to the winds and to enjoy ourselves—be on your guard! be -on your guard! From the quarter where we least expect it, trouble may -come, and we may have annoyances and trials and sufferings to endure -that we knew nothing about when we were children. It will not do to be -foolish, then, remember. We know that above there, directing the shining -stars in their course, is the only One who can understand us and console -us when He thinks proper to do so. Listen, instead of filling your -trunks with finery, fill them with patience, child, fill them with -patience. That is more useful than either arnica or plasters. If He who -was so great, had need of it to help Him to bear the cross, you who are -so little——”</p> - -<p>The homily might have lasted until now, accompanied and emphasized from -time to time by little slaps on the shoulder, had it not been<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_010" id="page_010"></a>{10}</span> -interrupted by the shock, rude as reality, of the train getting in -motion. There was a momentary confusion. The groom hastened to take -leave of everybody with a certain cordial familiarity in which the -experienced eye could detect a tinge of affectation and patronizing -condescension. He threw his right arm around his father-in-law, placing -his left hand, covered with a well-fitting yellow castor glove, on the -old man’s shoulder.</p> - -<p>“Write to me if the child should fall ill,” entreated the latter with -fatherly anxiety, his eyes filling with tears.</p> - -<p>“Have no fear, Señor Joaquin. Come, come, you must not give way like -this. There is no illness to be feared there. Good-by, Mendoya; good-by, -Santián. Thanks! thanks! Señor Governor, on my return I shall claim -those bottles of Pedro Jimenez. Don’t pretend you have forgotten them! -Lucía, you had better get in now, the train will start immediately and -ladies cannot——”</p> - -<p>And with a polite gesture he assisted the bride to mount the steps, -lifting her lightly by the waist. He then sprang up himself, scarcely -touching the step, after throwing away his half-smoked cigar. The iron -monster was already in motion when he entered the compartment and closed -the door behind him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_011" id="page_011"></a>{11}</span> The measured movement gradually grew more rapid -and the entire train passed before the party on the platform, leaving on -their sight a confused whirl of lines, colors, numbers, and rapid -glances from the passengers looking out at every window. For some -moments longer Lucía’s face could be distinguished, agitated and bathed -in tears, the flutter of her handkerchief could be seen, and her voice -heard saying:</p> - -<p>“Good-by, papa. Father Urtazu, good-by, good-by. Rosario, Carmen, -adieu.”</p> - -<p>Then all was lost in the distance, the course of the scaly serpent could -be traced only by a dark line, then by a blurred trail of thick smoke -that soon also vanished into space. Beyond the platform, now strangely -silent, shone the cloudless sky, of a steely blue, interminable fields -stretched monotonously far into the distance, the rails showed like -wrinkles on the dry face of the earth. A great silence rested upon the -railway station. The wedding party had remained motionless, as if -overwhelmed by the shock of parting. The friends of the bridegroom were -the first to recover themselves and to make a move to depart. They bade -good-by to the father of the bride with hasty hand-shakings and trivial -society phrases, somewhat carelessly worded, as if addressed by a -superior to an inferior, and then, in a body, took the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_012" id="page_012"></a>{12}</span> road for the -city, once more indulging in the jests and laughter interrupted by the -departure of the train.</p> - -<p>The retinue of the bride, on their side, began to recover themselves -also, and after a sigh or two, after wiping their eyes with their -handkerchiefs, and in some instances even with the back of the hand, the -group of black human ants set itself in motion to leave the platform. -The irresistible force of circumstances drew them back to real life.</p> - -<p>The father of the bride, with a shake of his head and an eloquent shrug -of resignation, himself led the way. Beside him walked the Jesuit who -stretched his short stature to its utmost height in order to converse -with his companion, without succeeding, notwithstanding his laudable -efforts, in raising the circle of his tonsure above the athletic -shoulders of the afflicted old man.</p> - -<p>“Come, come, Señor Joaquin,” said Father Urtazu, “a fine time you chose -to wear that Good Friday face! One would suppose the child had been -carried off by force or that the marriage was not according to your -taste! Be reasonable. Was it not yourself, unhappy man, who arranged the -match? What is all this grieving about, then?”</p> - -<p>“If one could only be certain of the result<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_013" id="page_013"></a>{13}</span> in all one does,” said -Señor Joaquin, in a choking voice, slowly moving his bull-like neck.</p> - -<p>“It is too late for those reflections now. But we were in such -haste—such haste! that I don’t know what those white hairs and all the -years we carry on our shoulders were for. We were just like the little -boys in my class when I promise to tell them a story, and they are ready -to jump out of their skins with impatience. By the faith of Alfonso, one -might have thought you were the bride yourself—no, not that, for the -deuce a hurry the bride was in——”</p> - -<p>“Ah, father, what if you were right after all! You wanted to put off the -marriage——”</p> - -<p>“Softly, softly, my friend, stop there; I wanted to prevent it. I speak -my mind frankly.”</p> - -<p>Señor Joaquin looked more dejected than before.</p> - -<p>“By the Constitution!” he cried, in distressed accents, “what a trial -and what a responsibility it is for a father——”</p> - -<p>“To have daughters,” ended the Jesuit, with a vague smile, pushing out -his thick lips with a gesture of indulgent disdain; “and worst of all,” -he added, “is to be more obstinate than a mule, if you will pardon me -for saying so, and to think that poor Father Urtazu knows nothing about -anything but his stones, and his<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_014" id="page_014"></a>{14}</span> stars, and his microscope, and is an -ignoramus and simpleton where real life is concerned.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t make me feel any worse than I do already, father. It is trouble -enough not to be able to see Lucía, for I don’t know how long. All that -is wanting now is that the marriage should turn out badly and that she -should be unhappy——”</p> - -<p>“Well, well, give up tormenting yourself about it. What is done cannot -be undone. In the matter of marriage only He who is above can tie and -untie, and who knows but that all may turn out well, notwithstanding my -forebodings and my foolish fears. For what am I but a poor blind -creature who can see only what is right before his eyes? Bah! It is the -same with this as with the microscope. You look at a drop of water with -the naked eye and it looks so clear that you want to drink it up. But -you place it under those innocent-looking little lenses and, presto! you -find yourself face to face with all sorts of crawling things and -bacteria dancing a rigadoon inside. In the same way He who dwells above -the clouds up there sees things that to us dunces here below seem so -simple, but which for Him have their meaning. Bah, bah! He will take -care to arrange everything for us,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_015" id="page_015"></a>{15}</span> things we could never arrange for -ourselves though we should try never so hard.”</p> - -<p>“You are right, our chief trust must be in God,” assented Señor Joaquin, -drawing a heavy sigh from the depths of his capacious chest. “To-night, -with all this worry, the confounded asthma will give me enough to think -of. I find it hard now to draw a breath. I shall sleep, if I sleep at -all, sitting up in bed.”</p> - -<p>“Send for that rascal, Rada,—he is very clever,” said the Jesuit, -looking compassionately at the old man’s flushed face and swollen eyes, -lighted by the oblique rays of the autumnal sun.</p> - -<p>While the wedding-party defiled with funereal slowness through the -ill-paved streets of Leon, the train hurried on, on, leaving behind the -endless rows of poplars, that looked like a staff of music, the notes of -a pale green traced on the crude red of the plains. Lucía, huddled up in -a corner of the compartment, wept, without bitterness, with a sense of -luxury, rather, with the vehement and uncontrollable grief of girlhood. -The groom was quite conscious that it was his place to say some word, to -show his affection, to sympathize with this first grief, to console it; -but there are certain situations in life in which simple natures display -tact and judgment, but in which the man of the world,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_016" id="page_016"></a>{16}</span> the man of -experience, finds himself utterly at a loss what to do. At times a -drachm of heart is worth a ton of talent. Where vain formulas are -ineffectual, feeling, with its spontaneous eloquence, may be -all-powerful. After racking his brains to find some opening to begin a -conversation with his bride, it occurred to the bridegroom to take -advantage of a trivial circumstance.</p> - -<p>“Lucía,” he said in a somewhat embarrassed voice, “change your seat, my -child; come over here; the sun falls full on you where you are, and that -is very injurious.”</p> - -<p>Lucía rose with the stiffness of an automaton, crossed to the other side -of the compartment, and letting herself fall heavily into her seat, -covered her face again with her delicate handkerchief, and once more -gave vent in sobs to the tender emotions of her youthful breast.</p> - -<p>The bridegroom frowned. It was not for nothing that he had spent forty -odd years of existence surrounded by good-humored people of easy -manners, shunning disagreeable and mournful scenes, which produced in -his system an extraordinary amount of nervous disturbance, disgusting -him, as the sublime horror of a tragedy disgusts persons of mediocre -intelligence. The gesture by which he manifested his impatience was -followed by a shrug of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_017" id="page_017"></a>{17}</span> shoulders which said clearly, “Let us give -the squall time to blow over; these tears will exhaust themselves, and -after the storm will come fine weather.” Resolved, then, to wait until -the clouds should clear away, he began a minute examination of his -traveling equipage, informing himself as to whether the buckles of the -shawl strap worked well, and whether his cane and his umbrella were -properly fastened in a bundle with Lucía’s parasol. He also convinced -himself to his satisfaction that a Russian leather satchel with plated -clasps, which he carried at his side, attached to a leather strap slung -across his shoulders, opened and shut easily, carefully replacing the -little steel key of the satchel in his waistcoat pocket afterward.</p> - -<p>He then took his railway-guide from one of the pockets of his overcoat -and proceeded to check off with his fore-finger the names of the -stations at which they were to stop on their route.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">We</span> have now to learn whose was the breath that kindled the nuptial-torch -on the present occasion.</p> - -<p>Señor Joaquin, then called plain Joaquin,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_018" id="page_018"></a>{18}</span> had left his native place in -the vigor of early manhood, strong as a bull and untiring in labor as a -domesticated ox. Finding a place in Madrid as porter to a nobleman who -had an ancestral estate in Leon, he became the broker, man of business, -and confidential agent of all the people of repute of his native -province. He looked up lodgings for them, found them a safe warehouse -for their goods and was, in short, the Providence of Astorga. His -undoubted honesty, his punctuality and zeal won for him so good a -reputation that commissions poured in upon him in a constant and steady -stream, and reals, dollars, and doubloons fell like a shower of hail -into his pocket in such abundance, that fifteen years after his arrival -in the capital Joaquin was able to unite himself in the indissoluble -bonds of matrimony with a countrywoman of his own, a maid in the service -of the nobleman’s wife, and the mistress, for a long time past, of the -thoughts of the porter; and, after the marriage, to set up a grocery, -over the door of which was inscribed in golden letters the legend: “The -Leonese. Imported Provisions.” From a broker he then became the business -manager of his compatriots in Madrid; he bought goods for them wholesale -and sold them at retail, and everyone in Madrid who wished to obtain<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_019" id="page_019"></a>{19}</span> -aromatic chocolate, ground by hand, or biscuits of feathery lightness, -such as only the women of Astorga possess the secret of making, found -themselves obliged to have recourse to him. It became the fashion to -breakfast on the Carácas chocolate and the biscuits of the Leonese. The -magnate, his former master, set the example, giving him his custom, and -the people of rank followed, their appetites awakened by the -old-fashioned present of a dainty worthy of the table of Carlos IV or of -Godoy. And it was worth while to see how Señor Joaquin, the commercial -horizon ever widening before him, gradually came to monopolize all the -national culinary specialties—tender peas from Fuentesauco, rich -sausages from Candelario, hams from Calderas, sweetmeats from -Estremadura, olives from the olive-groves of Seville, honeyed dates from -Almeria, and golden oranges that store up in their rind the sunshine of -Valencia. In this manner and by this unremitting industry Joaquin -accumulated a considerable sum of money, if not with honor, at least -with honesty. But, successful as he had been in acquiring money, he was -more successful still in investing it after he had acquired it, in lands -and houses in Leon, for which purpose he made frequent journeys to his -native city.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_020" id="page_020"></a>{20}</span> After eight years of childless marriage he became the -father of a healthy and handsome girl, an event which rejoiced him as -greatly as the birth of an heiress to his crown might rejoice a king; -but the vigorous Leonese mother was unable to support the crisis of her -late maternity, and after clinging feebly to life for a few months after -the birth of the child, let go her hold upon it altogether, much against -her will. In losing his wife Señor Joaquin lost his right hand, and from -that time forward ceased to be distinguished by the air of satisfaction -with which he had been wont to preside at the counter, displaying his -gigantic proportions as he reached to the highest shelf to take down the -boxes of raisins, for which purpose he had but to raise himself slightly -on the tips of his broad feet and stretch out his powerful arm. He would -pass whole hours in a state of abstraction, his gaze fixed mechanically -on the bunches of grapes hanging from the ceiling, or on the bags of -coffee piled up in the darkest corner of the shop, on which the deceased -was in the habit of seating herself at her knitting. Finally, he fell -into so deep a melancholy that even his honest and lawful gains, -acquired in the exercise of his business, became a matter of -indifference to him, and the physicians prescribing for him the -salubrious<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_021" id="page_021"></a>{21}</span> air of his native place and a change in his regimen and -manner of life, he disposed of the grocery, and with magnanimity not -unworthy of an ancient sage, retired to his native village, satisfied -with the wealth he had already acquired and unambitious of greater -gains.</p> - -<p>He took with him the little Lucía, now the only treasure dear to his -heart, who with her infantile graces had already begun to enliven the -shop, carrying on a fierce and constant warfare against the figs of -Fraga and the almonds of Alcoy, less white than the little teeth that -bit them.</p> - -<p>The young girl grew up like a vigorous sapling planted in fertile soil; -it almost seemed as if the life she had been the cause of her mother’s -losing was concentrated in the person of the child. She passed through -the crises of infancy and girlhood without any of those nameless -sufferings that blanch the cheeks and quench the light in the eyes of -the young. There was a perfect equilibrium in her rich organism between -the nerves and the blood, and the result was a temperament such as is -now seldom to be met with in our degenerate society.</p> - -<p>Mind and body in Lucía kept pace with each other in their development, -like two traveling companions who, arm in arm, ascend the hills<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_022" id="page_022"></a>{22}</span> and -help each other over the rugged places on their journey, and it was a -curious fact that, while the materialist physician, Velez de Rada, who -attended Señor Joaquin, took delight in watching Lucía and noting how -exuberantly the vital current flowed through the members of this young -Cybele, the learned Jesuit, Father Urtazu, was also her devoted admirer, -finding her conscience as clear and diaphanous as the crystals of his -microscope, neither of them being conscious that what they both admired -in the young girl was, perhaps, one and the same thing seen from a -different point of view, namely, perfect health.</p> - -<p>Señor Joaquin desired to give Lucía a good education, as he understood -it, and indeed did all in his power to cripple the superior nature of -his daughter, though without success. Impelled on the one hand by the -desire to bestow accomplishments on Lucía which should enhance her -merit, fearing on the other lest it should be sarcastically said in the -village that Uncle Joaquin aspired to have a young lady daughter, he -brought her up in a hybrid manner, placing her as a day pupil in a -boarding school, under the rule of a prudish directress who professed to -know everything. There Lucía was taught a smattering of French and a -little music; as for any solid instruction, it<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_023" id="page_023"></a>{23}</span> was not even thought of; -knowledge of social usages, zero; and for all feminine knowledge—a -knowledge much vaster and more complicated than the uninitiated -imagine—some sort of fancy work, as tedious and useless as it was ugly, -patterns of slippers in the worst possible taste, embroidered -shirt-bosoms, or bead purses. Happily, Father Urtazu sowed among so many -weeds a few grains of wheat, and the moral and religious instruction of -Lucía, although limited, was as correct and solid as her school studies -were futile. Father Urtazu had more of the practical moralist than of -the ascetic, and the young girl learned more from him concerning ethics -than dogma. So that although a good Christian she was not a fervent one. -The absolute tranquillity of her temperament forbade her ever being -carried away by enthusiasm; there was in the girl something of the -repose of the Olympian goddesses; neither earthly nor heavenly matters -disturbed the calm serenity of her mind. Father Urtazu used to say, -pushing out his lip with his accustomed gesture:</p> - -<p>“We are sleeping, sleeping, but I am very sure we are not dead; and the -day on which we awaken there will be something to see; God grant that it -may be for good.”</p> - -<p>The friends of Lucía were Rosarito, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_024" id="page_024"></a>{24}</span> daughter of Doña Agustina, the -landlady of the village inn; Carmen, the niece of the magistrate, and a -few other young girls of the same class, many of whom dreamed of the -gentle tranquillity, the peaceful monotony of the conventual life, -forming to themselves seductive pictures of the joys of the cloister, of -the tender emotion of the day of the profession, when, crowned with -flowers and wearing the white veil, they should offer themselves to -Christ with the exquisite sweetness of adding, “forever! forever!” Lucía -had listened to them without a single fiber of her being vibrating -responsive to this ideal. Active life called to her with deep and -powerful voice. Nor did she feel any desire, on the other hand, to -imitate others of her companions whom she saw furtively hiding -love-letters in their bosoms or hurrying, eager and blushing, to the -balcony. In her childhood, prolonged by innocence and radiant health, -there was no room for any other pleasure than to run about among the -shady walks that surrounded Leon, leaping for very joy, like a youthful -nymph sporting in some Hellenic valley.</p> - -<p>Señor Joaquin devoutly believed that he had given his daughter all the -education that was necessary, and he even thought the waltzes and -fantasies, which she pitilessly slaughtered<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_025" id="page_025"></a>{25}</span> with her unskillful fingers -on the piano, admirably executed. However deeply he might hide it in the -secret recesses of his soul, the Leonese was not without the aspiration, -common to all men who have exercised humble occupations and earned their -bread by the sweat of their brows—he desired that his daughter should -profit by his efforts, ascending a step higher in the social scale. He -would have been well contented, for his own part, to continue the same -“Uncle Joaquin” as before; he had no pretensions to be considered a rich -man, and both in his disposition and his manners, he was extremely -simple; but if he were willing to renounce position for himself, he was -not willing to do so for his daughter. He seemed to hear a voice saying -to him, as the witches said to Banquo, “Thou shalt get kings though thou -be none.” And divided between the modest conviction of his own absolute -insignificance and the moral certainty he entertained that Lucía was -destined to occupy an elevated position in the world, he came to the not -unreasonable conclusion that marriage was to be the means whereby the -desired metamorphosis of the girl into the lady of rank was to be -accomplished. A distinguished son-in-law was from this time forth the -ceaseless aspiration of the ex-grocer.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_026" id="page_026"></a>{26}</span></p> - -<p>Nor were these the only weaknesses of Señor Joaquin. He had others, -which we have no compunction in disclosing to the reader. Perhaps the -strongest and most confirmed of these was his inordinate love of coffee, -a taste acquired in the importing business, in the gloomy winter -mornings, when the hoar frost whitened the glass-door of the show-case, -when his feet seemed to be freezing in the gray atmosphere of the -solitary shop, and the lately-abandoned, perhaps still warm bed, tempted -him, with mute eloquence, back to his slumbers. Then, half-awake, -solicited to sleep by the requirements of his Herculean physique and his -sluggish circulation, Señor Joaquin would take the little apparatus, -fill the lamp with alcohol, light it, and soon from the tin spout would -flow the black and smoking stream of coffee which at once warmed his -blood, cleared his brain, and by the slight fever and waste of tissue it -produced, gave him the necessary stimulus to begin his day’s work, to -make up his accounts, and sell his provisions. After his return to Leon, -when he was free to sleep as long as he liked, Señor Joaquin did not -give up the acquired vice but rather reinforced it with new ones; he -fell into the habit of drinking the black infusion in the <i>café</i> nearest -to his abode, accompanying it with a glass of Kummel, and by the perusal -of a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_027" id="page_027"></a>{27}</span> political journal—always and unfailingly the same.</p> - -<p>On a certain occasion it occurred to the government to suspend the -publication of this newspaper for a period of twenty days; a little more -and Señor Joaquin would have given up his visits to the <i>café</i> through -sheer desperation. For, Señor Joaquin being a Spaniard, it seems -needless to say that he had his political opinions like the best, and -that he was consumed by a zeal for the public welfare, as we all of us -are. Señor Joaquin was a harmless specimen of the now extinct species, -the progressionist. If we were to classify him scientifically, we should -say he belonged to the variety of the impressionist progressionist. The -only event that had ever occurred to him during his life as a political -partisan was that one day a celebrated politician, a radical at that -time, but who afterward passed over bag and baggage to the -conservatives, being a candidate for representative to the Cortes, -entered his shop and asked him for his vote. From that supreme moment -our Señor Joaquin was labeled, classified, and stamped—he was a -progressionist of Don ——’s party. It was in vain that years passed and -political changes succeeded one another and the political swallows, -always in search of milder climes, took wing<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_028" id="page_028"></a>{28}</span> for other regions; it was -in vain that evil-disposed persons said to Señor Joaquin that his chief -and natural leader, the aforesaid personage, was as much of a -progressionist as his grandmother; that there were, in fact, no longer -any progressionists on the face of the earth; that the progressionist -was as much of a fossil as the megatherium or the plesiosaurus; it was -in vain that they pointed out to him the innumerable patches sewed on -the purple mantle of the will of the nation by the not impeccable hands -of his idol himself. Señor Joaquin, even with all this testimony, was -not convinced, but, change who might, remained firm as a post in his -loyal attachment to the leader. Like those lovers who fix upon their -memories the image of the beloved such as she appeared to them in some -supreme and memorable moment, and in despite of the ravages of pitiless -time, never again behold her under any other aspect, so Señor Joaquin -could never get it into his head that his dear leader was in any respect -different from what he had been at the moment when, with flushed face, -he deigned to lean on the counter of the grocery, a loaf of sugar on the -one side and the scales on the other, and with fiery and tribunitial -eloquence ask him for his vote. From that time he was a subscriber to -the organ of the aforesaid<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_029" id="page_029"></a>{29}</span> leader. He also bought a poor lithograph, -representing the leader in the act of pronouncing an oration, and -placing it in the conventional gilt frame, hung it up in his bed-room, -between a daguerreotype of his deceased spouse and an engraving of the -blessed Santa Lucía, who displayed in a dish two eyes resembling two -boiled eggs. Señor Joaquin accustomed himself to look at political -events from the point of view of his leader, whom he called, quite -naturally, by his baptismal name. Did matters in Cuba assume a -threatening aspect? Bah! Señor Don —— says that complete pacification -is an affair of a couple of months, at the utmost. Was it rumored that -armed men were marching through the Basque provinces? There was no need -to be frightened. Don —— affirmed that the absolutist party was dead -and the dead do not come to life again. Was there a serious split in the -liberal majority, some supporting X, others Z? Very well, very well, -Don —— will settle the question; he is the very man to do it. Was there -fear of a famine? Do you suppose Don —— is sitting idly sucking his -thumb all this time? This very moment the veins (of the public treasury) -will be opened. Are the taxes too heavy? Don —— spoke of economizing. -Are the Socialists growing troublesome? Only<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_030" id="page_030"></a>{30}</span> let them dare show -themselves with Don —— at the head of affairs and he will soon put them -down. And in this manner, without a doubt or a suspicion ever entering -his mind, Señor Joaquin passed through the storm of the revolution and -entered on the period of the restoration, greatly delighted to see that -Don —— floated on the top of the wave and that his merits were -appreciated, and that he held the pan by the handle to-day just as he -had done yesterday.</p> - -<p>Cherishing this sort of adoration for the leader, the reader may imagine -what was the delight, confusion, and astonishment of Señor Joaquin at -receiving a visit one morning from a grave and well-dressed person who -had come to salute him in the name of Don —— himself.</p> - -<p>The visitor was called Don Aurelio Miranda, and he occupied in Leon one -of those positions, numerous in Spain, which are none the less -profitable for being honorable, and which, without entailing any great -amount of labor or responsibility, open to the holder the doors of good -society by conferring upon him a certain degree of official -importance,—a species of laical benefice in which are united the two -things that, according to the proverb, cannot be contained in one sack. -Miranda<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_031" id="page_031"></a>{31}</span> came of a bureaucratic family, in which were transmitted by -entail, as it were, important political positions, thanks to a special -gift possessed by its members, perpetuated from father to son, a certain -feline dexterity in falling always on their feet, and a certain delicate -sobriety in the matter of expressing their opinions. The race of the -Mirandas had succeeded in dyeing themselves with dull and refined -colors, which would serve equally well as a background for white -insignia or red device, so that there was no juncture of affairs in -which they were the losers, no radicalism with which they could not make -a compromise, no sea so smooth or so stormy that they could not fish -successfully in its waters. The young Aurelio was born, it might be -said, within the protecting shadow of the office walls. Before he had -grown a beard or a mustache he had a position, obtained for him by -paternal influence, aided by the influence of the other Mirandas. At -first the employment was insignificant, with a salary that barely -sufficed for the perfumes and neckties and other trifling expenses of -the boy, who was naturally extravagant. Soon richer spoils fell to his -share, and Aurelio followed in the route already marked out for him by -his ancestors. Notwithstanding all this, however, it was evident<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_032" id="page_032"></a>{32}</span> that -in him his race had degenerated somewhat. Devoted to pleasure, -ostentatious and vain, Aurelio did not possess the delicate art of -always and in everything observing the happy medium; and he was wanting -in the outward gravity, the composure of manner, which had won for past -Mirandas the reputation of being men of brains and of ripe political -experience. Conscious of his defects, Aurelio adroitly endeavored to -turn them to account, and more than one delicate white hand had written -for him perfumed notes, containing efficacious recommendations to -personages of widely differing quality and class. In like manner, he -gave himself out to be the companion and bosom friend of several -political leaders, among others of the Don —— whom we already know. He -had never spoken ten consecutive words having any relation to politics -with any of them. He retailed to them the news of the day, the newest -scandal, the latest <i>double entendre</i>, and the most recent burlesque, -and in this way, without compromising himself with any, he was favored -and served by all. He caught hold, like an inexpert swimmer, of the men -who were more experienced swimmers than himself, and, sinking here and -floating there, he succeeded in weathering the fierce political storms -which beat upon Spain, following<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_033" id="page_033"></a>{33}</span> the time-honored example of the -Mirandas. But even political influence in time becomes exhausted, and -there came a period in which such influence as Aurelio could command, -now greatly diminished, was insufficient to keep him in the only place -to his taste—Madrid, and he was compelled to go vegetate in Leon, -between the government building and the cathedral, neither of which -edifices interested him in the least. What was especially bitter to -Aurelio was the consciousness that his decline in official life had its -origin in another and an irreparable decline,—a decline in his personal -attractions. After the age of forty he was no longer the subject of -little notes of recommendation, or, at least, these notes were not so -warm as before; in the offices of the notabilities his presence had come -to be no more regarded than if he had been a chair or a table, and he -himself was conscious that his fluency of speech was abandoning him. As -he advanced in years he grew more like his ancestors. He began to -acquire the seriousness of the Mirandas, and from an amiable rake he -became a man of weight. Perhaps certain obstinate ailments, the protest -of the liver against the unhealthy life—by turns sedentary, by turns -full of feverish excitement—so long led by Aurelio, were not without -their part in this<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_034" id="page_034"></a>{34}</span> metamorphosis. Therefore, profiting by his sojourn -in Leon and by the knowledge and singular skill of Velez de Rada, he -devoted himself to the work of repairing the breaches made in his -shattered organization; and the methodical life and the increasing -gravity of his manners and appearance, which had been prejudicial to him -in the capital, betraying the fact that he was becoming a useless and -worn-out instrument, served him as a passport with the timid Leonese -villagers, winning for him their sympathy and the reputation of being a -person of credit and responsibility.</p> - -<p>Miranda was in the habit of making an occasional trip to Madrid by way -of diversion, and on one of these trips he had met, not long since, the -Don —— of Señor Joaquin, whom we shall call Colmenar, through respect -for his incognito—furious, at the moment, with a Don —— who took -pleasure in thwarting all his plans and in nullifying his appointments. -There was no means of coming to an understanding with this demon of a -man, who persisted in cutting and mowing down the flourishing field of -the Colmenarist adherents. Miranda, at the time in question, was in -imminent danger of losing his position, and the words of the leader made -him jump from his seat on the luxurious divan. “It is just as I say,” -continued Colmenar; “it is<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_035" id="page_035"></a>{35}</span> enough that I should have an interest in a -man’s retaining his place for him to get him out of it. It is to be -counted upon to a certainty. And there is no means of escaping it. He -strikes without pity.”</p> - -<p>“As for me,” answered Miranda, “if the worst were only to leave -Leon—for, to tell the truth, that village bores me to death, although -it is not without its advantages. But if matters go any further I shall -be in a pretty fix.”</p> - -<p>“And the most likely thing is that they will go further. Fortune is the -enemy of the old. You have changed greatly for the worse, of late. That -hair—do you remember what a splendid head of hair you had? We shall -both soon be obliged to have recourse to acorn-oil as a heroic remedy -<i>in extremis</i>.”</p> - -<p>“To hear you speak,” exclaimed Miranda, twisting the locks on his -temples with his former martial air, “one would suppose that I was bald. -I think I manage to ward off the attacks of time very well. My ailments -have made me a little——”</p> - -<p>“Are you ill?” interrupted Colmenar; “leaks in the roof, my boy; leaks -in the roof!”</p> - -<p>“An affection of the liver, complicated with—— But in that antiquated -village of Leon I have stumbled upon one of the most modern of -physicians, a <i>savant</i>,” Miranda hastened<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_036" id="page_036"></a>{36}</span> to add, observing the bored -look of the leader, who feared he was going to be treated to a history -of the disease. “I assure you that Velez de Rada is a prodigy. A -confirmed materialist, it is true——”</p> - -<p>“Like all doctors,” said Colmenar, with a shrug of the shoulders. “And -how about other matters? Have you made many conquests in Leon? Are the -Leonese girls susceptible?”</p> - -<p>“Bah, hypocrites!” exclaimed Miranda, who, in the unreserve of -confidential intercourse permitted himself to indulge in an occasional -touch of irreverence. “The Jesuits have their heads turned with -confraternities and novenas, and they go about devouring the saints with -kisses. There is little social intercourse,—every one in his own house -and God in the house of every one. But, after all, that suits me very -well, since I require to rest and to lead a regular life.”</p> - -<p>Colmenar listened in silence, tracing with his eyes the pattern on the -soft, thick carpet.</p> - -<p>At last he raised his head and slapped his forehead with his open palm.</p> - -<p>“An unprecedented idea had just occurred to me,” he said, repeating the -celebrated phrase of the Portuguese minister. “Why don’t you marry, my -dear fellow?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_037" id="page_037"></a>{37}</span></p> - -<p>“A bright idea, truly! A wife costs so little in these days. And -afterward? ‘For him who does not like soup, a double portion.’ I am -going to lose my situation, it may be, and you talk to me of marrying!”</p> - -<p>“I do not propose, to you a wife who will lighten your purse, but one -who will make it heavy.”</p> - -<p>And the leader laughed loud and long at his own wit. Miranda remained -pensive, thinking over the solid advantages of the plan, which he was -not long in discovering. There could be no better means of providing -against the assaults of hostile fortune and securing the doubtful -future, before the few hairs he had left should have disappeared and the -superficial polish conferred by fashion and the arts of the toilet -should have vanished. And then, Leon was a city that suggested of itself -matrimonial ideas. What was there to do but marry in a place where -dullness reigned supreme, where celibacy inspired mistrust, and where -the most innocent adventure gave rise to the most outrageous slanders? -Therefore he said aloud:</p> - -<p>“You are right, my boy. Leon is a place that inspires one with the -desire to marry and to live like a saint.”</p> - -<p>“The truth is, that for you,” continued Colmenar, “marriage has now -become a necessity. Aside from the fact that it is high time for<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_038" id="page_038"></a>{38}</span> you -(here he smiled maliciously) to think of marrying, unless you want to be -called an old bachelor, your health and your pocket both require it. If -I cannot succeed in keeping you in your place what are you going to do? -I suppose you have saved nothing?”</p> - -<p>“Saved? I? <i>Au jour le jour</i>,” said Miranda, pronouncing with airy -nonchalance the transpyrenean phrase.</p> - -<p>“Well, then, <i>il faut se faire une raison</i>,” replied Colmenar, pleased -to be able to display his learning in his turn.</p> - -<p>“The question is to find the woman, the phoenix,” murmured Miranda, -meditatively. “Girls of a marriageable age there are in plenty, but I -have lost my reckoning here. Suggest some one you——”</p> - -<p>“Some one here? God deliver you from the women of Madrid. They are more -to be feared than the cholera? Do you know what the requirements are of -any one of those angels? Do you know how much they spend?”</p> - -<p>“So that——”</p> - -<p>“The wife you require is in Leon itself.”</p> - -<p>“In Leon! Yes, perhaps you are right, it might be easier there. But I -don’t see—. The de Argas are already engaged; Concha Vivares is rich in -expectations only; she has an aunt<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_039" id="page_039"></a>{39}</span> who intends to make her her heiress -at her death, but before that event occurs—— The de Hornillos -girl—no, she has nothing but patents of nobility, and they won’t make -the pot boil.”</p> - -<p>“You are flying too high; young ladies are at a discount. Wait a moment -and I will show you——”</p> - -<p>Colmenar rose, and opening one of the drawers of his desk, took from it -a strip of paper, yellow with age and covered with names, like a -proscription list. And it was in truth a list; in it were inscribed in -alphabetical order the names of the feudatories of the great Colmenarian -personality, residing in the various provinces of the Peninsula. Under -some of the names was written a capital L, which signified, “Loyal”; -others were marked V L, “Very loyal”; a few were marked, “Doubtful.”</p> - -<p>The leader placed his forefinger on one of the names marked L.</p> - -<p>“I offer you,” he said to Miranda, “a young girl who has a fortune of -perhaps more than two millions.”</p> - -<p>Miranda opened wide his eyes, and stretched out his hand to take the -auspicious list.</p> - -<p>“Two millions!” he exclaimed. “But there is no one like you for these -finds.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_040" id="page_040"></a>{40}</span></p> - -<p>“You may have seen in Leon the person whose name is inscribed here,” -continued Colmenar, indicating the line with his nail. “A robust, -fine-looking old man, strong and vigorous still, Joaquin Gonzalez, the -Leonese?”</p> - -<p>“The Leonese! There is no one I know better. He has come to the -government office of Leon several times, on business. Of course I know -him. And now I remember that he has a daughter, but I have never taken -any particular notice of her. She is very seldom seen.”</p> - -<p>“They live very modestly. In ten years the fortune will double itself. -He is a great man for business, the Leonese. A poor creature, a -simpleton, in everything else; in politics he sees no further than his -nose, but he has succeeded in making a fortune. This girl is his only -child, and he adores her.”</p> - -<p>“And don’t you think it likely that the girl may have formed some -attachment already?”</p> - -<p>“Bah, she is too young! The moment you present yourself—with your good -address and your experience in such affairs——”</p> - -<p>“Probably she is a ninny, and ugly into the bargain.”</p> - -<p>“Her father was a magnificent-looking fellow in his youth, and her -mother a handsome brunette,—why should the girl be ugly? No<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_041" id="page_041"></a>{41}</span> one is -ugly at fifteen. She will need polishing, it is true; but between you -and a dressmaker that is a question of a month. Women are much more -readily civilized and polished than men. The desire to please teaches -them more than a hundred masters could do.”</p> - -<p>“And what would all my friends say of me—especially in Leon—if they -saw me marry the daughter of the Leonese?”</p> - -<p>“Bah! bah! that is simply a question of making a change. After you are -married, petition privately to be transferred to some other position. -The old man will remain there, taking care of the property, and you and -the girl will go live where nobody will know whether her father was an -archduke or the executioner. After the marriage, you and your bride can -take a little trip to the continent and in this way you will escape -gossip during the first few months. And be quick about it before you -begin to grow rotund, and your hair—— Ah, how time passes! It is sad -to think how old we are getting.”</p> - -<p>Miranda gazed at the point of his elegant tan-colored boot in silence, -thoughtfully scratching his forehead.</p> - -<p>“Find me an excuse to visit the house,” he said at last, with -resolution. “They are unaccustomed to society, and it will be necessary<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_042" id="page_042"></a>{42}</span> -to have one. I shall not be required to parade the girl through the -streets, I suppose.”</p> - -<p>“You will make them a visit in my name. The old man will give you a -warmer welcome than if you were the king himself!”</p> - -<p>So saying, the leader seated himself at the table, which was littered -with newspapers, letters, and books, and taking a sheet of stamped paper -ran his hand over the white page, filling it with the rapid, almost -unintelligible caligraphy of a man overwhelmed with business. He then -folded the paper, slipped it into an envelope, and, without closing it, -handed it to his friend.</p> - -<p>When Miranda rose to take his leave he approached Colmenar, and speaking -in a low voice, almost in a whisper, he murmured:</p> - -<p>“Are you quite sure—quite certain about the—the two mill——”</p> - -<p>“It is so likely I should be mistaken! All you have to do is to make -inquiries in Leon. In conscience, you owe me a commission,” and the -politician laughed and tapped Miranda on the cheek as if he were a -child.</p> - -<p>Under this exalted patronage Miranda presented himself in the peaceful -abode of the Colmenarist feudatory, and was received as befitted a guest -who came thus recommended. Naturally he resolved not to make himself<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_043" id="page_043"></a>{43}</span> -known at once as a suitor for the hand of Lucía. Besides being a want of -delicacy this would also be a want of tact, and then Miranda proposed to -himself, before taking any decided step, to study carefully the ground -on which he was treading. He found that what the leader had told him -with regard to the money was the truth, and even less than the truth. He -saw a house, old-fashioned in style, rude and plebeian in its usages, -but in which honesty presided, and a solid and secure capital, daily -augmented through the judicious management of Señor Joaquin and his -simple and economical mode of living. It is true that the worthy Leonese -seemed to Miranda a tiresome companion, vulgar in his manners, weak in -character, and mediocre in intellect,—stupid even, at times; but he was -obliged to put up with him, and he even adapted himself so skillfully to -the ideas of the old man that the latter was soon unable to sip his -coffee or to read <i>El Progreso Nacional</i>, the organ of Colmenar, without -the sauce of the witty commentaries that Miranda made on every article, -every paragraph, every item of news it contained. Miranda knew by heart -the obverse side, the inner aspect of politics, and he explained -amusingly the sly allusions, the artful reservations, the covert satire, -that abound in every important<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_044" id="page_044"></a>{44}</span> newspaper, and that are a constant -enigma for the simple-minded provincial subscriber. So that, since he -had become intimate with Miranda, Señor Joaquin enjoyed the profound -pleasure of being initiated into the mysteries, and he looked with -disdain upon his Leonese co-religionists, who had not yet been admitted -into the sanctuary of secret politics. In addition to these pleasures -which he owed to Miranda’s friendship, the good old man swelled with -pride—we already know how little of a philosopher he was—when he was -seen walking side by side with a gentleman of so distinguished an -appearance, the intimate friend of the governor, and the familiar -companion of the highest people of the capital.</p> - -<p>Lucía regarded the visit of the courteous and affable Miranda without -displeasure, and noted with childish curiosity the neatness of his -person, his well-polished shoes, his snowy linen, his scarf-pin, the -curious trinkets attached to his watch-chain, for every -woman—consciously or unconsciously—takes pleasure in these external -adornments. Besides, Miranda possessed the art—and practiced it—of -what we may call winning affection by diverting; he brought the young -girl every day some new trifle, some novelty,—now a chromo, now a -photograph, now rare flowers, now illustrated<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_045" id="page_045"></a>{45}</span> periodicals, now a novel -by Fernan Caballero, or Alarcon,—and the pretty gifts that flowed -through the doors of the antiquated house, messages as it were, from -modern civilization, were so many voices praising the generous giver. -The latter succeeded in bringing his conversation to the level of -Lucía’s understanding, and showed himself very well informed regarding -feminine, or rather infantile matters, and the young girl would -sometimes even consult him with regard to the style in which she should -wear her hair and the make of her gowns, and Miranda would very -seriously make her raise or lower, by two centimeters, the waist of her -gown or her chignon. Incidents like these served to vary a little the -monotony of the life of the Leonese maiden, lending a charm to her -intercourse with her undeclared lover.</p> - -<p>At first it was matter of no little surprise in Leon that the -fashionable Miranda should choose for his companion Señor Joaquin, a man -on whose square shoulders the peasant’s jacket seemed unalterably -riveted and fastened; but gossip was not long in arriving at a rational -explanation of the phenomenon, and Lucía’s companions soon began to -tease her unmercifully about Señor de Miranda’s passion, his attentions, -his presents, and his devotion. She<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_046" id="page_046"></a>{46}</span> listened to them with a tranquil -smile, never blushing, never losing a moment’s sleep on account of it -all; nor did her heart beat a second faster when she heard Miranda’s -ring at the bell, followed by the noise made by his resplendent boots as -he entered the room. As no tender speech of Miranda’s came to confirm -the words of her companions, Lucía continued tranquil and careless as -ever. But Miranda, resolved now to bring his enterprise to a -termination, and thinking that he had spent time enough in paving the -way, one day, after sipping his coffee and reading <i>El Progreso -Nacional</i> in the company of Señor Joaquin, asked the latter in plain -terms for his daughter’s hand.</p> - -<p>The Leonese was struck dumb with amazement and knew not what to say or -do. His dream—Lucía’s entrance, so ardently desired, into the circles -of polite society—was about to be realized. But we must be just to -Señor Joaquin. He did not fail to perceive clearly, in this supreme -moment, certain unfavorable points in the proposed marriage. He saw the -difference in the ages of the prospective bride and bridegroom; he knew -nothing of Miranda’s pecuniary position, while his daughter’s -magnificent dowry was a matter of certainty; in short, he had a vague -intuition of the base<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_047" id="page_047"></a>{47}</span> self-interest on which the demand was founded. -The suitor showed himself a skillful strategist, forestalling suspicion, -in a manner, and anticipating the thoughts of the Leonese.</p> - -<p>“I myself,” he said, “have no fortune. I have my profession—it is -true”; (Miranda, like most other Spaniards, had studied law and obtained -his degree in early manhood) “and if I should some day lose my position -I have energy enough, and more than enough, to work hard and open an -office in Madrid, where I could have a fine practice. I desire ease and -comfort for my wife, but for her alone; as for my own wants, what I have -is sufficient to supply them. The difference in fortune deterred me for -a long time from asking Lucía’s hand, but the sentiment with which so -much beauty and innocence has inspired me was too powerful to resist; -notwithstanding this, however, if Colmenar had not assured me that you -were generous-minded and disinterested, I should never have summoned -resolution——”</p> - -<p>“Señor Colmenar has far too high an opinion of me,” responded the -flattered Leonese; “but those things require consideration. Go take a -little trip——”</p> - -<p>“In a fortnight I will come back for your answer,” responded Miranda, -discreetly, taking his hat to go.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_048" id="page_048"></a>{48}</span></p> - -<p>He passed the fortnight in a Satanic frame of mind, for it was -undoubtedly ridiculous for a man of his pretensions and his rank to have -asked in marriage the daughter of a grocer and to be obliged to wait in -the ante-chamber of the shop, so to say, until they should deign to open -the door to admit him. Meanwhile Señor Joaquin, reading his newspaper -and sipping his coffee alone, missed him greatly, and the idea of the -marriage began to take root in his mind. Every day he thought the friend -of Colmenar more and more desirable for a son-in-law. Notwithstanding -this, however, he did what people usually do who desire to follow their -inclinations without bearing the responsibility of their actions—he -took counsel with some friends in regard to the matter, hoping to -shelter himself under their approbation. In this expectation he was -disappointed. Father Urtazu, who was the first person that he consulted, -exclaimed, with his Navarrese frankness:</p> - -<p>“For the old cat the tender mouse! The sweet-tongued, smooth-faced Don -knows very well what he is about. But don’t you see, unhappy man, that -the old fop might be Lucía’s father? Heaven knows what adventures he has -had in the course of his life! Holy Virgin! who can tell what stories he -may not have hidden away in the pockets of his coat!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_049" id="page_049"></a>{49}</span></p> - -<p>“But what would you do if you were in my case, Father Urtazu?”</p> - -<p>“I? Take a year to think of it instead of a fortnight, and another year -after that, for whatever might chance to turn up.”</p> - -<p>“By the Constitution! You have not observed the merits of Señor Aurelio, -father.”</p> - -<p>“The merits—the merits—pretty merits, indeed! Pish, pish! Unless it be -a merit to go dressed like a dandy, displaying a couple of inches of his -shirt cuffs, and giving himself the airs of a young man, when he is -older-looking than I, for, though it be true that my hair is gray, at -least the tree has not dropped its leaves!”</p> - -<p>And Father Urtazu pulled with energy the stout iron-gray locks that grew -on his temples, bristly as brambles.</p> - -<p>“What does the child herself say about it?” he asked, suddenly.</p> - -<p>“I have not yet spoken to her——”</p> - -<p>“But that is the first thing to be done, unhappy man! Ah, how true is it -that the mind, becomes dull with age. What are you waiting for?”</p> - -<p>Velez de Rada was even yet more decided and uncompromising.</p> - -<p>“Marry your daughter to Miranda!” he cried, raising his eyebrows with an -angry and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_050" id="page_050"></a>{50}</span> indignant gesture. “Are you mad? The finest specimen of the -race that I have met with here for the past ten years. A girl who has -red globules enough in her blood to supply all the anæmic mannikins that -promenade the streets of Madrid! Such a figure! Such a poise! Such -proportions! And to Miranda who——” (here professional discretion -sealed the lips of the physician, and silence reigned in the room).</p> - -<p>“Señor Rada,”—Señor Joaquin, who was a little hard of hearing, began -timidly.</p> - -<p>“Do you know what is the duty of a father who has a daughter like -Lucía?” the physician resumed. “To look, like Diogenes, for a man who, -in constitution and exuberance of vitality, is her equal, and unite -them. Do you consider that, with the indifference that prevails in this -matter of marriage, with the sacrilegious unions we are accustomed to -see between impoverished, sickly, and tainted natures and healthy -natures, it is possible that at no distant date—in three or four -generations more, perhaps—the utter deterioration of the peoples of -Europe will be an assured fact? Or do you think that we can with -impunity transmit to our descendants poison and pus in place of blood?”</p> - -<p>Señor Joaquin left the doctor’s office a little<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_051" id="page_051"></a>{51}</span> frightened, but more -confounded, consoling himself with the thought, however, that the -misfortunes predicted for his race would not happen for a century to -come, at the soonest. The last disappointment that awaited him in his -matrimonial consultations came from a sister of his, a very old woman -who, in her youthful days, had been a laundress, but who was now -supported by her brother. The poor woman, whose deceased husband had led -her a dog’s life, exclaimed, in her husky voice, raising her withered -hands to heaven, and shaking her trembling head:</p> - -<p>“Miranda? Miranda? Some rascal, I suppose; some villain. May a -thunderbolt strike——”</p> - -<p>The Leonese waited to hear no more, and regarded his consultation as at -an end.</p> - -<p>The most important part of the question—Lucía’s opinion—was still -wanting. Her father was racking his brains to find a diplomatic means of -discovering it, when the young girl herself provided him with the -desired opportunity.</p> - -<p>“Papa,” she asked one day, with the utmost innocence, “can Señor Miranda -be ill? He has not been here for several days.”</p> - -<p>Señor Joaquin seized the opportunity and laid before her Miranda’s -proposal. Lucía listened<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_052" id="page_052"></a>{52}</span> attentively, with surprise depicted in her -lustrous eyes.</p> - -<p>“See there!” she said, at last. “Rosarito and Carmela were right, then, -when they declared that Señor Miranda came here on my account. But who -would have imagined it?”</p> - -<p>“Come, child, what answer shall I give the gentleman?” asked the -Leonese, with anxiety.</p> - -<p>“Papa, how should I know? I never suspected that he wanted to marry me.”</p> - -<p>“But, on your part, do you like Señor Miranda?”</p> - -<p>“Like him? That I do. Though he is not so very young, he is still -handsome,” answered Lucía, with the utmost naturalness.</p> - -<p>“And his disposition, his manners?”</p> - -<p>“He is very polite, very amiable.”</p> - -<p>“Is the idea disagreeable to you that he should live here always—with -us?”</p> - -<p>“Not at all. On the contrary, he amuses me greatly when he comes.”</p> - -<p>“Then, by the Constitution! you are in love with Señor Miranda?”</p> - -<p>“See there! I don’t think that, though I have never thought much about -those things, or what it may be like to fall in love; but I imagine it -must be more exciting like, and that it comes to one more of a -sudden—with more violence.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_053" id="page_053"></a>{53}</span></p> - -<p>“But these violent attachments, what need is there of them to be a good -wife?”</p> - -<p>“None, I suppose. To be a good wife, Father Urtazu says, the most -needful thing is the grace of God—and patience, a great deal of -patience.”</p> - -<p>Her father tapped her on the cheek with his broad palm.</p> - -<p>“By the Constitution! you talk like a book. So, then, according to that, -I am going to give Señor Miranda pleasing news!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, father, the matter needs thinking over. Do me the favor to think -over it for me, you; what do I know about marrying, or——”</p> - -<p>“See here, you are now a big girl. You are too much of a simpleton.”</p> - -<p>“No,” said Lucía, fixing her clear eyes on the old man’s face, “it is -not that I am simple, it is that I do not wish to understand—do you -hear? For if I begin to think about those things I shall end by losing -my appetite, and my sleep, and my light-heartedness. To-night, of a -certainty, I shall not close my eyes, and afterward Señor de Rada will -say in Latin that I am ill in mind and that I am going to be ill in -body. I wish to think of nothing but my amusements and my lessons. Of -that other matter, no; for, if I did, my fancy would wander on and on, -and I should pass whole hours<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_054" id="page_054"></a>{54}</span> with my hands crossed before me, sitting -motionless as a post. The truth is that when my thoughts run that way I -fancy there is not a man in all the world to equal the lover I picture -to myself; who, for that matter, is not in this world,—don’t imagine -it,—but far away in distant palaces and gardens. But I don’t know how -to explain myself. Can you understand what I mean?”</p> - -<p>“Have they been putting the notion into your head of becoming a nun like -Agueda, the daughter of the directress of the seminary?” cried Señor -Joaquin, angrily.</p> - -<p>“Oh, no, indeed!” murmured Lucía, whose glowing and animated face looked -like a newly opened rose. “I would not be a nun for a kingdom. I have no -vocation for that kind of life.”</p> - -<p>“It is settled”; said Señor Joaquin to himself; “the pot begins to boil; -the girl must be married.” And he added aloud: “If that is the case, -then, child, I think you should not scorn Señor de Miranda. He is a -perfect gentleman, and for politics—what an understanding he has! He is -not displeasing to you?”</p> - -<p>“I have said already that he is not,” replied Lucía, in more tranquil -tones.</p> - -<p>That same afternoon the Leonese himself took this satisfactory answer to -Miranda.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_055" id="page_055"></a>{55}</span></p> - -<p>Colmenar wrote to Señor Joaquin a letter that was not without its -effect. And before many days had elapsed Miranda said to his future -father-in-law, in a pleased and confidential tone:</p> - -<p>“Our friend Colmenar will be <i>padrino</i>; he delegates his duties to you, -and sends this for the bride.”</p> - -<p>And he took from its satin-lined case a pearl-handled fan, covered with -Brussels lace, light as the sea-foam, that a breath sufficed to put in -motion.</p> - -<p>To describe Señor Joaquin’s gratification and pride would be a task -beyond the power of speech. It seemed to him as if the personality of -the famous political leader had suddenly, and by some occult means, -become merged in his own; he fancied himself metamorphosed, become one -with his idol, and he was almost beside himself with joy; and any doubts -that might still have lingered in his mind, with regard to the -approaching nuptials, vanished. Unwilling to be behind Colmenar in -generosity, in addition to settling a liberal allowance on Lucía, he -presented her with a large sum of money for the expenses of the wedding -journey, whose route, traced by Miranda, included Paris, and certain -beneficial mineral springs prescribed for him some time before by Rada, -as a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_056" id="page_056"></a>{56}</span> sovereign remedy in bilious disorders. The idea of the journey -appeared somewhat strange to Señor Joaquin. When he married, the only -excursion he made was from the porter’s lodge to the grocery. But since -his daughter was making her entrance into a higher social sphere, it was -necessary to conform to the usages of her new rank, however singular -they might appear. Miranda had declared this to be so and Señor Joaquin -had agreed with him; mediocre natures are always ready to yield to the -authority of those who care to take the trouble to manage them.</p> - -<p>Any one with the slightest knowledge of provincial towns can easily -picture to himself how much comment and criticism, open and concealed, -were aroused in Leon by the marriage of the distinguished Miranda with -the low-born heiress of the ex-grocer. It was criticised without measure -or judgment. Some censured the vanity of the old man who, tired at the -end of his days of his humble station, desired to bestow upon his -daughter the style and rank of a marchioness (there were not a few for -whom Miranda served as the traditional type of the marquis). Others -criticised the bridegroom as a hungry Madridlenian, who had come to Leon -with a superabundance of airs and an empty purse, in order to free -himself from his embarrassments<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_057" id="page_057"></a>{57}</span> by means of Señor Joaquin’s dollars. -Others again described satirically the appearance the country girl, -Lucía, would make when she should wear for the first time a hat and a -train and carry a parasol. But these criticisms were disarmed of their -sting by the proud satisfaction of Señor Joaquin, the childish frivolity -of the bride, and the courteous and well-bred reserve of the bridegroom. -Lucía, true to her purpose of not thinking of the marriage itself, -busied her thoughts with the nuptial accessories and described to her -friends with satisfaction the proposed journey, repeating the euphonious -names of cities that seemed to her enchanted regions,—Paris, Lyons, -Marseilles,—where the girl fancied the sky must be of a different -color, and the sunshine of a different nature, from the sunshine and the -sky of her native village. Miranda, by means of a loan he had -negotiated, purposing to repay it afterward with his generous -father-in-law’s money, ordered from the capital exquisite presents—a -set of diamonds and a box filled with elegant articles of wearing -apparel, the work of a celebrated man-milliner. Lucía, who after all was -a woman, and to whom all these splendors were new, more than once, like -Faust’s Marguerite, pleased herself by trying on the precious baubles -before the looking-glass, shaking her head to make the diamonds in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_058" id="page_058"></a>{58}</span> -earrings, and in the flowers scattered among her dark tresses, flash -back the light more brightly. In this way women amuse themselves when -they are young and sometimes long after they have ceased to be young. -But Lucía was not to preserve her youth forever.</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">Meantime</span> the train continued on its way. The tears of the bride had -ceased to flow, leaving scarcely a trace behind them, even in reddened -eyelids. So it is with the tears we shed in youth—tears without -bitterness that, like a gentle dew, refresh instead of scorching. She -began to be interested by the stations which they passed along the route -and the people that looked in curiously at the door of the compartment. -She put a thousand questions to Miranda, who explained everything to -her, sparing no effort to amuse her, and varying his explanations with -an occasional tender speech which the young girl heard without emotion, -thinking it the most natural thing in the world that a husband should -manifest affection for his wife, and betraying by not the lightest -heaving of the chest the sweet confusion that love awakens. Miranda once -more found himself in his element, tears having<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_059" id="page_059"></a>{59}</span> ceased and serenity and -good-humor being restored. Pleased with the result, he even thanked in -his own mind one of the causes that had contributed to it—an old woman -carrying an enormous basket on her arm, who slipped into the compartment -a few stations before Palencia, and whose grotesque appearance helped to -call back a smile to Lucía’s lips.</p> - -<p>On reaching Palencia, the old woman left the compartment, and a -well-dressed man with a serious expression of countenance silently -entered.</p> - -<p>“He looks like papa,” said Lucía in a low voice to Miranda. “Poor papa!” -And this time a sigh only was the tribute paid to filial affection.</p> - -<p>Night was approaching; the train moved slowly, as if fearing to trust -itself to the rails, and Miranda observed that they were greatly behind -time.</p> - -<p>“We shall arrive at Venta de Baños,” he said, turning the leaf of the -Guide, “much later than the usual time.”</p> - -<p>“And in Venta de Baños——” began Lucía.</p> - -<p>“We can sup—if they allow us time to do so. Under ordinary -circumstances there is not only time to sup but also to rest a little, -while waiting for the other train, the express, which is to take us to -France.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_060" id="page_060"></a>{60}</span></p> - -<p>“To France!” Lucía clapped her hands as if she had just heard a -delightful and unexpected piece of intelligence. Then, with a thoughtful -air, she added gravely. “Well, for my part, I should like to have some -supper.”</p> - -<p>“We shall sup there, of course; at least I hope the train will stop long -enough to allow us to do so. You have an appetite, eh? The fact is that -you have eaten scarcely anything to-day.”</p> - -<p>“With the hurry and excitement, and attending to the serving of the -chocolate, and grief at leaving poor papa and seeing him so -downcast—and——”</p> - -<p>“And what else?”</p> - -<p>“And—well, one does not get married every day and it is only natural -that it should upset one a little—it is a very serious thing—. Father -Urtazu warned me of that, so that last night I did not close my eyes and -I counted the hours, and the half hours, and the quarters, by the -cuckoo-clock in the reception-room, and at every stroke I heard, tam, -tam, ‘Stop, you wretch,’ I cried, ‘and let me cover my face with the bed -clothes and go to sleep, and then wake me if you can.’ But it was all of -no use. Now that it is over, it is just like jumping a wide ditch—you -give the jump, and you think no more about it. It is over.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_061" id="page_061"></a>{61}</span></p> - -<p>Miranda laughed; sitting beside his bride, looking at her closely, she -seemed to him very lovely, transformed almost, by her traveling dress -and the animation that flushed her cheeks and brightened her fresh -complexion. Lucía, too, began to return to the unrestraint of her former -intercourse with Miranda, somewhat interrupted of late by the novelty of -their position toward each other.</p> - -<p>“Don’t laugh at my nonsense, Señor de Miranda,” murmured the young girl.</p> - -<p>“Do me the favor not to misunderstand me, child,” he answered. “And my -name is Aurelio, and you should address me as <i>thou</i> not <i>you</i>.”</p> - -<p>The whole of this dialogue had passed in an undertone, the interlocutors -bending slightly toward each other and speaking in low, almost -lover-like accents. The presence of a witness to their conversation, in -the person of their fellow-traveler, who leaned back silently in his -corner, by the restraint it imposed, imparted to their whispered words a -certain air of timidity and mystery which lent them a meaning they did -not in themselves possess. The same words spoken aloud would have seemed -simple and indifferent enough. And so it often is with words—they -derive their value not from what they express in themselves<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_062" id="page_062"></a>{62}</span> but from -the tone in which they are uttered and the relation they bear to other -words, like the pieces of stone employed in mosaic that, according to -the position in which they are set, represent now a tree, now a house, -now a human countenance.</p> - -<p>The train at last stopped at Venta de Baños, and the lamps of the -station glared upon them like fiery eyes through the light mist of the -tranquil autumn night.</p> - -<p>“Is it here—is it here we are to stop for supper?” asked Lucía, whose -appetite and curiosity were both alike sharpened by the event, new for -her, of supping at the restaurant of a railway station.</p> - -<p>“Here”; answered Miranda, speaking much less cheerfully than before. -“Now we shall have to change trains. If I had the power, I would alter -all this. There can be nothing more annoying. You have to hunt up your -luggage so that it may not be carried off to Madrid—you have to move -all your traps——”</p> - -<p>As he spoke, he took down from the rack the rug, valise, and bundle of -umbrellas, but Lucía, youthful and vigorous, daughter of the people as -she was, snatched from his hand the bag, which was the heaviest of the -articles, and leaping lightly as a bird to the ground, ran toward the -restaurant.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_063" id="page_063"></a>{63}</span></p> - -<p>They seated themselves at the table set for travelers; a table tasteless -in its appointments, that bore the stamp of the vulgar promiscuousness -of the guests who succeeded one another at it without intermission. It -was long and was covered with oilcloth and surrounded, like a hen by her -chickens, by smaller tables, on which were services for tea, coffee, and -chocolate. The cups, resting mouth downward on the saucers, seemed -waiting patiently for the friendly hand which should restore them to -their natural position; the lumps of sugar heaped on metal salvers -looked like building materials—blocks of white marble hewn for some -Lilliputian palace. The tea-pots displayed their shining paunches and -the milk-jugs protruded their lips, like badly brought-up children. The -monotony that reigned in the long hall was oppressive. Price-lists, -maps, and advertisements hanging from the walls, lent the apartment a -certain official air. The end of the room, occupied by a tall counter -covered with rows of plates, groups of freshly washed glasses, -fruit-dishes in which the pyramids of apples and pears looked pale -beside the bright green of the moss around them. On the principal table, -in two blue porcelain vases, some drooping flowers—late roses and -odorless sunflowers—were slowly withering. The travelers<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_064" id="page_064"></a>{64}</span> came in one -after another and took their places, their features drawn with sleep and -fatigue, the men with their traveling caps pulled down over their brows, -the women with their heads covered with woolen hoods, their figures -concealed by long gray water-proof cloaks, their hair disordered, their -cuffs and collars crumpled. Lucía, with her smiling face, her -well-fitting jacket and her fresh and natural complexion, formed a -striking contrast to the women around her, and it seemed as if the crude -yellow light of the gas-jets had concentrated itself above her head, -leaving the faces of the other guests in a turbid half-light. They were -served the invariable restaurant dinner—vegetable-soup, broiled chops, -sapless wings of chickens, warmed-over fish, slices of cold ham, thin as -wafers, cheese, and fruits. Miranda ate little, rejecting in turn every -dish offered him, and, asking in a loud and authoritative voice for a -bottle of Sherry and another of Bordeaux, he poured out some of each of -the wines for Lucía, explaining to her their particular qualities. Lucía -ate voraciously, giving full rein to her appetite, like a child on a -holiday. With each new dish was renewed the enjoyment that a stomach -unspoiled and accustomed to simple food experiences in the slightest -culinary novelty. She sipped the Bordeaux, clicking<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_065" id="page_065"></a>{65}</span> her tongue against -the roof of her mouth, and declaring that it smelled and tasted like the -violets that Velez de Rada used sometimes to bring her. She held up the -liquid topaz of the sherry to the light and closed her eyes as she drank -it, declaring that it tickled her throat. But her great orgy, her -forbidden fruit, was the coffee. We, the faithful and exact chroniclers -of Señor Joaquin, the Leonese, have never been able to discover the -secret and potent reason which had always made him prohibit the use of -coffee to his daughter, as if it were some poisonous drug or pernicious -philter; a prohibition all the more inexplicable since we are already -aware of the inordinate passion for coffee cherished by our good -Colmenarist himself. Lucía, forbidden to taste the black infusion, of -which she knew her father swallowed copious draughts every day, had -taken it into her head that the prohibited beverage was nectar itself, -the very ambrosia of the gods, and she would sometimes say to Rosarito -or Carmen, “Wait until I am married, and I will drink as much coffee as -I please. You shall see if I don’t.”</p> - -<p>The coffee of the restaurant of Venta de Baños was neither very pure nor -very aromatic, and yet when for the first time Lucía introduced the -little spoon filled with the liquid<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_066" id="page_066"></a>{66}</span> between her lips, when she tasted -its slight bitterness and inhaled the warm fumes rising from it, she -felt a profound thrill run through her frame, something like an -expansion of her being, as if all her senses had opened simultaneously -like the buds of a tree bursting into bloom at once. The glass of -Chartreuse, sipped slowly, left in her mouth a penetrating and -strengthening odor, a slight and pleasant thirst, extinguished by the -last sips of the coffee sweetened by the powdered sugar that lay in -little eddies at the bottom of the cup.</p> - -<p>“If papa were to see me now,” she murmured, “what would he say?”</p> - -<p>Miranda and Lucía were the last to rise from the table. The other -passengers were already scattered about in groups on the platform, -waiting to obtain seats in the express which had just arrived and which -stood, vibrating still with its recent motion, in front of the railway -station.</p> - -<p>“Come,” said Miranda, “the train is going to start. I don’t know whether -we shall be able to find a vacant compartment or not.”</p> - -<p>They began their peregrination, passing through all the coaches in turn -in search of a vacant compartment. They found one at last, not without -some difficulty, and took possession of it, throwing their parcels on -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_067" id="page_067"></a>{67}</span> cushions. The opaque light of the lantern, filtering through the -blue silk curtain, the dull, uniform, gray hue of the covers, the -silence, the air of repose succeeding the glare and confusion of the -restaurant, invited to rest and sleep, and Lucía unfastened the elastic -of her hat, which she took off and placed in the rack.</p> - -<p>“I feel dizzy,” she said, passing her hand over her forehead. “My head -aches a little—I am warm.”</p> - -<p>“The wines, the coffee,” responded Miranda, gaily. “Rest for a moment -while I go to inventory the luggage. It is an indispensable formality -here.” Saying this, he lifted one of the cushions of the coach, placed -the rolled-up rug under it for a pillow, and raised the arm dividing the -two seats, saying:</p> - -<p>“There, you have as comfortable a bed as you could wish for.”</p> - -<p>Lucía drew from her pocket a little silk handkerchief neatly folded, -spread it lightly over the cushion to prevent her head coming in contact -with the soiled cover, and lay down on her improvised couch.</p> - -<p>“If I should fall asleep,” she said to Miranda, “waken me when we come -to anything worth seeing.”</p> - -<p>“Depend upon me to do so,” answered Miranda. “I will be back directly.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_068" id="page_068"></a>{68}</span></p> - -<p>Lucía remained alone in the compartment, her eyes closed, all her -faculties steeped in a pleasant drowsiness. Whether it were owing to the -motion of the train, the sleeplessness of the previous night, or her -invariable habit in Leon of retiring to rest at this hour—half-past -ten—or all these things together, certain it is that sleep fell upon -her like a leaden mantle. The tension of her nerves relaxed, and that -indescribable sensation of rhythmic warmth, which announces that the -circulation is becoming normal and that sleep is approaching, ran -through her veins. Lucía crossed herself between two yawns, murmured a -<i>Paternoster</i> and an <i>Ave Maria</i>, and then began to recite a prayer, in -execrable verse, which she had learned from her prayer-book, beginning -thus:</p> - -<div class="poetry"><div class="poem"> -Of the little child,<br /> -Innocent and simple,<br /> -Lord, just and merciful,<br /> -Grant me the sleep.<br /> -</div></div> - -<p>All of which operations, if they were performed for the purpose of -driving away sleep, had the effect, rather, of inducing it. Lucía -exhaled a gentle sigh, her hand fell powerless by her side, and she sank -into a sleep as peaceful and profound as if she were reposing on the -most luxurious of couches.</p> - -<p>Miranda, meanwhile, was engaged in the important<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_069" id="page_069"></a>{69}</span> task of making an -inventory of the luggage, which was by no means scant, consisting of two -large trunks, a hat-box, and a leather case designed to preserve smooth -and unwrinkled the bosoms of his dress-shirts. He had no other resource -than to wait patiently for the turn of the luggage marked “A. M.,” -standing in front of the long counter covered with trunks, boxes, and -valises of every description, to which the porters of the station, -bending under their burden, the veins on their necks standing out like -cords with the exertion, were constantly adding. When they reached the -counter, they hastened to throw down their load with brutal -recklessness, making the boards of the trunks creak and their iron bands -squeak. At last Miranda’s luggage was dispatched, and his check in his -pocket, he jumped from the platform to the track and went in search of -his compartment. It was no easy matter to find it, and he opened several -doors in turn before he reached his own. Sometimes a head would appear -at the opening and a harsh voice say, “It is full.” In others of the -compartments he caught sight, through the half-open door, of confused -forms, people huddled up in corners, or lying stretched on the cushions. -At last he found his own compartment.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_070" id="page_070"></a>{70}</span></p> - -<p>The form of Lucía, extended on the improvised bed, completed the picture -of peace and quietude presented by this moving bed-room. Miranda gazed -at his bride for a while, without any of the sentimental or poetic -thoughts which the situation might seem to suggest, occurring to his -mind.</p> - -<p>“She is undoubtedly a fine girl,” was the reflection of this man of -mature years and experience. “And, above all, her skin has the down of -the apricot while it still hangs upon the tree. It would almost seem as -if that devil of a Colmenar knew things by intuition. Another would have -given me the millions, but with some virgin and martyr of forty. But -this is syrup spread on pie, as the saying is.”</p> - -<p>While Miranda was thus commenting on his good fortune, he took off his -hat and put his hand into the pocket of his overcoat to take from it his -red and black checked traveling-cap. There are movements which when we -execute them make us think instinctively of other movements. The arm of -Miranda, as it descended, was conscious of a void, the want of something -which had before disturbed him, and the owner of the arm becoming aware -of this gave a sudden start and began to examine his person from head to -foot. Hastily and with trembling hands he touched in turn his<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_071" id="page_071"></a>{71}</span> breast -and waist without finding what he was in search of, and angrily and -impatiently he gave utterance to stifled imprecations and round oaths; -then he struck his forgetful brow as if to compel remembrance by the -shock; memory, thus evoked, at last responded. At supper he had removed -the satchel, which had disturbed him while he was eating, from his -person and placed it on an empty chair at his side. It must be there -still, but the cars would start in a few minutes. The smoke-stacks were -already puffing and snorting like angry cats, and two or three shrill -whistles announced the near departure of the train. Miranda was for a -moment undecided what to do.</p> - -<p>“Lucía,” he said aloud.</p> - -<p>The only answer was the deep and regular breathing of the young girl, -indicating heavy and profound sleep.</p> - -<p>Then he took a sudden resolution, and with an agility worthy of a youth -of twenty, leaped to the ground and ran in the direction of the -restaurant. A satchel like his, filled with money in its various and -most seductive forms—gold, silver, bills, letters of exchange—was not -to be lost in this way. Miranda flew.</p> - -<p>Most of the lights in the restaurant were by this time extinguished; one -lamp only still burned in each of the four-armed chandeliers;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_072" id="page_072"></a>{72}</span> the -waiters sat chatting together in corners or carried lazily to the -kitchen obelisks of greasy plates and mountains of soiled napkins. On -the large table, now almost empty, the two tall vases stood in solitary -state, and in the dim light the white expanse of the table cloth had the -lugubrious aspect of a winding sheet. On the counter a kerosene lamp -shed around a circumscribed circle of yellowish light, by which the -master of the establishment—the marble slab serving him for a desk—was -making entries in a large account book. Miranda, still under the -influence of his recent fright, went up to him quite close, touching him -almost.</p> - -<p>“Have you noticed—” he began breathless—“has any of the waiters -found——”</p> - -<p>“A satchel? Yes, Señor.”</p> - -<p>The friend of Colmenar once more breathed freely.</p> - -<p>“Is it yours?” asked the landlord, suspiciously.</p> - -<p>“Yes, it is mine. Give it to me at once; the train is just going to -start.”</p> - -<p>“Have the goodness to give me some details that may serve to identify -it.”</p> - -<p>“It is of Russian leather—dark red—with plated clasps.”</p> - -<p>“That is enough,” said the landlord, taking from a drawer in the counter -the precious<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_073" id="page_073"></a>{73}</span> article and delivering it without demur to its lawful -owner. The latter, without stopping to examine it, slung it hastily over -his shoulder, plunged his hand into his waiscoat pocket and drawing out -a handful of silver coins, scattered them over the marble counter, -saying, “For the waiters.” The action was so rapid that some of the -coins, rolling about, danced around for a moment over the smooth surface -and then fell flat on the marble with a ringing sound. Before the -silvery vibration had ceased, Miranda was hurrying to the train. In his -confusion he missed the door.</p> - -<p>“The train is going to start, Señor,” cried the waiters. “This way—this -way!”</p> - -<p>He rushed excitedly toward the platform; the train, with the treacherous -slowness of a snake, began to move slowly along the rails. Miranda shook -his clenched hand at it and a feeling of cold and impotent rage took -possession of his soul. In this way he lost a second, a precious second. -The progress of the train grew gradually quicker, as a swing set in -motion describes at every moment wider curves and flies more rapidly -through the air. Precipitately and without seeing where he went, Miranda -jumped to the track to make his way to the first-class carriages which, -as if in mockery, defiled at this moment past his<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_074" id="page_074"></a>{74}</span> eyes. He tried to -leap on the steps, but missed his footing and fell with violence to the -ground, experiencing, as he fell, a sharp and sudden pain in the right -foot. He remained on the ground in a half-sitting posture, uttering one -of those imprecations which, in Spain, the men who most pride themselves -on their culture and good-breeding are not ashamed to borrow from the -vocabulary of thieves and murderers. The train thundered past, majestic -and swift, the black engine sending forth sparks of fire that seemed -like fantastic sprites dancing about among the nocturnal shadows.</p> - -<p>A few moments after Miranda had left the train to go in search of his -satchel, the door of the compartment in which Lucía was asleep was -opened and a man entered. He carried in his hand a portmanteau, which he -threw down on the nearest cushion. He then closed the door, seated -himself in a corner and pressed his forehead against the glass of the -window, cold as ice and moist with the night dew. In the darkness -outside nothing could be seen but the indistinct bulk of the platform, -the lantern of the guard as he walked up and down, and the melancholy -gas lights scattered here and there.</p> - -<p>When the train started, a few sparks, rapid as exhalations, passed -before the glass against which the newcomer was leaning his forehead.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_075" id="page_075"></a>{75}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> latter, when tired of looking out into the darkness, he turned his -gaze on the interior of the compartment, thought it strange enough that -the girl who lay sleeping there before him, so much at her ease, should -have come here instead of going into one of the compartments reserved -for ladies. And to this reflection succeeded an idea which contracted -his brows with a frown and curved his lips in a disdainful smile. A -second glance which he cast at Lucía, however, inspired him with more -charitable thoughts. The light of the lamp, whose blue shade he drew -aside in order to obtain a better view of the sleeping girl, fell -directly upon her, but the flame flickered with the motion of the train, -now leaving her form in shadow, now illuminating it brightly. The light -brought into relief the salient points of her face and her form. The -forehead, white as a jasmine flower, the rosy cheeks, the rounded chin, -the slightly parted lips giving egress to the soft breath and disclosing -to view the pearly teeth, gleamed, as the strong clear light fell upon -them; one arm supported her head in the attitude of an antique -bacchante, the whiteness of the hand contrasting with the blackness of -the hair, while the other hand,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_076" id="page_076"></a>{76}</span> also ungloved, hung by her side in the -abandonment of sleep, the veins slightly swollen from the posture, which -caused the blood to flow downward, the wedding-ring gleaming on the -little finger. Every time the form of Lucía came within the luminous -zone, the chased metal buttons cast forth golden gleams, flashing red -over the maroon cloth of the jacket; and here and there, beneath the -pleated flounce bordering the skirt, could be caught glimpses of the -lace of the petticoats and of the exquisite bronze leather shoe with its -rounded heel. From the whole person of the sleeping girl there exhaled -an indescribable aroma of freshness and purity, a breath of -virtuousness, as it were, that could be perceived leagues away. This was -not the bold adventuress, the low-flying butterfly in search of a light -at which to scorch its wings; and the traveler, as this reflection -passed through his mind, wondered at this young creature sleeping -tranquilly here alone, exposed as she was to the risk of insult and to -all sorts of disagreeable accidents, and he recalled to mind a picture -he had once seen in a magnificent copy of illustrated fables -representing Fortune awakening the careless boy sleeping on the brink of -the well. It suddenly occurred to him that perhaps his -traveling-companion was some English or American miss who<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_077" id="page_077"></a>{77}</span> carried in -her pocket as escort and attendant a six-barreled revolver. But although -Lucía was as fresh and robust as a Niobe—a type very common among -Yankee girls—in certain details the Spanish type was so plainly visible -that, as the traveler contemplated her, he was constrained to say to -himself, “She does not bear the remotest resemblance to a foreigner.” He -looked at her for some time longer, as if seeking in her appearance the -solution of the mystery, then, slightly shrugging his shoulders as if to -say, “After all, what does it matter to me,” he took a book from his -portmanteau and began to read; but the wavering light making the letters -dance on the white page at every jolt of the carriage, he soon closed -the book again. He then pressed his forehead once more against the cold -window-pane and thus remained, motionless and lost in thought.</p> - -<p>The train hurried forward on its course, swaying and leaning to one side -occasionally, stopping only for a moment at the stations, whose names -the officials called out in gutteral and melancholy tones. After each -stop the train, as if it had gathered fresh force from the momentary -rest, hurried forward with greater speed than before, like a steed that -feels the spur. Owing to the difference of temperature between the outer -air and the air of the carriage,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_078" id="page_078"></a>{78}</span> the window-pane was covered with a -lace-like mist, and the traveler, becoming tired perhaps of dissolving -it with his breath, devoted himself anew to the observation of the -sleeping girl and, as the slow hours passed, yielding to an involuntary -feeling which appeared ridiculous to himself, he grew more and more -impatient, indignant, almost, to see the unruffled serenity of this -insolent sleep; and he could not help wishing, in spite of himself, that -his fellow-traveler might awake, if only to give him some opportunity of -gratifying his curiosity concerning her. Perhaps there was no slight -degree of envy mingled with this impatience. What delightful and -desirable sleep! What beneficent repose! It was the untroubled sleep of -youth, of innocent girlhood, of a tranquil conscience, of a rich and -happy temperament, of health. Far from being disfigured, far from -showing that cadaverical hollowness, that contraction of the corners of -the mouth, that species of general distortion, which betrays in the -countenance whose muscles are no longer carefully adjusted to an -artificial expression, the corroding cares of sleepless hours, in -Lucía’s face shone the peacefulness which forms so large a part of the -charm of sleeping childhood. Once, however, she softly sighed. The cold -night air penetrated through the crevices of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_079" id="page_079"></a>{79}</span> the closed windows. The -traveler rose, and without observing that there was a bundle of shawls -in the rack, opened his own portmanteau and taking out a fine Scotch -woolen plaid spread it gently over the form of the sleeping girl. The -latter turned slightly, without wakening, her head remaining in the -shadow.</p> - -<p>Outside, the telegraph posts looked like a row of specters, the trees -shook their disordered locks, agitating their branches that seemed like -arms stretched out in supplication; here and there a gray house rose -solitary in the landscape, like the immense head of some granite -sphinx—all confused, vague, blurred in outline, shifting as the clouds -of smoke from the engine that enveloped the train like the breath of the -fiery dragon enveloping his prey. Inside the carriage reigned unbroken -silence; it seemed like an enchanted region. The traveler drew the blue -curtain before the lamp, leaned back in a corner, closed his eyes and -stretching out his legs rested his feet against the seat in front. In -this way station after station was passed. He dozed a little and then, -astonished at the prolonged sleep of Lucía, rose, fearing lest she might -have fainted. He went forward and leaned over her, and, having convinced -himself of the peaceful and regular breathing of the young girl, -returned to his seat.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_080" id="page_080"></a>{80}</span></p> - -<p>A diffused and pale light began to shed itself over the landscape. -Already could be discerned the shapes of mountains, trees, and huts. -Night, retiring, swept away in her train the trembling stars, as a -sultana gathers up her veil broidered with silvery arabesques. The -slender circle of the waning moon grew pale and vanished in the sky, -whose dark blue changed to the opaque blue of porcelain. A chill ran -through the veins of the traveler, who pulled up the collar of his -overcoat and instinctively stretched his feet toward the heater in whose -metallic bosom the water danced with a gurgling sound. Suddenly the door -of the compartment was opened and a morose-looking man, wearing a hat -with a gilt band, and carrying in his hand a sort of tongs, or punch, -entered hastily.</p> - -<p>“Your tickets, Señor,” he cried, in short, imperious tones.</p> - -<p>The traveler put his hand into his waistcoat pocket and drew from it a -piece of yellow cardboard.</p> - -<p>“The other, the ticket of the lady. Eh, Señora, Señora, your ticket!”</p> - -<p>Lucía was now partially awake, and throwing down the Scotch plaid she -sat upright and began to rub her eyes with her knuckles, like a sleepy -child. Her hair was disordered and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_081" id="page_081"></a>{81}</span> flattened against the flushed cheek -on which she had been lying, a loosened braid hung over one shoulder -and, unbraided at the end, floated in three strands. Her crushed white -petticoat rose rebellious under her cloth skirt, the string of one of -her shoes had become untied and strayed over her instep. Lucía looked -around her with wandering and uncertain gaze; she seemed serious and -surprised.</p> - -<p>“The ticket, Señora, the ticket!” the official continued to cry, in no -very amiable tone of voice.</p> - -<p>“The ticket?” she repeated. And she looked around again, unable to shake -off completely the stupor of sleep.</p> - -<p>“Yes, Señora, the ticket,” repeated the official, still less amiably -than before.</p> - -<p>“Miranda! Miranda!” cried Lucía at last, linking together her scattered -recollections of the day before. And she looked anxiously on all sides, -amazed at not seeing Miranda in the compartment.</p> - -<p>“Señor de Miranda has my ticket,” she said, addressing the official, as -if the latter must of necessity know who Miranda was.</p> - -<p>The official, puzzled, turned toward the traveler, his right hand -extended for the ticket.</p> - -<p>“My name is not Miranda,” said the latter<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_082" id="page_082"></a>{82}</span> quietly. And as he saw the -angry official again turn rudely to Lucía, he said to her.</p> - -<p>“Are you traveling alone, Señora?”</p> - -<p>“No, Señor,” answered Lucía, now greatly distressed. “Of course I am not -traveling alone; I am traveling with Don Aurelio Miranda, my husband,” -and as she pronounced the words, she smiled involuntarily at the new and -curious sound of the expression, uttered by her lips.</p> - -<p>“She seems very young to be married,” said the traveler to himself; but, -remembering the ring he had seen gleaming on her finger, he asked aloud:</p> - -<p>“Where did you take the train?”</p> - -<p>“At Leon. But is not Miranda here? Holy Virgin! Señor, tell me—allow -me——”</p> - -<p>And forgetting that the train was in motion she was going to open the -door hastily when the official interposed, seizing her by the arm with -force.</p> - -<p>“Eh, Señora,” he said in a rude voice, “do you want to kill yourself? -Are you mad? And let us end this at once. I want the ticket.”</p> - -<p>“I haven’t it. How can I give it to you if I haven’t it?” exclaimed -Lucía, greatly distressed, her eyes filling with tears.</p> - -<p>“You will have to buy one at the next station<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_083" id="page_083"></a>{83}</span> then, and pay a fine,” -growled the official, more angrily than before.</p> - -<p>“Don’t trouble the lady any more,” said the traveler, interfering very -opportunely, for tears as big as filberts now began to course down -Lucía’s cheeks. “Insolent!” he continued angrily. “Do you not see that -some unforeseen accident has happened to this lady? Come, take yourself -off or——”</p> - -<p>“But you see, sir, we have our duties to consider, our -responsibilities——”</p> - -<p>“Say no more, but go. Take this for the lady’s fare.”</p> - -<p>As he spoke, he put his right hand into the pocket of his overcoat and -drew from it some greasy-looking papers of a greenish color, the sight -of which at once restored serenity to the frowning brow of the official -who, as he took the proffered bill, lowered by two or three tones the -pitch of his gruff voice.</p> - -<p>“I beg your pardon,” he said, placing it in his soiled and well-worn -pocket-book. “Your word would have been sufficient. I did not recognize -you at first, but I recollect your face very well now, and I remember -having often seen both you and your father, Señor de Artegui——”</p> - -<p>“Well then,” rejoined the traveler, “if you know me, you know that I am -not in the habit<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_084" id="page_084"></a>{84}</span> of wasting words. Go.” And pushing the man out of the -compartment, he closed the door behind him. But he opened it again -quickly and calling to the official, who was running with incredible -agility along the narrow ledge beside the steps, he cried to him in -sonorous tones:</p> - -<p>“Hist, hist! If you should come across a gentleman called Miranda in any -of the carriages, let him know that his wife is here.”</p> - -<p>This done he seated himself again in his corner, and lowering the window -eagerly drew in the vivifying morning air. Lucía, drying her eyes, which -had twice that day shed unaccustomed tears, felt at the same time -extraordinary uneasiness and an inexplicable sense of contentment. The -action of the traveler caused her the profound joy which generous -actions are apt to awaken in souls yet unspoiled by contact with the -world. She ardently desired to thank him, but she could not summon -courage to do so. He, meantime, sat watching the sunrise with as much -intentness as if it were the most novel and entertaining spectacle in -the world. At last the young girl, conquering her timidity, with -trembling lips said the most stupid thing which it was possible, under -the circumstances, to say (as usually happens when one prepares a speech -for any occasion beforehand):<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_085" id="page_085"></a>{85}</span></p> - -<p>“Señor—I cannot pay you what I owe you until Miranda comes. He has the -money——”</p> - -<p>“I do not lend money,” answered the traveler quietly, without turning -around, or removing his gaze from the eastern sky, where dawn was -breaking through light clouds touched with gold and crimson.</p> - -<p>“Well, but it is not just that you should—in this way—without knowing -who I am——”</p> - -<p>The traveler did not answer.</p> - -<p>“But tell me, for Heaven’s sake!” resumed Lucía, in the silvery tones of -her infantile voice, “what can have become of Miranda? What do you think -of the situation in which I am placed? What am I to do now?”</p> - -<p>The traveler turned round in his seat and confronted Lucía with the air -of a man who finds himself forced to take part in a matter that does not -concern him but who resigns himself to the necessity. The fresh tones of -Lucía’s voice suggested to him the same reflection as before:</p> - -<p>“It seems impossible that she should be married. Any one would think she -was still in the school-room.” And aloud he said:</p> - -<p>“Let us see, Señora. Where did you part from your husband? Do you -remember?”</p> - -<p>“I cannot tell. I fell asleep.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_086" id="page_086"></a>{86}</span></p> - -<p>“And where did you fall asleep? Can you not remember that either?”</p> - -<p>“At the station where we took supper. At Venta de Baños. Miranda got out -to see to the luggage, telling me to rest awhile—to try to sleep——”</p> - -<p>“And you tried to some purpose!” murmured the traveler, with a slight -smile. “You have slept ever since—five hours at a stretch.”</p> - -<p>“But—I got up so early yesterday. I was worn out.”</p> - -<p>And Lucía rubbed her eyes as if they were still heavy with sleep. Then -taking from her hair two or three hair-pins, she fastened back the -rebellious braids with them.</p> - -<p>“You say,” questioned the traveler, “that you have come from Leon?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Señor. The wedding was at eleven in the morning, but I had to get -up early to arrange about the refreshments,” said Lucía, with the -simplicity of a girl unaccustomed to social usages. “It was half-past -three when we left Leon.”</p> - -<p>The traveler looked at her, beginning to understand the mystery. The -girl gave him the key to the woman.</p> - -<p>“I might have known it,” he said to himself. “You traveled together as -far as Venta de Baños?” he asked Lucía aloud.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_087" id="page_087"></a>{87}</span></p> - -<p>“Yes, yes; we took supper there. Miranda, no doubt, stayed there to -check the luggage.”</p> - -<p>“Impossible. The operation of checking the luggage is always over in -time for the passengers to take the train. Some unforeseen accident, -some mischance must have occurred.”</p> - -<p>“Do you think—tell me frankly—that he could have left me on purpose?”</p> - -<p>So childlike and real a grief was depicted on Lucía’s countenance as she -uttered these words, that the serious lips of the traveler were once -more involuntarily curved in a smile.</p> - -<p>“Just think of it!” she added, nodding her head gravely and -thoughtfully. “And I, who fancied that when a woman married she had some -one to keep her company and to take care of her! Some one to give her -his protection and support! Well, if this can happen before twenty-four -hours have passed—what is to be expected afterward!”</p> - -<p>“Undoubtedly—undoubtedly your husband is much more distressed at what -has happened than you are. Believe me, something has occurred of which -we know nothing, and which will explain the conduct of Señor Miranda. Or -have you any reason, any motive to suspect that—that he wished to -abandon you?”</p> - -<p>“Motive! Of course not! None whatever! Señor de Miranda is a very -reliable person.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_088" id="page_088"></a>{88}</span></p> - -<p>“You call him <i>Señor de Miranda</i>?”</p> - -<p>“No—he told me yesterday to call him Aurelio—but as I have not much -confidence with him yet—and as he is older than I—in short, it did not -come to my tongue.”</p> - -<p>The traveler closed his lips, forcing back a whole flood of indiscreet -questions which crowded to his mind, and turned again to the window in -order not to lose the magnificent spectacle offered him by nature. The -sun was rising above the summit of a neighboring mountain, dispelling by -his rays the morning mists that sank slowly into the valley in lace-like -fragments, and flooding the clear blue atmosphere with a fresh, soft -light. Down the granite flank of the mountain, glistening with mica, -descended a foaming torrent, and through the dark shadow of the oak -groves could be caught a glimpse of a little meadow in the tender green -tones of young grass, where a flock of sheep were browsing; their white -forms starred the verdant carpet like enormous flakes of wool. Through -the deafening noise of the train one might fancy one could hear, in that -picturesque and sunny spot, distant trills of birds, and the silvery -tinkling of bells.</p> - -<p>After gazing for some time at the beautiful view, now fading into the -distance, the traveler sank back wearily into his corner, his arms<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_089" id="page_089"></a>{89}</span> -dropped powerless by his side, and a faint sigh, which told of fatigue -rather than of sorrow, escaped from his lips.</p> - -<p>The sun was mounting in the heavens, and his rays began to dance on the -windows of the carriage and on the brows of its two occupants, seeming -to invite them to look at each other, and, simultaneously, they -furtively measured each other with their glances, whence resulted a -scene in dumb show, represented by the girl with infantile naturalness -and with frowning reserve by the man.</p> - -<p>The traveler was a man in the vigor of his age and in the age of vigor. -He might be, at a rough guess, from twenty-eight to thirty-two years of -age. His pale countenance was a degree more pale on the cheeks, -generally the seat of what, in the language of poetry, are called -“roses.” Notwithstanding this, he did not seem to be of a sickly -constitution. His frame was well proportioned, his beard was black and -fine, his hair soft and wavy, straying where it would without regard to -symmetry or art, but not without a certain fitness in its natural -arrangement that gave character and beauty to the head. His features -were well formed, but overshadowed by melancholy and stamped with the -traces of suffering—not the physical suffering which undermines the -health,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_090" id="page_090"></a>{90}</span> wastes the tissues, withers the skin, and dulls or glazes the -eye, but the moral, or, rather, the intellectual suffering which only -deepens the circles under the eyes, furrows the brow, blanches the -temples, and concentrates the gaze, at the same time rendering the -bearing careless and apathetic. Apathy—this was what was most apparent -in the traveler’s manner. All his attitudes and gestures expressed -fatigue and exhaustion. Something there was broken or out of order in -that noble mechanism,—some one of the springs, which, when snapped, -interrupt the functions of the inner life. Even in his attire the -languor and despondency which were so plainly visible in his countenance -were perceptible. It was not negligence, it was indifference and -dejection of spirits that were expressed by the dark gray suit, the gold -chain,—out of place on a journey,—the cravat, carelessly and loosely -tied, the new Suède gloves of delicate color, that ten minutes’ wear -would soil. The traveler did not possess that exquisite and intelligent -taste in dress which gives attention to details, which makes a science -of the toilet; in him was revealed the man who is superior to fashion -because, while not ignorant of it, he disdains it—a grade of culture -which belongs to a higher sphere than fashion, which after all is a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_091" id="page_091"></a>{91}</span> -social distinction, and he who rises superior to fashion is also -superior to social distinctions. Miranda wore the livery of elegance, -and therefore, before being attracted by Miranda’s person, the gaze was -attracted by his attire, while that which attracted the attention in -Artegui was Artegui himself. The carelessness of his attire did not -detract from, it rather made more evident the distinction of his person; -the various articles composing his dress were rich of their kind: the -cloth was English, the linen of the finest quality, and both shoes and -gloves were of the best make. All this Lucía noted instinctively rather -than intelligently, for, inexperienced and new to the world, she had not -yet arrived at an understanding of the philosophy of dress,—a science -in which women in general are so learned.</p> - -<p>Artegui, on his side, regarded her as the traveler, returning from -snow-clad and desert lands, regards some smiling valley which he chances -upon by the way. Never before had he seen united to the grace of youth -so much vigor and luxuriant bloom. Notwithstanding the night spent in -the railway-carriage, the face of Lucía was as fresh as a rose, and her -disordered hair, flattened down in places, gave her the air of a naiad, -emerging bareheaded and dewy from the bath. Her eyes, her features,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_092" id="page_092"></a>{92}</span> all -were smiling, and the sun, indiscreet chronicler of faded complexions, -played harmlessly over the golden down that covered the cheeks of the -young girl, imparting to them the warm tones of antique marble.</p> - -<p>Lucía waited for the traveler to speak to her and her glance invited him -to do so. But, as he did not seem disposed to gratify her wishes, she -resolved, when some time had elapsed, to return to the charge, and -cried:</p> - -<p>“Well, and what am I going to do? You do not tell me how I am to get out -of this difficulty.”</p> - -<p>“To what place were you and your husband going, Señora?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“We were going to France, to Vichy,—where the doctors had ordered him -to take the waters.”</p> - -<p>“To Vichy, direct? Did you not intend to stop at any place on the way?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, at Bayonne; we were to rest there for a while.”</p> - -<p>“You are certain of this?”</p> - -<p>“Quite certain. Señor de Miranda explained it to me a hundred times.”</p> - -<p>“In that case I will tell you what my opinion is. There is no doubt that -your husband, detained by some accident, the nature of which we need not -now stop to inquire into, remained<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_093" id="page_093"></a>{93}</span> in Venta de Baños last night. As a -precautionary measure we will send him, if you wish, a telegram from -Hendaya; but what I suppose is that he will take the first train which -leaves for France to join you there. If we go back you run the risk of -crossing him on the way, and thus losing time, besides giving yourself -unnecessary trouble. If you get out at the first station we come to and -wait for him there——”</p> - -<p>“Yes, that would be the best thing to do.”</p> - -<p>“No, because he would not know you had done so; and as several hours -have already elapsed, and he will be on his way to join you, and we have -no means of letting him know, and the train stops only for a moment at -those stations, I do not think it would be best. Besides, you might both -have to remain for a considerable time in some wretched railway station -waiting for another train. That course is not advisable.”</p> - -<p>“Well, then, what do you suggest?” said the young girl eagerly, and with -the greatest confidence, encouraged by the “if we go back” of the -traveler, which tacitly promised her assistance and support.</p> - -<p>“To go on to Bayonne, Señora; it is the only course to pursue. Your -husband will probably take the first train for that place.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_094" id="page_094"></a>{94}</span> We shall -arrive in the afternoon, and he will arrive in the evening. Since he has -not telegraphed to you to return (which he could have done), it is -because he is on his way to join you.”</p> - -<p>Lucía interposed no objection. Ignorant of the route herself, she felt a -singular relief in trusting to the experience of another. She turned -toward the window in silence and followed with her gaze the broken line -of the sierra, which stood sharply defined against the clear sky. The -train began to move more slowly. They were nearing a station. “What -place is this?” she asked, turning toward her companion.</p> - -<p>“Miranda de Ebro,” he answered laconically.</p> - -<p>“How thirsty I am,” murmured Lucía. “I would give anything for a glass -of water.”</p> - -<p>“Let us get out; you can get some water at the restaurant,” responded -Artegui, whom this unexpected adventure was beginning to draw from his -abstraction. And springing down before her he offered his arm to Lucía, -who took it without ceremony, and, urged by thirst, hurried toward the -bar, where some half-empty bottles, half-eaten oranges, jars of fruit -syrups and flasks of orange-flower water, disputed with one another the -possession of a zinc-covered counter and some yellow painted shelves.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_095" id="page_095"></a>{95}</span> -The water was served, and, without waiting for the sugar to dissolve, -Lucía drank it quickly, in gulps, and then shook the moisture from her -fingers, drying them with her handkerchief.</p> - -<p>Artegui paid.</p> - -<p>“Thank you,” she said, looking at her taciturn companion. “It was -delicious—when one is thirsty—Thank you, Señor—What is your name?”</p> - -<p>“Ignacio Artegui,” he answered, with a look of surprise.</p> - -<p>Ingenuousness sometimes resembles boldness, and it was only the innocent -look of the clear eyes fixed upon his that enabled the traveler to -distinguish between them in the present instance.</p> - -<p>“Is there anything else you would like?” he said. “Some breakfast? a cup -of coffee or chocolate?”</p> - -<p>“No, no, at present I am not at all hungry.”</p> - -<p>“Wait for me in the carriage, then, I am going to settle about your -ticket.”</p> - -<p>He returned shortly, and the train soon started on its way, the motion -that by night had seemed vertiginous, now seeming only tiresome. The sun -mounted toward the zenith, and warm, heavy gusts of wind, like fiery -breaths, stirred the atmosphere. A cloud<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_096" id="page_096"></a>{96}</span> of coal dust from the engine -entered through the window and settled on the white muslin covers that -protected the backs of the seats. At times, contrasting with the -penetrating odor of the coal, came a puff of woody perfume from the oak -groves and the meadows stretching on either hand. The landscape was full -of character. It was the wild and beautiful scenery of the Basque -provinces. All along the road rose frowning heights crowned by massive -casemates and strong castles, recently constructed for the purpose of -holding in subjection those indomitable hills. On the sides of the -mountain could be discerned broad trenches and lines of redoubts, like -scars on the face of a veteran. Tall and graceful poplars girdled the -well-cultivated, green and level plains, like necklaces of emerald. -Above the neat, white houses rose the belfry towers. Lucía crossed -herself at sight of them.</p> - -<p>Passing by Vitoria a thought of home came to her mind. It was suggested -by the long rows of elms that surround and beautify the city.</p> - -<p>“They look like the trees in Leon,” she murmured with a sigh.</p> - -<p>And she added in a lower voice, as if speaking to herself:</p> - -<p>“I wonder what poor papa is doing now?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_097" id="page_097"></a>{97}</span></p> - -<p>“Does your father reside in Leon?” asked Artegui.</p> - -<p>“Yes, in Leon. If he were to know of what has happened, he would be -terribly distressed. After all the charges and the advice he gave me! To -beware of thieves—not to get sick—not to go in the sun—not to get -wet. When I think of it——”</p> - -<p>“Is your father an old man?”</p> - -<p>“He is getting on in years, but he is strong and well-preserved, and -handsomer in my eyes than gold. I have the good luck to have the best -father in all Spain—he has no will but mine.”</p> - -<p>“You are an only child, perhaps?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Señor, and I lost my mother when I was but that high,” and Lucía -held out her open hand, palm downward, on a level with her knee. “Why, I -was not even weaned when my mother died! And see! that is the only -misfortune that has ever happened to me; for, except in that, there may -be plenty of happy people in the world, but no one could be happier than -I have been.”</p> - -<p>Artegui fixed on her his deep and imperious eyes.</p> - -<p>“You were happy?” he repeated, as if echoing the young girl’s thought.</p> - -<p>“Yes, indeed; Father Urtazu used sometimes<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_098" id="page_098"></a>{98}</span> to say to me, ‘Take care, -child, God is paying you in advance; and afterward, when you die, do you -know what he is going to say to you? That there is nothing owing to -you.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>“So that,” said Artegui, “you missed nothing in your quiet life in Leon? -You wished for nothing?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sometimes I had longings, but without knowing precisely what for. -I think now that what I wanted was change—to travel. But I was never -impatient, because I always felt that sooner or later I should obtain -what I wished. Was I not right? Father Urtazu used to laugh at me -sometimes, saying, ‘Patience, every autumn brings its fruit.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>“Father Urtazu is a Jesuit?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, and so learned! There is nothing he does not know. Sometimes, to -vex Doña Romualda, the directress of the seminary I attended, I used to -say to her, ‘I would rather have Father Urtazu for my teacher than -you.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>“And now,” said Artegui, with the brutal curiosity that prompts the -fingers to tear apart the bud, leaf by leaf, until its inmost heart is -laid bare, “and now you are happier than ever before? I should say so! -Just think of it—to be married, nothing less!”</p> - -<p>Lucía, without perceiving the ironical accent<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_099" id="page_099"></a>{99}</span> in which her companion -uttered these words, answered frankly:</p> - -<p>“Well, I will tell you. I always wanted to marry to please my father. I -did not want to torment him with all that nonsense about lovers with -which other girls torment their parents. My friends, that is some of -them, if they chanced to see an officer of the garrison pass before -their window—lo! on the instant they were dying in love with him, and -it was nothing but sending and receiving letters. I used to be amazed at -their falling in love in that way, just from seeing a man pass by in the -street—and as I had never felt anything for any one of those men, and -as I already knew Señor de Miranda, and father liked him so much, I -thought to myself, ‘It is the best thing I can do; in this way I shall -have no trouble about the matter,’—was I not right?—‘I have only to -close my eyes, say yes, and the thing is done. Father will be pleased, -and I also.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>Artegui looked so fixedly at her, that Lucía felt her cheeks burn -beneath the ardor of his gaze, and blushing to the roots of her hair, -she murmured:</p> - -<p>“I tell you all the nonsensical thoughts that come into my head. As we -have nothing else to talk about——”</p> - -<p>He continued to search with his gaze the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_100" id="page_100"></a>{100}</span> open and youthful countenance -before him, as the steel blade probes the living flesh. He knew very -well that frankness and candor are often more truly the signs of -innocence than reticence and reserve, and yet he could not but marvel at -the extreme simplicity of the young girl. It was necessary in order to -understand it, to consider that the vigorous physical health of the body -had preserved the spirit pure. Fever had never rendered languid the gaze -of those eyes with their bluish cornea; the excitation that wastes the -strength of the growing girl, in the trying age between ten and fifteen, -had never paled those fresh and rosy lips. Lucía might be likened to a -rosebud with all its petals closed, raising itself proudly in the midst -of its brilliant green leaves upon its strong and graceful stem.</p> - -<p>The heat, which had been steadily increasing, was now overpowering. When -they arrived at Alsásua, Lucía again complained of thirst and Artegui, -offering her his arm, conducted her to the dining-room of the -restaurant, reminding her that as several hours had passed since she had -supped, it would be well to eat something now.</p> - -<p>“Breakfast for two,” he called to the waiter, clapping his hands to -attract the man’s attention.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_101" id="page_101"></a>{101}</span></p> - -<p>The waiter approached, his napkin thrown over his shoulder. He had a -bronzed face and a soldierly air which accorded ill with the patent -leather shoes, and hair flattened down with bandoline, which is the -livery imposed by the public on its servants in these places. A broad -scar, running across the left cheek from the end of the mustache down -the neck, added to his martial appearance. The waiter stared fixedly at -Artegui for a moment, then, giving a cry, or rather a sort of canine -bark, he exclaimed:</p> - -<p>“It is either he himself or the devil in his shape! Señorito Ignacio! It -is a cure for sore eyes——”</p> - -<p>“You here, Sardiola?” said Artegui quietly. “We shall have a good -breakfast then, for you will see to it that we are well served.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Señorito, I am here. <i>Afterward</i>,” he said, laying marked emphasis -on the word, and lowering his voice, “as I found everything belonging to -me destroyed—the house burned to the ground and the field laid waste—I -set to work to earn my living as best I could. And you, Señorito, are -you going to France?”</p> - -<p>“I am going to France, but if you keep on chattering we shall have no -breakfast to-day.”</p> - -<p>“That would be a pretty thing——”</p> - -<p>Sardiola spoke a few words in the Biscayan<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_102" id="page_102"></a>{102}</span> dialect, bristling with z’s, -k’s, and t’s, to some of his fellow-waiters. Breakfast was at once -served to Artegui and Lucía, the man taking his stand behind the chair -of the former.</p> - -<p>“So you are going to France?” he went on. “And the Señora Doña -Armanda—is she well?”</p> - -<p>“Not very well,” answered Ignacio, the cloud deepening on his brow. “She -suffers a great deal. When I left her, however, she was feeling slightly -better.”</p> - -<p>“When she sees you at home once more she will be quite well again.”</p> - -<p>And looking at Lucía, and striking his forehead with his clenched hand, -Sardiola suddenly cried:</p> - -<p>“The more so as—— How stupid I am! Why of course the Señora Doña -Armanda will get well when she sees joy entering her doors! What a -pleasure to see you married, Señorito, and to so lovely a girl! I wish -you every happiness!”</p> - -<p>“Dolt!” said Ignacio, gruffly and impatiently, “this lady is not my -wife.”</p> - -<p>“Well, it is a pity she is not,” answered the Biscayan, while Lucía -looked smilingly at him. “You would make a pair that—not if you were to -search the wide world through—only that the Señorita—<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_103" id="page_103"></a>{103}</span>—”</p> - -<p>“Go on,” said Lucía, intensely amused, busying herself in removing the -tissue paper from an orange.</p> - -<p>“Shall I, Señorito Ignacio?”</p> - -<p>Artegui shrugged his shoulders. Sardiola, taking this for a sign of -assent, launched forth:</p> - -<p>“The young lady looks as if she were never out of temper, and you—you -are always as if you had just received a beating. In that you would not -be a very good match for each other.”</p> - -<p>Lucía burst into a laugh and looked at Artegui, who smiled indulgently, -which encouraged her to laugh still more. The breakfast proceeded in the -same cordial manner, animated by Sardiola’s chatter and by the infantile -delight of Lucía. On their return to the cars the waiter accompanied -them to the very door of the compartment and, had Lucía been owner of -the arms of Artegui, she would have thrown them around Sardiola’s neck -when the latter repeated, raising his eyes to heaven, and in the tone in -which one prays, when one prays in earnest:</p> - -<p>“The Virgin of Begoña be with you, Señorito—God grant that you may find -Doña Armanda well—command me as if I were a dog, your dog. Remember -that I am here at your service.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_104" id="page_104"></a>{104}</span></p> - -<p>“Thank you,” said Artegui, assuming once more his habitual look of -gloomy reserve.</p> - -<p>The train started and Sardiola remained standing on the platform waving -an adieu with his napkin, without changing his attitude, until the smoke -of the engine had vanished on the horizon. Lucía looked at Artegui and -questions crowded to her lips.</p> - -<p>“That poor man is greatly attached to you,” she said at last.</p> - -<p>“I was so unfortunate as to render him a service at one time,” answered -Ignacio, “and since then——”</p> - -<p>“Hear that! and you call that a misfortune. Well, then, you have been -very unfortunate ever since this morning, for you have rendered me a -hundred services already.”</p> - -<p>Artegui smiled again as he looked at the young girl.</p> - -<p>“The misfortune does not consist,” he said, “in rendering a service, but -in the recipient showing so much gratitude.”</p> - -<p>“Well, then, I too suffer from the same disease as Sardiola, and I am -not ashamed of it,” declared Lucía; “you shall see by and by.”</p> - -<p>“Bah! all that is wanting is that I should have people grateful to me -without cause,” responded Artegui, in the same festive tone. “It is not -so bad when there is some motive<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_105" id="page_105"></a>{105}</span> for gratitude, as in the case of that -poor Sardiola.”</p> - -<p>“What did you do for him?” asked Lucía, unable to keep her inquisitive -lips closed.</p> - -<p>“Not much. I cured him of a wound—a rather serious one.”</p> - -<p>“The wound that left that scar on his cheek?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Are you a doctor?”</p> - -<p>“An amateur one, and that by chance.” Artegui relapsed into silence, and -Lucía did not venture to ask any more questions. The heat continued to -increase. Although it was autumn the weather was suffocating, and the -dust from the engine, diffused through the heated atmosphere, was -stifling. The scenery grew wilder as they proceeded, the country growing -more and more mountainous and rugged. Occasionally they entered a -tunnel, and then the darkness, the rush of the train, the damp, -underground air, penetrating into the compartment, mitigated to some -extent the intense heat.</p> - -<p>Lucía fanned herself with a newspaper, arranged for her by Artegui in -the form of a shell; light, transparent drops of perspiration dotted her -rosy neck, her temples, and her chin. From time to time she dried them -with her<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_106" id="page_106"></a>{106}</span> handkerchief. The tresses of her hair, uncurled and damp, -clung to her forehead. She loosened her stiff collar, took off her -necktie, which was strangling her, and leaned back languidly in her -corner. In order to soften the light in the compartment, Artegui drew -the little curtains of the low windows, producing a vague and mysterious -bluish atmosphere that gave the place the air of a submarine grotto, the -noise of the train, not unlike the roar of the ocean, contributing to -the illusion. Insensible to the heat, Artegui raised the curtain -slightly and looked out at the landscape—the oak groves, the sierra, -the deep valleys. Once he caught a glimpse of a picturesque train of -pilgrims. The scene vanished quickly, but he had time to distinguish the -forms of the pilgrims, their scapulars hanging around their necks, -wending along the narrow road on foot or in wagons drawn by oxen, the -men wearing the red or blue flat woolen cap of the country, the women -with their heads covered with white handkerchiefs. The procession -resembled the descent of the shepherds in the Christmas representation -of the Adoration. The bright sunshine, falling full upon the figures of -the pilgrims, bestowed upon them the crude tones of figures of painted -clay. Artegui drew Lucía’s attention to the scene; she raised the -curtain in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_107" id="page_107"></a>{107}</span> her turn, leaned out of the window, and gazed at the -spectacle until a bend of the road and a rapid movement of the train hid -the picture from view. It seemed as if the tunnels took a malicious -pleasure in shutting out from their sight the most beautiful views on -the route. Did they catch sight of a smiling hill, a group of leafy -trees, a pleasant meadow, lo! the train entered a tunnel and they -remained motionless at the window, daring neither to speak nor move, as -if they had suddenly entered a church. Lucía, now somewhat accustomed to -the heat, looked with great interest at the various objects along the -road. The tall match factories, with their white-washed walls and large -painted signs, pleased her greatly, and at Hernani she clapped her hands -with delight on catching a glimpse, to the left of the road, of a -magnificent English park, with its gay flower knots contrasting with the -green grass, and its stately coniferous trees, with their symmetrical -pendant foliage. At Pasajes, after the wearisome monotony of the -mountains, their eyes were at last refreshed with a view of the blue sea -that stretched before them, its surface gently rippling while the -vessels anchored in the bay swayed with a gentle motion, and a -sea-breeze, pungent and salt, fluttered the silk curtains of the -carriage, fanning the perspiring brows of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_108" id="page_108"></a>{108}</span> the weary travelers. Lucía -gazed in wonder at the ocean, which she had never seen before, and when -the tunnel suddenly and without warning spread a black veil over the -scene, she remained leaning on her elbows at the window, with dilated -eyes and parted lips, lost in admiration.</p> - -<p>As the hours went by, and they advanced on their journey, Artegui lost -something of his statue-like coldness, and, growing by degrees more -communicative, explained to Lucía the various views of this moving -panorama. The young girl listened with that species of attention which -is so delightful to a teacher—that of the pupil, enthusiastic and -docile at the same time. Artegui, when he chose to speak, could be -eloquent. He described the customs of the country; he related many -particulars concerning the villages and the hamlets of which they caught -glimpses on their way. Eyes fixed and observant, a countenance all -attention, changing its expression at the narrator’s will, responded to -his words. So that, when the train stopped at Irún, and they heard the -first words spoken in a foreign tongue, Lucía exclaimed, as if with -regret:</p> - -<p>“What! Are we there already?”</p> - -<p>“In France? Yes,” answered Artegui, “but we have still some distance to -travel before<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_109" id="page_109"></a>{109}</span> reaching Bayonne. They examine the luggage here; this is -the custom-house of Irún. They will not trouble us much, though; people -coming from France to Spain are the victims of the custom-house -officials, but no one supposes that those who travel from Spain to -France carry contraband articles or new clothes——”</p> - -<p>“But I carry new clothes!” exclaimed Lucía. “My wedding outfit. Do you -see that big trunk that they have set there on the counter? That is -mine, and that other is Miranda’s, and the hat-box——”</p> - -<p>“Give me the check and the keys to have them examined.”</p> - -<p>“The check and the keys? Miranda has them—not I.”</p> - -<p>“In that case you will be left without luggage. You will have to remain -here until your husband joins you.”</p> - -<p>Lucía looked at Artegui with something like dismay, but the next moment -she burst out laughing.</p> - -<p>“Left without luggage!” she repeated.</p> - -<p>And her silvery laughter burst forth afresh. She thought it a delightful -incident to be left without her luggage; she seemed to herself like a -child lost in the streets, who is taken in charge by some charitable -person until her<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_110" id="page_110"></a>{110}</span> home can be found. It was a perfect adventure. Child -as Lucía was, she might have taken it either as matter for laughter or -matter for tears; she took it as matter for laughter, because she was -happy, and until they reached Hendaya the burst of merriment that -enlivened the carriage did not cease. At Hendaya the dinner served to -prolong these moments of perfect cordiality. The elegant dining-room of -the railway station at Hendaya, adorned with all that taste and -attention to detail displayed by the French to serve, attract, and -squeeze the customer, invited to intimacy, with its long and discreet -curtains of subdued hues, its enormous chimney-piece of bronze and -marble, its splendid sideboard surmounted by a pair of large round -Japanese vases, ornamented with strange plants and birds, gleaming with -Ruolz silver, and laden with mountains of opaque china. Artegui and -Lucía selected a small table with two covers where, sitting opposite -each other, they could converse together in low tones so that the firm, -grave sounds of their Spanish speech might not attract attention amid -the confused and gliding sounds of the chorus of French accents -proceeding from the general conversation at the large table. Artegui -played the rôle of butler and cupbearer, naming the dishes, pouring out -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_111" id="page_111"></a>{111}</span> wines, carving the meat, anticipating Lucía’s childish caprices, -shelling the almonds and peeling the apples for her, and dipping the -ruddy grapes into the crystal bowl of water. A cloud seemed to have been -lifted from his now animated countenance and his movements, although -calm and composed, showed less weariness and listlessness than before.</p> - -<p>When they re-entered the carriage, night was approaching, and the sun -was sinking in the west with the swiftness peculiar to autumn. They -closed the windows on one side of the compartment and the flickering -light played on the ceiling of the carriage, appearing and disappearing -like children playing hide and seek. The mountains grew black, the -clouds in the distance turned flame color, then faded, one by one, like -a rose of fire dropping its glowing petals. The conversation between -Artegui and Lucía languished and then ceased entirely, both relapsing -into a gloomy silence,—he showing his accustomed air of fatigue, she -lost in a profound revery, dominated by the saddening influence of the -hour. The twilight deepened, and from one of the carriages could be -heard rising above the noise made in its slow progress by the train, a -sorrowful and passionate chorus in a foreign tongue; a <i>zortzico</i>, -intoned in deep, full voices by a party of young Biscayans<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_112" id="page_112"></a>{112}</span> on their way -to Bayonne. Now and then a cascade of mocking laughter interrupted the -song; then the chorus would rise again, tender and melancholy as a sigh, -toward the heavens, black now as ink. Lucía listened, and the train, -slowly making the descent, accompanied with its deep vibration the -voices of the singers.</p> - -<p>The arrival at Bayonne surprised Artegui and Lucía as if they had -wakened from a prolonged sleep. Artegui quickly drew his hand away from -the knob of the window on which it had been resting and the young girl -looked around her with an air of surprise. She noticed that it had grown -cool, and she buttoned her collar and put on her necktie. Men with -woolen caps, girls wearing handkerchiefs fastened at the back of the -head, a stream of passengers of diverse appearance and social condition -pushed and elbowed one another and bustled about in the large station. -Artegui gave his arm to his companion so that they might not lose each -other in the crowd.</p> - -<p>“Had your husband decided on any particular hotel at which to stop in -Bayonne?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“I think,” murmured Lucía, making an effort to remember, “that I heard -him mention a hotel called San Estéban. I remembered it<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_113" id="page_113"></a>{113}</span> because I have -a very pretty picture of that saint in my missal.”</p> - -<p>“Saint Étienne,” said Artegui to the driver of the omnibus, who, seated -on the box, his head turned toward them, was waiting for orders.</p> - -<p>The horses set off at a heavy trot, and the vehicle rolled along through -the well-paved streets until it reached a house with a narrow door, -marble steps flanked by consumptive-looking plants in pots, and bright -gas-lamps, before which it stopped.</p> - -<p>A fair, tall woman, neatly dressed, wearing a freshly ironed pleated -cap, came to the door to receive them and hastened to give Artegui’s -valise to a waiter.</p> - -<p>“The lady and gentleman would like to have a room?” she murmured in -French, in mellifluous and obsequious tones.</p> - -<p>“Two,” answered Artegui laconically.</p> - -<p>“Two,” she repeated in Spanish, although with a transpyrenean accent. -“And would the lady and gentleman like them connected?”</p> - -<p>“Entirely separate.”</p> - -<p>“<i>Tout à fait.</i> They shall be prepared.”</p> - -<p>The landlady called a chambermaid, no less neat and obliging than -herself, who, taking two keys from the board on which were hanging<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_114" id="page_114"></a>{114}</span> the -keys of the hotel, ascended the waxed stairs, followed by Artegui and -Lucía.</p> - -<p>She stopped on the third landing, a little out of breath, and opening -the doors of two rooms adjoining each other, but separate, struck a -match, lighted the candles on the chimney-piece of each and then -withdrew. Artegui and Lucía stood silent for a few moments at the doors -of their respective rooms; at last, the former said:</p> - -<p>“You must want to wash your hands and face and brush the dust of the -road from your dress and rest for a while. I will leave you now. Call -the chambermaid if you should require anything; here every one speaks a -little Spanish.”</p> - -<p>“Good-by,” she answered mechanically.</p> - -<p>When the noise made by the closing of the door announced to Lucía that -she was alone, and she cast her eyes around this strange room, dimly -illumined by the light of the candles, the excitement and bewilderment -she had felt during the journey vanished; she called to mind her little -room at Leon, simple but dainty as a silver cup, with its holy-water -font, its saint, its boxes of mignonette, its work-table, its capacious -cedar wardrobe filled with freshly ironed linen. She thought, too, of -her father, of Carmela and Rosarito, of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_115" id="page_115"></a>{115}</span> all the sweet past. Then -sadness overpowered her; fears, vague but none the less real, assailed -her; the position in which she found herself seemed to her strange and -alarming: the present looked threatening, the future dark. She sank into -an easy-chair and gazed fixedly at the light of the candles with the -abstracted look of one lost in deep and painful meditation.</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">An</span> hour, or perhaps an hour and a half, might have passed when Lucía -heard a knock at the door of her room, and opening it she found herself -face to face with her companion and protector, who gave proof, by his -white cuffs and some slight changes which he had made in his dress, of -having paid that minute attention to the business of the toilet which is -a part of the religion of our age. He entered, and without seating -himself, held out to Lucía his pocket-book, filled with money.</p> - -<p>“You have here,” he said, “money enough for any occasion that may arise -until your husband joins you. As the trains are apt to be delayed at -this season, I do not think he will be here before morning, but even if -he should not arrive for a week, or even a month, there is enough to -last you till then.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_116" id="page_116"></a>{116}</span></p> - -<p>Lucía looked at him as if she had not understood his meaning, without -making any motion to take the pocket-book. He slipped it into her palm.</p> - -<p>“I am obliged to go out now, to attend to some business,” he said; -“after which I will take the first train for Paris. Good-by, Señora,” he -ended ceremoniously, taking two steps toward the door.</p> - -<p>Then, grasping his meaning, the young girl, with pale and troubled -countenance, caught him by the sleeve of his overcoat, exclaiming:</p> - -<p>“What—what do you mean? What are you saying about the train?”</p> - -<p>“What is natural, Señora,” said the traveler, with his former tired -gesture, “that I am going to continue my journey; that I am going to -Paris.”</p> - -<p>“And you are going to leave me in this way—alone! Alone here in -France!” said Lucía, in the greatest distress.</p> - -<p>“Señora, this is not a desert, nor need you fear that any harm will -befall you. You have money. That is the one thing needful on French -soil; that you will be well served and waited upon, I will guarantee.”</p> - -<p>“But—good heavens! Alone! alone!” she repeated, without loosening her -hold on Artegui’s sleeve.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_117" id="page_117"></a>{117}</span></p> - -<p>“Within a few hours your husband will be here.”</p> - -<p>“And if he does not come?”</p> - -<p>“Why should he not come? What puts it into your head that he will not -come?”</p> - -<p>“I do not say that he will not come,” stammered Lucía. “I only say that -if he should delay——”</p> - -<p>“In fine,” murmured Artegui, “I, too, have my occupations—it is -imperative that I should go.”</p> - -<p>Lucía answered not a word to this, but, loosening her hold on his -sleeve, she sank again into her chair and hid her face in her hands. -Artegui approached her and saw that her bosom heaved with a quick, -irregular motion, as if she were sobbing. Between her fingers drops -flowed as copiously as if they had been squeezed out of a sponge.</p> - -<p>“Lift up your face,” said Artegui in an authoritative voice.</p> - -<p>Lucía raised her flushed, moist countenance and, in spite of herself, -smiled as she did so.</p> - -<p>“You are a young girl,” he said, “a young girl who is not bound to know -what the world is. I, who have seen more of it than I could wish, would -be unpardonable if I did not undeceive you. The world is a collection of -eyes, ears, and mouths that close themselves to all<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_118" id="page_118"></a>{118}</span> that is good and -open themselves eagerly to all that is evil. My company at present is -more to your injury than your advantage. If your husband has not -exceptionally good judgment—and there is no reason to suppose that he -has—it will give him but little satisfaction to find you so protected.”</p> - -<p>“Good heavens! and why? What would have become of me if I had not met -you so opportunely? That dreadful official might have put me in prison. -I don’t know what Señor de Miranda will say but, as for poor papa, he -would kiss the ground you walk upon, I am sure of it.”</p> - -<p>And Lucía, with a gesture of passionate and plebeian gratitude, made a -movement as if to kneel before Artegui.</p> - -<p>“A husband is not a father,” he answered. “The only reasonable, the only -sensible course, Señora, is for me to go. I telegraphed from Ebro to -Miranda, so that if your husband should be there, he may be told you are -waiting here for him in Bayonne.”</p> - -<p>“Go, then.”</p> - -<p>And Lucía turned her back on Artegui, and leaning her elbows on the -window-sill, looked out of the window.</p> - -<p>Artegui remained for a moment standing in the middle of the room, -looking at the young<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_119" id="page_119"></a>{119}</span> girl, who doubtless was swallowing her tears -silently, undecided what to do. At last he approached her, and almost in -a whisper:</p> - -<p>“After all,” he murmured, “there is no need to be so greatly troubled. -Dry your tears, for if you live long enough you will have time and cause -in plenty for them to flow.”</p> - -<p>Lowering still more his sonorous voice, he added:</p> - -<p>“I will remain.”</p> - -<p>Lucía turned round as if she had been moved by a spring, and, clapping -her hands, cried with childish delight:</p> - -<p>“Thank you! Thank you, Señor de Artegui. Oh, but will you stay in -earnest? I am beside myself with joy. What happiness! But,” she added -suddenly, as if the thought had only just occurred to her, “can you -remain? Will it be a sacrifice, will it be a trouble to you?”</p> - -<p>“No,” answered Artegui, with a gloomy countenance.</p> - -<p>“That lady, that Doña Armanda, who is expecting you in Paris—may not -she, too, need you?”</p> - -<p>“She is my mother,” answered Artegui, and Lucía was satisfied with the -response, although it failed to answer her question.</p> - -<p>Artegui, meanwhile, pushed a chair toward<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_120" id="page_120"></a>{120}</span> the table, and seating -himself in it leaned his elbow on the cover and burying his face in his -hands, gave himself up to his thoughts. Lucía, from the embrasure of the -window, was observing his movements. When ten minutes had passed, and -Artegui had neither moved nor spoken, she approached him softly, and, in -a timid and supplicating voice, stammered:</p> - -<p>“Señor de Artegui——”</p> - -<p>He looked up. His face wore its former gloomy expression.</p> - -<p>“What do you wish?” he asked hoarsely.</p> - -<p>“What is the matter? It seems to me that you are—very downcast and very -sad—I suppose it is on account of—what we were saying—see, if it -annoys you so greatly, I think I prefer that you should go. Yes, I am -sure I do.”</p> - -<p>“I am not annoyed. I am—as I always am. It is because you know me so -little that you are surprised at my manner.”</p> - -<p>And seeing that Lucía remained standing with a remorseful expression on -her countenance, he motioned to the other chair. Lucía drew it forward -and sat down in it, facing Artegui.</p> - -<p>“Say something,” continued Artegui, “let us talk. We must amuse -ourselves, we must chat—as we did this afternoon.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_121" id="page_121"></a>{121}</span></p> - -<p>“Ah, this afternoon you were in a good humor.”</p> - -<p>“And you?”</p> - -<p>“I was suffocated with the heat. Our house at Leon is very cool; I am -much more susceptible to the heat than to the cold.”</p> - -<p>“You found it pleasant, no doubt, to wash off the dust of the road. It -is so refreshing to make one’s toilet after a journey.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, but——” Lucía stopped. “I missed one thing—a very important -thing,” she added.</p> - -<p>“What? Cologne water, perhaps. I forgot to bring you my <i>necessaire</i>.”</p> - -<p>“No, indeed,—the trunk which contained my linen—I could not change my -things.”</p> - -<p>Artegui rose.</p> - -<p>“Why did you not mention this before?” he said. “We are precisely in the -place where Spanish brides purchase their wedding outfits!—I will be -back directly.”</p> - -<p>“But—where are you going?”</p> - -<p>“To bring you a couple of changes of linen; you must be in torture with -those dusty garments.”</p> - -<p>“Señor de Artegui! for Heaven’s sake! I am imposing on your good nature; -wait——”</p> - -<p>“Why do you not come with me to choose them?”</p> - -<p>And Artegui handed Lucía her toque.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_122" id="page_122"></a>{122}</span></p> - -<p>The scruples that at first presented themselves to the young girl’s mind -vanished quickly like a flock of frightened quail, and a little -confused, but still more happy, she hastily took Artegui’s offered arm.</p> - -<p>“We shall see the streets, shall we not?” she exclaimed excitedly.</p> - -<p>And as they went down the waxed and slippery stairs, she said, with a -remnant of provincial scrupulousness and shyness:</p> - -<p>“Of course, Señor de Artegui, my husband will repay you all you are -spending.”</p> - -<p>Artegui tightened his clasp on her arm with a smile, and they walked on -through the streets of Bayonne, as much at home with each other as if -they had lived all their lives together. The night was worthy of the -day. In the soft blue sky the stars shone clear and bright. The -gas-lights of the innumerable shops, which in Bayonne trade upon the -vanity of the wealthy and migratory Spaniards, encircled the dark blocks -of houses with zones of light, and in the show-cases gleamed, in every -tone of the chromatic scale, rich stuffs, porcelains, curious bronzes, -and costly jewels. The pair walked on in silence, Artegui accommodating -his long manly stride to the shorter step of Lucía. The streets were -filled with people who walked along quickly, with an air of animation, -like<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_123" id="page_123"></a>{123}</span> people engaged in some business that interests them; not with the -languid air of the southern races, who walk for exercise or to kill -time. The tables standing in front of the cafés were crowded with -customers, for the mild atmosphere made it pleasant to sit in the open -air, and under the bright light of the gas lamps the waiters hurried -about serving beer, coffee, or chocolate <i>bavaroise</i>; and the smoke of -the cigars, and the rustling of newspapers, and the talk, and the sharp -ring of the dominoes on the marble made the sidewalk full of life. -Suddenly Artegui turned the corner of the street and led the way into a -rather narrow shop, whose show-case was almost filled by two long -morning-gowns adorned with cascades of lace, one of them trimmed with -blue, the other with pink ribbons. Inside the shop were numberless -articles of underwear for women and children, coquettishly -displayed,—jackets with extended sleeves, wrappers hanging in graceful -folds. The ivory white of the laces contrasted with the chalky white of -the muslins. Here and there the brilliant colors, the silk and gold of -some morning cap resting on its wooden stand, rose in contrast from -among the white masses lying around on all sides like a carpet of snow.</p> - -<p>The proprietress of the establishment, like<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_124" id="page_124"></a>{124}</span> most of the shopkeepers of -Bayonne, spoke Spanish; and when Lucía asked her for two suits of linen -she availed herself of her knowledge of the language of Cervantes to -endeavor to persuade her to launch into further purchases. Taking Lucía -and Artegui for a newly married couple she became flattering, -insinuating, importunate, and persisted in showing them a complete -outfit, lauding its beauty and its cheapness. She threw on the counter -armfuls of articles, floods of lace, embroidery, batiste. Not content -with which, and seeing that Lucía, submerged in a flood of linen, was -making signs in the negative with head and hands, she touched another -spring, and took down enormous pasteboard boxes containing diminutive -caps, flannel, swaddling-clothes, finely scalloped cashmere and piqué -cloaks, petticoats of an exaggerated length, and other articles which -brought the blood to Lucía’s cheeks.</p> - -<p>Artegui put an end to the attack by paying for the suits selected, and -giving the address of the hotel to which they were to be sent.</p> - -<p>This done, they left the shop; but Lucía, enchanted with the beauty and -serenity of the night, expressed a wish to remain out a little longer.</p> - -<p>They retraced their steps, passing again before<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_125" id="page_125"></a>{125}</span> the brilliantly lighted -cafés and the theater, and took the road to the bridge, at this hour -almost deserted. The lights of the city were tremulously reflected on -the tranquil bosom of the Adour.</p> - -<p>“How bright the stars are!” exclaimed Lucía; and suddenly pulling -Artegui by the sleeve, to arrest his steps. “What star is that,” she -said, “that shines so brightly?”</p> - -<p>“It is called Jupiter. It is one of the planets belonging to our -system.”</p> - -<p>“How bright and lovely it is! Some of the stars seem to be cold, they -tremble so as they shine; and others are motionless, as if they were -watching us.”</p> - -<p>“They are, in effect, fixed stars. Do you see that band of light that -crosses the sky?”</p> - -<p>“That looks like a wide silver gauze ribbon?”</p> - -<p>“That is the Milky Way; a collection of stars, the number of which is so -great as to be inconceivable even to the imagination. Our sun is one of -the ants of that ant-hill,—one of those stars.”</p> - -<p>“The sun—is it a star?” asked the young girl in surprise.</p> - -<p>“A fixed star—we whirl around it like mad people.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, how delightful to know all those<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_126" id="page_126"></a>{126}</span> things! In the school I attended, -we were not taught a particle of all that, and Doña Romualda used to -laugh at me when I would say I was going to ask Father Urtazu—who is -always looking at the heavens through a big telescope—what the stars -and the sun and the moon are.”</p> - -<p>Artegui turned to the right, following the embankment, while he -explained to Lucía the first notions of that science of astronomy which -seems like a celestial romance, a fantastic tale written in characters -of light on sapphire tablets. The young girl, enraptured, gazed now at -her companion, now at the serene firmament. She was amazed, above all, -at the magnitude and number of the stars.</p> - -<p>“How vast the sky is! Dear Lord! if the material, the visible heavens -are so great, what must the real heavens be, where the Virgin, the -angels, and the saints are!”</p> - -<p>Artegui shook his head, and bending toward Lucía, murmured:</p> - -<p>“How do those stars seem to you? One might fancy they were sad. Is it -not true that when they twinkle they look as if they were shedding -tears?”</p> - -<p>“They are not sad,” responded Lucía, “they are pensive, which is a very -different thing. They are thinking, and they have something<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_127" id="page_127"></a>{127}</span> to think -about,—to go no further, God who created them.”</p> - -<p>“Thinking! They think as much as that bridge or those vessels think. The -<i>privilege</i> of thinking”—Artegui laid a bitter emphasis on the word -<i>privilege</i>—“is reserved for man, the lord of creation. And if there be -on those stars, as there must be, men endowed with the privileges and -the faculties of humanity, they it is who think.”</p> - -<p>“Do you believe there are people on those stars? Do you think they are -like us, Señor de Artegui? Do they eat? Do they drink? Do they walk?”</p> - -<p>“Of that I know nothing. There is only one thing I can assure you of, -but that with full knowledge and perfect certainty.”</p> - -<p>“What is that?” asked the young girl, with curiosity, watching, by the -uncertain light of the stars Artegui’s countenance.</p> - -<p>“That they suffer as we suffer,” he answered.</p> - -<p>“How do you know that?” she murmured, impressed by the hollow tone in -which the words were uttered. “Well, for my part, I fancy that in the -stars that are so beautiful and that shine so brightly, there is neither -discord nor death, as there is here. It must be blissful there!” she -declared, raising her hand and pointing to the refulgent orb of -Jupiter.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_128" id="page_128"></a>{128}</span></p> - -<p>“Pain is the universal law, here as well as there,” said Artegui, -looking fixedly at the Adour which ran, dark and silent, at his feet.</p> - -<p>They spoke little more until they reached the hotel. There are -conversations which awaken profound thoughts and which are more -fittingly followed by silence than by frivolous words. Lucía, tired, -without knowing why, leaned heavily on the arm of Artegui, who walked -slowly, with his accustomed air of indifference. The last words of their -conversation were discordant—almost hostile.</p> - -<p>“At what hour does the morning train arrive?” asked Lucía suddenly.</p> - -<p>“The first train arrives at five or thereabouts.”</p> - -<p>The voice of Artegui was dry and hard.</p> - -<p>“Shall we go to meet it to see if Señor de Miranda is on it?”</p> - -<p>“You may do so if you choose, Señora; as for me, permit me to decline.”</p> - -<p>The tone in which he answered was so bitter that Lucía did not know what -to reply.</p> - -<p>“The employees of the hotel will go,” added Artegui, “whether you do or -not, to meet the trains. There is no need for you to rise so early—at -least, unless your conjugal tenderness is so great——”</p> - -<p>Lucía bent her head, and her face flushed as<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_129" id="page_129"></a>{129}</span> if a red-hot iron had -passed close to it. When they entered the hotel the landlady approached -them; her smile, animated by curiosity, was even more amiable and -obsequious than before. She explained that she had forgotten a necessary -formality—to enter the names of the lady and gentleman, and their -nationality, in the hotel register.</p> - -<p>“Ignacio Artegui, Madame de Miranda; Spaniards,” said Artegui.</p> - -<p>“If the gentleman had a card——” the landlady ventured to say.</p> - -<p>Artegui gave her the desired slip of pasteboard, and the landlady was as -profuse in her courtesies and thanks as if she were excusing herself for -complying with the required formality.</p> - -<p>“When the morning train arrives,” said Ignacio, “give orders to inquire -for Monsieur Aurelio Miranda—don’t forget! Let him be told that Madame -is in this hotel, that she is well, and that she is waiting for him to -join her. Do you understand?”</p> - -<p>“<i>Parfait</i>,” answered the Frenchwoman.</p> - -<p>Lucía and Artegui bade each other good-night at the doors of their -respective rooms. Lucía, as she was about to undress, saw the purchases -she had made, lying on the table. She put on the fresh linen with -delight, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_130" id="page_130"></a>{130}</span> lay down thinking she was going to sleep profoundly, as -she had done the preceding night. But she did not enjoy the repose she -had anticipated: her sleep was restless and broken. Perhaps the -strangeness of the bed, its very softness, produced in Lucía the effect -which unaccustomed luxuries produce in persons habituated to a monastic -life, of whom it may be said with truth, paradoxical as it may appear, -that comfort makes them uncomfortable.</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">When</span> the chambermaid wakened Lucía in the morning, bringing her a bowl -of coffee, the first piece of news she gave her was that Monsieur de -Miranda had not arrived in the train from Spain. Lucía sprang out of bed -and dressed herself quickly, trying to bring together her scattered -recollections and glancing around her room with the surprise which those -unused to traveling are apt to experience on awakening for the first -time in a strange place. She looked at the clock upon the table; it was -eight. She went out into the corridor and knocked softly at the door of -Artegui’s room.</p> - -<p>The latter, who was in his shirt-sleeves, finishing his toilet, when he -heard the knock, quickly<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_131" id="page_131"></a>{131}</span> dried his hands and face, threw his overcoat -over his shoulders, and opened the door.</p> - -<p>“Don Ignacio—good-morning. Do I disturb you?”</p> - -<p>“No, indeed, will you come in?”</p> - -<p>“Are you dressed already?”</p> - -<p>“Almost.”</p> - -<p>“Do you know that Señor de Miranda has not come by the morning train?”</p> - -<p>“I have been told so.”</p> - -<p>“What do you say to that? Is it not very strange?”</p> - -<p>Ignacio did not answer. He began, in truth, to think the conduct of this -bridegroom, who had abandoned his bride on their wedding-day in the -carriage of a railway train, strange and more than strange. Of course, -some disagreeable and unforeseen accident must have occurred to the -unknown Miranda; whose fate, by a singular chance, had come to influence -his own in the manner it had done during the last forty-eight hours.</p> - -<p>“I will telegraph everywhere,” he said; “to Alsásua, to—— do you wish -me to telegraph to Leon, to your father?”</p> - -<p>“God forbid!” exclaimed Lucía “he would be capable of taking the next -train to come in search of me, and suffocating on the way with -asthma—and with worry. No, no!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_132" id="page_132"></a>{132}</span></p> - -<p>“At all events I am going to take measures——”</p> - -<p>And Artegui thrust his arms through the sleeves of his overcoat and took -up his hat.</p> - -<p>“Are you going out?” asked Lucía.</p> - -<p>“Do you need anything else?”</p> - -<p>“Do you know—do you know that yesterday was Saturday and that to-day is -Sunday?”</p> - -<p>“As a general thing Sunday does follow Saturday,” answered Artegui, with -amiable badinage.</p> - -<p>“You don’t understand me.”</p> - -<p>“Explain yourself, then. What do you wish?”</p> - -<p>“What should I wish but to go to mass like all the rest of the world?”</p> - -<p>“Ah!” exclaimed Artegui. Then he added: “True. And you wish——”</p> - -<p>“That you should accompany me. I am not going to mass alone, I suppose?”</p> - -<p>Artegui smiled again, and the young girl observed how well a smile -became that countenance, generally so emotionless and somber. It was -like the dawn when it tints the gray mountains with rose-color; like a -sunbeam piercing the mists on a cloudy clay. The eyes, the pallid and -hollow cheeks kindled; youth was renewed in that countenance faded by<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_133" id="page_133"></a>{133}</span> -mysterious sorrows, and darkened by perpetual clouds.</p> - -<p>“You should always smile, Don Ignacio,” exclaimed Lucía. “Although,” she -added reflectively, “the other way you look more like yourself.”</p> - -<p>Artegui, smiling more brightly than before, offered her his arm; but she -declined to take it. When they reached the street she walked along in -silence, with downcast eyes; she missed the protecting shade of the -black veil of her lace manto, which concealed her face and gave her so -modest an air when she walked under the beams of the half-ruined vaulted -roof of the cathedral at Leon. The cathedral of Bayonne seemed to her as -delicately beautiful as a filigree ornament, but she could not listen to -the mass so devoutly there as in the other; the exquisite purity of the -temple, like an elaborately carved casket; the vivid coloring of the -Neo-Byzantine figures painted on a gold background in the transept, the -novelty of the open choir; of the tabernacle, isolated and without -ornament; the moving of the prayer-desks; the walking to and fro of the -women who rented the chairs, all disturbed her. It seemed to her as if -she were in a temple of a different faith from her own. A white-robed -virgin, wearing a mantle ornamented with gold bands and holding in her<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_134" id="page_134"></a>{134}</span> -arms the Divine Infant in one of the chapels of the nave, tranquillized -her somewhat. Then she recited a number of Hail Marys; she pulled apart -one by one the leaves of the blood red roses of the rosary, of the -mystic lilies of the litany. She left the temple with a light step and a -joyful heart. The first object on which her eyes fell when she reached -the door was Artegui looking with interest at the Gothic cinter of the -portal.</p> - -<p>“I have sent telegrams to all the various stations on the route, -Señora,” he said, politely raising his hat when he saw her; “especially -to the most important station, Miranda de Ebro. I have taken the liberty -of signing them with your name.”</p> - -<p>“Thanks—but have you not heard mass?” exclaimed the young girl, looking -at him in surprise.</p> - -<p>“No, Señora; I come, as I have just told you, from the telegraph -office,” he answered evasively.</p> - -<p>“You must hurry, then, if you wish to be in time. The priest has just -this moment come out, in his vestments.”</p> - -<p>A slight frown crossed Artegui’s face.</p> - -<p>“I shall not go to mass,” he said, half seriously, half jestingly. “At -least not unless you particularly desire it—in which case—<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_135" id="page_135"></a>{135}</span>—”</p> - -<p>“Not go to mass!” exclaimed the young girl with wide-open eyes, amazed -and disturbed as well. “And why do you not go to mass? Are you not a -Christian?”</p> - -<p>“Let us suppose that I am not,” he stammered, in a low voice, like a -criminal confessing his crime before his judge, and shaking his head -with a melancholy air.</p> - -<p>“Good heavens! What are you then?” And Lucía clasped her hands in -distress.</p> - -<p>“What Father Urtazu would call an unbeliever.”</p> - -<p>“Ah,” she cried impetuously. “Father Urtazu would say that all -unbelievers are wicked.”</p> - -<p>“Father Urtazu might add that they are even more unhappy than wicked.”</p> - -<p>“It is true,” replied Lucía, trembling still like a tree shaken by the -blast. “It is true, even more unhappy; Father Urtazu would certainly say -nothing else. And how unhappy they must be! Holy Virgin of the Rosary!”</p> - -<p>The young girl bent her head as if stunned by the sudden blow. The -religious sentiment, dormant, until now, along with so many other -sentiments, in the depths of her serene and placid soul, awoke with -vigor at the unexpected shock. Two sensations struggled for<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_136" id="page_136"></a>{136}</span> the -mastery—piercing pity on the one hand, mingled terror and repulsion on -the other. Horrified, she was prompted to move away from Artegui, and -for this very reason her heart melted with compassion when she looked at -him. The people were coming out of the church; the portico poured forth -wave after wave of this human sea, and Lucía, standing erect and pale as -a Christian martyr in the arena, was hemmed in by the crowd. Artegui -offered her his arm in silence; she hesitated at first, then accepted -it, and both walked mechanically in the direction of the hotel. The -morning, slightly cloudy, promised a temperature cooler and more -agreeable than that of the day before. A delightful breeze was blowing, -and through the light clouds the sun could be seen struggling, like love -struggling through the clouds of anger.</p> - -<p>“Are you sad, Lucía?” Artegui asked the young girl softly.</p> - -<p>“A little, Don Ignacio.” And Lucía heaved a profound sigh. “And you are -to blame for it,” she added, in a gently reproachful tone.</p> - -<p>“I?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, you. Why do you say those foolish things, that cannot be true?”</p> - -<p>“That cannot be true?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, that cannot be true. How can it be<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_137" id="page_137"></a>{137}</span> true that you are not a -Christian? Come, you are saying what you do not mean.”</p> - -<p>“And how does it matter to you, Lucía?” he exclaimed, calling her for -the second time by her Christian name. “Are you Father Urtazu? Am I one -who interests or concerns you in any way? Will you be called upon in any -tribunal to answer for my soul? Child, this is a matter that touches you -in no way.”</p> - -<p>“Does it not, indeed? I declare, Don Ignacio, to-day you talk as if—as -if you were crazy. Why should it not matter to me whether you are saved -or lost, whether you are a Christian or a Jew!”</p> - -<p>“A Jew! As far as being a Jew is concerned, I am not that,” responded -Artegui, endeavoring to give a playful turn to the conversation.</p> - -<p>“It is the same thing—to deny Christ is to be a Jew in fact.”</p> - -<p>“Let us drop this, Lucía; I don’t want to see you look like that, it -makes you ugly!” he said lightly, alluding, for the first time, to -Lucía’s personal appearance. “What, do you wish to do now? Shall I take -you to see some of the curiosities of the place? The hospital? The -forts?”</p> - -<p>He spoke with more cordiality of manner than he had yet manifested, and -Lucía’s soul<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_138" id="page_138"></a>{138}</span> was tranquillized, as when oil is poured on the troubled -waters.</p> - -<p>“Could we not make a little excursion into the country? I am -passionately fond of trees.”</p> - -<p>Artegui turned toward the theater, before the door of which two or three -little basket-carriages were standing. He made a sign to the driver of -the nearest, a Biscayan, who, raising his whip, touched with it the -flanks of the Tarbes ponies, that, with a shake of the mane, prepared to -start. Lucía sprang in and seated herself in the light vehicle, and -Artegui, taking his place beside her, called to the driver:</p> - -<p>“To Biarritz.”</p> - -<p>The carriage set off, swift as an arrow, and Lucía closed her eyes, -letting her thoughts wander at will, enjoying the light caresses of the -breeze, that blew back the ends of her necktie and her wavy tresses. And -yet the scenery, picturesque and smiling, was well worthy of a glance. -They passed cultivated fields, country houses with pointed roofs, -English parks carpeted with fresh turf and fine grass, yellow now with -the hues of autumn. Descrying a footpath winding among the fields, -Artegui called to the driver to stop, and giving his hand to Lucía -helped her to alight. The Biscayan sought the shelter of a wall<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_139" id="page_139"></a>{139}</span> where -his horses, bathed in sweat, might rest with safety, and Artegui and -Lucía proceeded on foot along the little path, the latter, who had now -recovered her childlike gayety and her innocent delight in bodily -motion, leading the way. She was enchanted with everything: the clover -blossoms that covered the dark green field with crimson dots; the late -chamomile and the pale corn-flowers growing by the roadside; the -fox-gloves, that she gathered with a smile, bursting the pods between -her hands; the curling plumes of the celery; the cabbages growing in -rows, each row separated by a furrow. The earth, from over-culture, -over-manuring, over-plowing, had acquired an indescribable air of -decrepitude. Its flanks seemed to groan, exuding a viscous and warm -moisture like sweat, while in the uncultivated land bordering the path -were spots of virgin soil where grew at will the ornamental -superfluities of the fields,—vaporous grasses, many-colored flowers, -and sharp thistles.</p> - -<p>The path was too narrow to admit of their walking side by side, and -Artegui followed Lucía, although he strayed occasionally into the -fields, with little regard for proprietorial rights. The young girl at -last paused in her meandering course at the foot of a thick osier -plantation on the borders of a marsh,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_140" id="page_140"></a>{140}</span> shading a steep grassy bank from -which could be obtained a view of the road they had traversed. They -seated themselves on the natural divan and looked at the plain that -stretched before them like a patch-work composed of the various shades -of the vegetables cultivated in the different fields. In the high-road, -that wound along like a white ribbon, they could distinguish a black -spot—the basket-carriage and the ponies. The sun shone with a mild -light that came softened through a veil of clouds, and the landscape -showed dull tones,—sea-greens, sandy yellow patches, faint ash-colored -distances, soft tints that were reflected in the tranquil pond.</p> - -<p>“This is very lovely, Don Ignacio,” said Lucía, in order to say -something, for the silence, the profound solitude of the place, was -beginning to weigh upon her spirits. “Don’t you like it?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I like it,” answered Artegui, with an absent air.</p> - -<p>“Although it seems, indeed, as if you liked nothing. You seem, always, -as if you were tired—that is to say, not tired, but sad, rather. See -here,” continued the young girl, taking hold of a flexible osier branch -and wreathing it playfully around her head, “I wager you would not -believe that your sadness is communicating<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_141" id="page_141"></a>{141}</span> itself to me, and that I, -too, begin to be—I don’t know how to describe it—well, preoccupied. I -would give, I don’t know what, to see you contented and—natural, like -other men. Neither in your face nor your expression do you resemble -other men, Don Ignacio.”</p> - -<p>“And I, on my side,” he responded, “find your gayety infectious; I am -sometimes in a better humor than you are yourself. Happiness, too, is -contagious.”</p> - -<p>As he spoke he drew toward him another osier branch, whose tender peel -he stripped off with his fingers and threw into the pond, watching -fixedly the circles it made on the surface of the water as it sank.</p> - -<p>“Of course it is,” assented Lucía; “and if you wished to be frank, if -you made up your mind to—to confide to me the cause of your trouble, -you should see that in a second’s time I would chase away that shadow -that you now wear on your face. I don’t know why it is that I imagine -that all this seriousness, this gloom, this dejection is not caused by -real unhappiness, but by—by—I don’t know how to explain myself—by -nonsensical notions, by ideas without rhyme or reason, that swarm in -your brain. I wager I am right.”</p> - -<p>“You are so right,” exclaimed Artegui, dropping the osier branch and -seizing the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_142" id="page_142"></a>{142}</span> young girl’s hand, “that I am now firmly persuaded that -pure and sinless natures possess a certain power of divination, a -certain marvelous and peculiar intuition denied to us who, in exchange, -see clearly the irremediable sadness of life.”</p> - -<p>Lucía looked with a serious and disturbed countenance at her companion.</p> - -<p>“You see!” she found voice to say at last, making an effort to form her -lips into a smile and succeeding with difficulty. “So that all those -foolish notions that resemble the houses of cards that father used to -build for me when I was a child, and which would fall down at a breath, -have now vanished?”</p> - -<p>“In this you are mistaken, child,” said Artegui, dropping her hand with -one of his languid, mechanical gestures. “The contrary is the case. When -sadness springs from some definite cause, if the cause is removed the -sadness may also disappear; but if sadness springs up spontaneously in -the soul like those weeds and rushes you see growing on the borders of -that pond, if it is in ourselves, if it is the essence of our being, if -it does not spring up here and there only, but everywhere, if nothing on -earth can alleviate it, then—believe me, child, the patient is beyond -help. There is no hope for him.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_143" id="page_143"></a>{143}</span></p> - -<p>He smiled as he spoke, but his smile was like the light falling on a -statue in a niche.</p> - -<p>“But, tell me,” said Lucía, with painful and feverish curiosity. “Have -you ever met with any terrible misfortune—any great grief?”</p> - -<p>“None that the world would call such.”</p> - -<p>“Have you a family—who love you?”</p> - -<p>“My mother adores me—and if it were not for her——” said Artegui, -allowing himself to be drawn, as if against his will, into the gentle -current of confidence.</p> - -<p>“And your father?”</p> - -<p>“He died many years ago. He was a Biscayan, a Carlist emigrant, a man of -great energy, of indomitable will; he took refuge in the interior of -France; he found himself there without money and without friends; he -worked as he had fought, with lion-like courage, and succeeded in -establishing a vast commercial business, accumulating a fortune, buying -a house in Paris and marrying my mother, who belongs to a distinguished -Breton family, also legitimist. I was their only child; they lavished -affection upon me but without neglecting my education or spoiling me by -over-indulgence. I studied, I saw the world, I expressed a wish to -travel, and my mother placed the means of doing so at my disposal; I had -whims, many whims, when I grew up, and they were gratified,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_144" id="page_144"></a>{144}</span> I have -traveled in the United States and in the East, not to speak of Europe; I -spend the winters in Paris and in summer I generally go to Spain; my -health is good and I am not old. You see then that I am what people are -accustomed to call a favorite of fortune, a happy man.”</p> - -<p>“It is true,” said Lucía; “but who knows that it is not for that very -reason that you are as you are! I have heard it said that for bread to -be sweet it must be earned; it is true that I have not earned it and yet -so far I have not found it bitter.”</p> - -<p>“There was a time,” murmured Artegui, as if in answer to his own -thoughts, “when I fancied that my apathy proceeded from the security in -which I lived, and I desired to be indebted to myself, myself only, for -a livelihood. For two years I refused to receive the allowance made me -by my parents, devoting myself ardently to work and earning, as active -partner in a large commercial house which I entered, more than -sufficient for my wants; fortune attended me, like a faithful lover, but -this constant and pitiless competition sickened me and I desired to try -some work in which mind and body both should have a part and in which -the gain should be no more than sufficient for my wants. I studied -medicine, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_145" id="page_145"></a>{145}</span> taking advantage of the war at that time raging in the -north of Spain, I joined the forces of Don Cárlos. My father’s name -opened every door to me, and I devoted myself to practicing in the -hospitals——”</p> - -<p>“Was it then that you cured Sardiola?”</p> - -<p>“Precisely, the poor devil had been horribly wounded by a discharge of -grapeshot; his cheek was laid open and the jawbone injured, and, in -addition, he was bleeding from an artery. The cure was a difficult but -most successful one. I worked hard at that time and it was the period -during which I suffered least from tedium. But in exchange——”</p> - -<p>Artegui paused, fearing to proceed.</p> - -<p>“To what purpose, child, to what purpose should I go on? I don’t even -know why I should have given you all these nonsensical details, probably -to you as unintelligible as the ravings of a madman are to the sane.”</p> - -<p>“No, indeed,” declared Lucía, half offended, “I understand you very -well, and, as a proof that I do, I am going to tell you what you have -kept to yourself. You shall see that I will,” she cried, as Artegui -smilingly shook his head. “You were less bored during the period in -which you were an amateur physician, but in exchange—seeing so many -dead people and so much blood and so much cruelty, you<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_146" id="page_146"></a>{146}</span> became still -more—more of an unbeliever than you were before. Have I guessed right -or not?”</p> - -<p>Artegui looked at her, mute with amazement, and his brow contracted in a -frown.</p> - -<p>“And do you want me to tell you more? Well, that is what is the matter -with you and it is for that reason that you are so dissatisfied with -fate and with yourself. If you were a good Christian, you might indeed -be sad, but with a different sort of sadness, more gentle and more -resigned. For when one has the hope of going to heaven, one can suffer -here in patience without giving way to despair.”</p> - -<p>And as Artegui, with compressed lips, silently turned his head aside, -the young girl murmured in a voice gentle as a caress:</p> - -<p>“Don Ignacio, Father Urtazu has told me that there are men who do not -wish to admit what the church teaches and what we believe, but who, in -their own way, according to their fancy, in short, worship a God whom -they have created for themselves, and who believe also that there is -another life and that the soul does not die with the body—are you one -of those men?”</p> - -<p>He did not answer, but seizing a couple of osier branches, bent them -forcibly between his fingers until they snapped. The broken<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_147" id="page_147"></a>{147}</span> branches -hung down limply from the tree, held together by the bark, like broken -limbs held together by the skin.</p> - -<p>“You are not one of those men, either?” resumed the young girl, turning -toward him, her hands joined together, almost kneeling on the bank. -“Don’t you believe, even in that way? Don Ignacio, do you indeed believe -in nothing? In nothing?”</p> - -<p>Ignacio sprang to his feet, and standing on the summit of the bank -overlooking the whole landscape, slowly said:</p> - -<p>“I believe in evil.”</p> - -<p>From a distance the group might have seemed a piece of statuary. Lucía, -completely overwhelmed, almost knelt, her hands clasped in an imploring -attitude. Artegui, his arm raised, his form erect, challenging with -sorrowful glance the blue vault above, might have been taken for some -hero of romance, some rebellious Titan, were it not for his modern -costume, with its prosaic details; the sky grew momentarily darker; -leaden clouds, like enormous heaps of cotton, banked themselves up over -Biarritz and the ocean. Gusts of hot air blew low down, almost along the -ground, bending the reeds and setting in motion the pointed foliage of -the osiers with its fiery breath. The plain exhaled a deep groan at -these menacings of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_148" id="page_148"></a>{148}</span> storm. It seemed as if evil, evoked by the voice -of its worshiper, had appeared, in tremendous form, terrifying nature -with its broad black wings, to whose flapping fancy might have -attributed the suffocating exhalations that heated the atmosphere. Murky -and dark, like the surface of a steel mirror, the lake slept motionless -and the aquatic flowers drooped on its border. Artegui’s voice, more -intense than loud, resounded through the awe-inspiring silence.</p> - -<p>“In evil,” he repeated, “that surrounds and envelops us on all sides, -from the cradle to the grave; that never leaves us; in evil, that makes -of the earth a vast battle-field where no being can live but by the -death and the suffering of other beings; in evil, which is the pivot on -which the world turns and the very mainspring of life.”</p> - -<p>“Señor de Artegui,” stammered Lucía faintly, “it would seem, according -to what you say, that you pay to the devil the worship you refuse to -God.”</p> - -<p>“Worship! no! Shall I worship the iniquitous power that, concealed in -darkness, works for the general woe? To fight, to fight against it is -what I desire, now and always. You call this power the devil; I call it -evil, universal suffering. I know how alone it may be vanquished.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_149" id="page_149"></a>{149}</span></p> - -<p>“By faith and good works,” exclaimed the young girl.</p> - -<p>“By dying,” he answered.</p> - -<p>Any one who had observed these two from a distance,—a young and -handsome man and a blooming young girl,—conversing alone in the shady -meadow, would have taken them, to a certainty, for a pair of lovers, and -would never have imagined that they were speaking of suffering and -death, but of love, which is life itself. Artegui, standing on the bank, -could see his image reflected in the blue eyes which Lucía lifted toward -him; eyes, that notwithstanding the darkness of the sky, seemed to -sparkle with light.</p> - -<p>“By dying!” she echoed, as the tree echoes back the sound of the blow -that wounds it.</p> - -<p>“By dying. Suffering ends only with death. Only death can vanquish the -creative force that delights in creating so that it may afterward -torture its unhappy creation.”</p> - -<p>“I do not understand you,” murmured Lucía, “but I am afraid.” And her -form trembled like the osier branches.</p> - -<p>Artegui was silent, but a deep and powerful voice resounding through the -heavens suddenly mingled with the strange dialogue. It was the thunder -which pealed in the distance, solemn and awe-inspiring. Lucía uttered a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_150" id="page_150"></a>{150}</span> -low cry of terror and fell prone upon the grass. The clouds broke and -large drops of rain fell with a sound like that of molten lead upon the -silky leaves of the osiers. Artegui hurried down the bank, and taking -Lucía in his arms, with nervous force, began to run, without looking to -the right or to the left, leaping ditches, crossing newly plowed fields, -pressing under foot celery plants and cabbages, until, beaten by the -rain and pursued by the thunder, he reached the high road. The driver -was energetically uttering maledictions on the storm when Artegui placed -Lucía, almost insensible, on the seat and pulled up the oilcloth cover -hastily to protect her as far as was possible from the rain. The ponies, -terrified by the tempest, without waiting for the touch of the whip, -with pricked-up ears and distended nostrils, set off toward Bayonne.</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">Lucía</span> had just finished drying her wet garments at the fire that Artegui -had lighted for her. Her hair, which the rain had flattened against her -forehead, was beginning to curl slightly at the temples; her clothing -was still steaming, but the beneficent warmth pervading her frame had in -some degree brought back her<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_151" id="page_151"></a>{151}</span> natural buoyancy of spirits. Only the -feathers of her hat, drooping sadly, notwithstanding their owner’s -efforts to restore to them their graceful curl by holding them to the -fire, bore witness to the ravages of the storm.</p> - -<p>Artegui leaned back in an easy-chair, listless as usual, plunged in idle -revery. He was resting, doubtless, from the fatigue caused by lighting -the logs that burned so cheerfully in the fireplace, and ordering and -pouring out the tea, to which he had added a few drops of rum. Silent -and motionless now, his eyes rested alternately on Lucía and on the -fire, which formed a shifting red background to her head. While Lucía -had been incommoded by the weight of her wet garments and the pressure -of her damp shoes, she too had remained silent and constrained, -nervously fancying she still heard the pealings of the thunder and felt -the sting of the rain drops beating against her face, like needles.</p> - -<p>Little by little the genial influence of the heat relaxed her stiffened -limbs and loosened her paralyzed tongue. She stretched her feet and -hands toward the blaze, spread out her skirts, to dry them equally, and -finally sat down on the floor, Turkish-fashion, the better to enjoy the -warmth of the fire, which she contemplated with fixed and absorbed gaze, -listening<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_152" id="page_152"></a>{152}</span> to the crackling of the logs as she watched them gradually -change from red to black.</p> - -<p>“Don Ignacio,” she said suddenly.</p> - -<p>“Lucía?”</p> - -<p>“I wager you do not know what I am thinking of?”</p> - -<p>“You will tell me.”</p> - -<p>“The things that have been happening to me since yesterday are so -strange, and the life I have been leading so out of the usual -course—what you told me there—beside the pond, seems to me so -singular, so extraordinary, that I am wondering whether I did not fall -asleep in Miranda de Ebro and have not yet awakened. I must be still in -the railway-carriage; that is to say my body must be still there, for my -soul has flown away and is dreaming such wild dreams—against my will.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know what there is that is strange in anything that has -happened to you; on the contrary, it is all very commonplace and simple. -Your husband is left behind on the road. I meet you afterward by chance, -and stay with you to take care of you until he arrives. Neither more nor -less. Let us not weave a romance out of this.”</p> - -<p>Artegui spoke with the same slow and disdainful intonation as usual.</p> - -<p>“No,” persisted Lucía, “it is not what has<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_153" id="page_153"></a>{153}</span> happened to me that I find -strange. What I find strange is—you. Come, Don Ignacio, you know it -very well. I have never before seen any one who thinks as you think, or -who speaks as you speak. And therefore, at times,” she murmured, taking -her head between her hands, “the idea comes to me that I am still -dreaming.”</p> - -<p>Artegui rose from his chair and drew near the fire. His manly figure -loomed up in the glowing light, and to Lucía, from her seat on the -floor, he looked taller than he really was.</p> - -<p>“It is right,” he said, inclining himself before her, “that I should ask -your pardon. I am not in the habit of saying certain things to the first -person I meet, and still less to persons like you. I have talked a great -deal of nonsense, which naturally frightened you. Besides being out of -place, my conduct was in bad taste and even cruel. I acted like a fool -and I am sorry for it, believe me.”</p> - -<p>Lucía, lifting up her face, looked at him in silence. The glow of the -fire turned her chestnut hair to gold, and cast a rosy hue over her -countenance. The eyes she raised to his, as he stood looking down at -her, were shining brightly.</p> - -<p>“I have two temperaments,” Artegui resumed, “and, like a child, I give -way to the impulses<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_154" id="page_154"></a>{154}</span> of both without reflection. In general, I am what -my father was—firm of will, reticent, and self-controlled; but at times -my mother’s temperament governs me. My poor mother suffered when she was -very young, in her remote castle in Brittany, from nervous attacks, fits -of gloom, and mental disturbance which she has never succeeded in -overcoming completely, although she has suffered less from them since my -birth than she did before. She lost a part of her malady and I acquired -it. Is it to be wondered at if I sometimes act and speak, not like a -man, but like a woman or a child!”</p> - -<p>“The truth is, Don Ignacio,” exclaimed Lucía, “that in your sober senses -you would not think what—what you said there.”</p> - -<p>“In company with you,” he said, “with a young and loyal creature who -loves life, and feels, and believes, what business had I to speak of -anything sad, or to set forth abstruse theories, turning a pleasure -excursion into a lecture? Could anything be more absurd? I am a fool. -Lucía,” he ended, with naturalness and without bitterness, “you will -forgive me for my want of tact, will you not?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Don Ignacio,” she murmured, in a low voice.</p> - -<p>Artegui drew his chair toward the fire and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_155" id="page_155"></a>{155}</span> sat down, stretching out his -hands and feet toward the blaze.</p> - -<p>“Are you still cold?” he asked Lucía.</p> - -<p>“No, indeed; on the contrary, I am delightfully warm.”</p> - -<p>“Let me feel your hands.”</p> - -<p>Lucía, without rising, held out her hands to Artegui, who found that -they were soft and warm and soon released them.</p> - -<p>“On account of the rain,” he continued, “I could not take you a little -farther, as I wished to do, to Biarritz, where there are very pretty -villas and parks in the English style. Indeed, we enjoyed scarcely -anything of the beautiful country. How fragrant the hay and the clover -were! And the earth. The smell of freshly turned earth is somewhat -pungent but pleasant.”</p> - -<p>“What was most fragrant of all was a bed of mint growing by the pond. I -am sorry I did not bring a few of the plants with me.”</p> - -<p>“Shall I go get you some? I would be back directly.”</p> - -<p>“Heavens! What nonsense, Don Ignacio, to think of going for them now,” -said Lucía; but the pleasure caused by the offer dyed her cheeks with -crimson. “Do you hear how it is raining?” she added, to change the -subject.</p> - -<p>“The morning gave no indication of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_156" id="page_156"></a>{156}</span> coming storm,” replied Artegui. -“France has, in general, a moist climate, and this basin of the Adour is -no exception to the rule. It was a pity not to have been able to drive -through Biarritz! There are many fine palaces and agreeable places of -resort there. I would have taken you to see the Virgin, who, from her -station on a rock, seems to command the troubled waters to be still. -There could not be a more artistic idea.”</p> - -<p>“How! the Virgin!” said Lucía, greatly interested.</p> - -<p>“A statue of the Virgin, standing among the rocks; at sunset the effect -is marvelous; the statue seems made of gold and is surrounded by a sea -of fire. It is like an apparition.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Don Ignacio, will you take me there to-morrow?” cried Lucía, with, -eager, wide-open eyes and clasped hands.</p> - -<p>“To-morrow”—Artegui again relapsed into thought. “But, Señora,” he said -presently, in a changed voice, “your husband will probably arrive -to-day.”</p> - -<p>“True.”</p> - -<p>The conversation ceased of itself and both sat gazing silently into the -fire. Artegui added fresh logs, for the embers were now burning low. The -blazing brands crackled and occasionally one would burst open like a -ripe<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_157" id="page_157"></a>{157}</span> pomegranate, sending forth a shower of sparks. The fiery edifice -sank under the weight of the fresh materials. The flames gently licked -their new prey and then began to dart into it their asp-like tongues, -drawing from it with each ardent kiss a cry of pain. Although it was -scarcely past the meridian hour, the apartment was almost dark, so black -was the sky outside and so fierce the storm.</p> - -<p>“You have not breakfasted yet, Lucía,” said Artegui, suddenly -remembering the fact, and rising. “I am going to give orders to have -your breakfast sent here.”</p> - -<p>“And you, Don Ignacio?”</p> - -<p>“I—will breakfast too, down-stairs in the dining-room. It is high time -now.”</p> - -<p>“But why do you not breakfast here with me?”</p> - -<p>“No, I will breakfast down-stairs,” he said, going toward the door.</p> - -<p>“As you choose—but I am not hungry. Don’t send me anything. I feel—I -don’t know how.”</p> - -<p>“Eat something—you have been chilled and you need something to restore -the circulation.”</p> - -<p>“No—though if you were to breakfast here with me I might perhaps make -the effort,” she persisted, with the obstinacy of a self-willed child.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_158" id="page_158"></a>{158}</span></p> - -<p>Artegui shrugged his shoulders resignedly, and pulled the bell-rope. -When the chambermaid entered the room a quarter of an hour later with -the tray, the fire was burning more brightly and merrily than ever, and -the two arm-chairs, one on either side of the fireplace, and the table -covered with a snowy cloth, invited to the enjoyment of the -unceremonious repast. The glass, the coolers, the salver, the vinegar -cruets, the silver bands of the mustard vessel sparkled in the light; -the radishes, swimming in a fine porcelain shell, looked like rose-buds, -the fried sole displayed its lightly browned back garnished with curled -parsley and slices of lemon of a pale gold color; the juicy beefsteak -rested in a lake of melted butter; and in the lace-like glasses sparkled -the deep garnet of the Burgundy and the ruddy topaz of the -Chateau-Yquem. Every time the waiter came and went to bring or to take -away a dish, he laughed to himself at the Spanish lovers, who had asked -for separate rooms to breakfast together in this way—<i>tête-à-tête</i> by -the fire. As a Frenchman, he took advantage of the occasion to raise the -price of everything. He handed Artegui the list of wines, giving him at -the same time suggestions and advice.</p> - -<p>“The gentleman will want iced champagne—I will bring it in a cooler, it -is more convenient.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_159" id="page_159"></a>{159}</span> The pine-apples we have are excellent, I will bring -some—we receive our Malaga direct from Spain—ah, the Spanish wines! -there is no place like Spain for wines.”</p> - -<p>And bottles continued to arrive, and the already formidable array of -glasses standing beside each of the guests to increase. There were wide -flat glasses, like the <i>crater</i> of the ancients, for the foaming -champagne; narrow, green glasses, with handles, for the Rhine wine; -shallow glasses, like thimbles, with a short stem for the southern -Malaga. Lucía had taken only a few sips of each of the wines, but she -had tasted them all, one after another, through childish curiosity; and -now, with her head a little heavy, blissfully forgetful of the events of -the morning’s excursion, she sat leaning back in her chair, her bosom -heaving, her white teeth gleaming between her moist rosy lips when she -smiled—the smile of a bacchante who is still innocent and who for the -first time has tasted the juice of the grape. The atmosphere of the -closed room was stifling—pervaded with the savory odors of the -succulent dishes, the mild warmth of the fire, and the faint resinous -aroma of the burning logs. A charming subject it would have formed for a -modern anacreontic ode—the woman holding up her glass, the wine falling -in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_160" id="page_160"></a>{160}</span> a clear and sparkling stream, the thoughtful looking man gazing -alternately at the disordered table and the smiling nymph with glowing -cheeks and sparkling eyes. Artegui felt so completely master of himself -that, melancholy and disdainful, he looked at Lucía as the traveler -looks at the wayside flower from which he voluntarily turns aside his -steps. Neither wines nor liqueurs, nor the soft warmth of the fire were -of avail now to draw the pessimist from his apathetic calm; through his -veins the blood flowed slowly, while through Lucía’s veins it coursed, -rapid, generous, and youthful. But for both the moment was one to be -remembered—one of supreme concord, of sweet forgetfulness; the past was -blotted out; the present was like a peaceful eternity shut within four -walls, in the pleasant drowsiness of the silent room. Lucía let both -arms hang over the arms of her chair, her fingers loosened their clasp, -and the glass they had held fell with a crystalline sound on the brass -fender, breaking into countless fragments. The young girl laughed at the -accident, and with half-closed eyes fixed upon the ceiling, yielded -unresistively to the feeling of lethargy that was stealing over her,—a -suspension, as it were, of all the faculties of being. Artegui, -meanwhile, calm and silent, sat upright in his chair, haughty as an -ancient<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_161" id="page_161"></a>{161}</span> stoic; his soul was pervaded by a bitter pleasure,—the -pleasure of feeling himself to be truly dead and of knowing that -treacherous nature had tried her arts in vain to resuscitate him.</p> - -<p>And thus they might have remained for an indefinite period had not the -door suddenly opened to admit, not the waiter, still less the expected -Miranda, but a young man of some twenty-four or twenty-five years of -age, of medium height, and of abrupt and familiar manners. He had his -hat on, and the first objects to attract the eye in his person were the -gleaming pin of his necktie and his low-cut light yellow shoes, of a -somewhat daring fashion, like those of a <i>manolo</i>. The entrance of this -new personage effected a transformation in the scene; while Artegui rose -to his feet, furious, Lucía, restored to full consciousness, passed her -hand over her forehead and sat upright in her chair, assuming an -attitude of reserve, but unable to steady her gaze, which still -wandered.</p> - -<p>“Hello, Artegui, you here? I saw your name just now in the register, and -I hurried up,” said the newcomer, with perfect self-possession. Then -suddenly, as if he had but just seen Lucía, he took off his hat and -bowed to her easily, without adding another word.</p> - -<p>“Señor Gonzalvo,” responded Artegui, veiling his anger under an -appearance of icy reserve,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_162" id="page_162"></a>{162}</span> “we must have become very intimate since -last we saw each other. In Madrid——”</p> - -<p>“You are always so English—so English,” said the young man, showing -neither confusion nor embarrassment. “You see I am frank, very frank; in -Madrid we each had our business or our pleasures to attend to, but in a -foreign land it is pleasant to meet a compatriot. In fine, I beg your -pardon, I beg your pardon. I see that I have disturbed you. I regret it -for the lady’s sake——”</p> - -<p>Here he bowed again, while his eyes, from between their half-closed -lids, cynically devoured Lucía’s countenance lighted by the glow of the -dying brands.</p> - -<p>“No, stay!” cried Artegui, rising, and seizing the intruder hastily by -the arm, seeing that he had turned to leave the room. “Since you have -entered this apartment so unceremoniously, I wish you to understand that -you do not discover me in any discreditable adventure, nor is that the -reason of my displeasure at your intrusion.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t say another word. I am not asking any questions,” said the young -man, shrugging his shoulders.</p> - -<p>“Don’t imagine that I care a jot about what you think of <i>me</i>, but this -lady is—an honorable woman; owing to circumstances, which<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_163" id="page_163"></a>{163}</span> it is -unnecessary to explain, she is traveling under my protection until she -is joined by her husband,” and observing the half-suppressed smile on -his interlocutor’s face, he added:</p> - -<p>“I advise you to believe what I say, for my reputation for truthfulness -is perhaps the only thing on which I set any value.”</p> - -<p>“I believe you, I believe you”; returned the young man simply, and with -an accent of sincerity. “You have the name of being eccentric, -eccentric, but frank as well. Besides, I am an expert, an expert, an -expert in the matter, and I can recognize a lady——”</p> - -<p>As he spoke he bowed for the third time to Lucía, with easy grace. The -latter rose with instinctive dignity, and with a serious and composed -air returned the salute. Artegui then advanced and uttered the -prescribed formula:</p> - -<p>“Señor Don Pedro Gonzalvo, the Señora de Miranda.”</p> - -<p>“Miranda—yes, yes, I saw the name, I saw the name on the hotel -register. I know a Miranda who was to have been married about this -time—an old bachelor, an old bachelor?”</p> - -<p>“Don Aurelio?” Lucía asked involuntarily.</p> - -<p>“Precisely. I am intimate, intimate with him.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_164" id="page_164"></a>{164}</span></p> - -<p>“He is my husband,” murmured Lucía.</p> - -<p>The young man’s face flushed with eager curiosity, and he once more -fixed his small eyes on Lucía’s countenance, which he scanned with -implacable tenacity.</p> - -<p>“Miranda—ah, so you are the wife, the wife of Aurelio Miranda!” he -repeated, without further comment. But discreetly-repressed curiosity -was so apparent in his manner, that Artegui imposed upon himself the -task of giving the young man a full and minute account of all that had -occurred. Gonzalvo listened in silence, repressing with the discreetness -of the man of the world the malicious smile that rose to his lips. It -was evident that the comical conjugal mishap of the middle-aged rake -diverted the youthful rake excessively. A stray sunbeam, breaking -through the gray clouds, threw into relief the blonde, lymphatic -countenance of the young man,—the freckled skin, the delicate but -characteristically marked features. His white hands, resembling those of -a woman, played with his steel watch-chain; on the little finger of one -of them gleamed a large carbuncle, side by side with another ring, a -school-girl’s simple trinket—a little cross of pearls set in a hoop of -gold, much too small for the finger it encircled.</p> - -<p>“So that you know nothing, nothing of Miranda<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_165" id="page_165"></a>{165}</span>’s whereabouts,” he asked, -when he had heard the narration to the end.</p> - -<p>“Nothing up to the present,” gravely answered Artegui.</p> - -<p>“This is delightful! delightful!” muttered the young man under his -breath, laughing with his eyes rather than with his mouth. “Was there -ever such an adventure! Miranda must be a sight to see! a sight to see!”</p> - -<p>Artegui looked at him fixedly, intercepting the indiscreet laughter of -his eyes. With an air of great gravity, he said:</p> - -<p>“Are you a friend of Don Aurelio Miranda?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, very much so, very much so,” lisped Gonzalvo, who had a habit of -dropping two or three letters in every word, repeating the word itself -two or three times to make amends; which was productive of a singular -confusion in his speech, especially when he was angry, when he would -jumble up or leave out entire words.</p> - -<p>“Very much so, very much so,” he continued. “Everywhere, everywhere in -Madrid I used to meet him. He belonged at one time to the—what’s its -name—the Rapid Club, the Rapid Club, and he used to frequent with us -young men, with us young men, the—well, the Apollo, the Apollo.”</p> - -<p>“I am very glad of it,” cried Artegui, without<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_166" id="page_166"></a>{166}</span> losing his air of -gravity for a moment. “Well then, Señora,” he continued, addressing -Lucía, “you have here what you stood so greatly in need of two days -ago—a friend of your husband’s, who has on all accounts a much greater -claim than I to serve as your escort until such time as Señor Miranda -may make his appearance.”</p> - -<p>At this unexpected turn Gonzalvo smiled, bowing politely, like a man of -the world accustomed to all sorts of situations; but Lucía, a look of -astonishment on her still flushed face, drew back, as if in refusal of -the new escort offered to her.</p> - -<p>This dumb show was interrupted by the entrance of the waiter who handed -to Artegui, on a salver, a blue envelope. It seemed impossible for -Artegui to be paler than he already was, and yet his cheeks grew -perceptibly whiter as, tearing open the envelope, he read the telegram -it contained. A cloud passed before his eyes, instinctively he grasped -the chimney-piece for support, leaning heavily against the mantle-shelf. -Lucía, recovering from her first astonishment, rushed toward him and -placing her clasped hands on his arm said to him with eager entreaty:</p> - -<p>“Don Ignacio, Don Ignacio, don’t leave me in this way. For the little -time that now remains<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_167" id="page_167"></a>{167}</span>—what trouble would it be for you to stay? I -don’t know this gentleman. I have never seen him before——”</p> - -<p>Artegui listened mechanically, like one in a state of catalepsy. At last -he found his voice; he looked at Lucía in surprise, as if he now saw her -for the first time, and in faint accents said:</p> - -<p>“I must go to Paris at once—my mother is dying.” Lucía felt as if she -had received a blow on the head from some unseen hand, and stood for a -moment speechless, breathless, pulseless. When she had recovered herself -sufficiently to exclaim:</p> - -<p>“Your mother! Good heavens! What a misfortune!” Artegui had already -turned to leave the room, without waiting to listen to the lisped offers -of service with which Gonzalvo was overwhelming him.</p> - -<p>“Don Ignacio!” cried the young girl, as she saw him lay his hand on the -knob.</p> - -<p>As if those vibrant tones had reawakened memory in the unhappy son, he -retraced his steps, went straight to Lucía, and, without uttering a word -took both her hands in his and pressed them in a strong and silent -clasp. Thus they remained for a few seconds, neither saying to the other -a word of farewell. Lucía tried to speak, but it seemed to her as if a -soft silken cord were tightening around her neck<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_168" id="page_168"></a>{168}</span> and slowly strangling -her. Suddenly Artegui released her hands; she drew a deep breath and -leaned against the wall, confused, scarcely conscious. When she looked -around her she saw that she was alone in the room with Gonzalvo, who was -reading, half aloud, the telegram which Artegui had left behind him on -the table.</p> - -<p>“It was the truth, it was the truth—and the telegram is in Spanish,” he -murmured. “<span class="lftspc">‘</span>The Señora dangerously ill. She desires Señorito to come. -Engracia.’ Who may Engracia, Engracia, Engracia be? Ah, now I -know—Artegui’s nurse, the nurse to a certainty. Well, well! I don’t -know whether he will catch the express” (this word Gonzalvo pronounced -as if it were written epés). “Half-past two—it is only a little while -since the express arrived from Spain—yes, he will still have time to -catch it.”</p> - -<p>He put back again into his pocket the beautiful skeleton watch, with its -double face, and turning his small eyes toward Lucía, he added:</p> - -<p>“I am sorry for this for your sake, Señora; now I am your escort. The -best thing you can do is to put yourself under my care. My sister is -here with me, here with me, and I will get you a room together. It is -not fit, it is not<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_169" id="page_169"></a>{169}</span> fit that a lady should be alone in this way in a -hotel.”</p> - -<p>Gonzalvo offered her his arm and Lucía was mechanically going to take it -when the door opened a second time and the waiter, with a theatrical -gesture, announced:</p> - -<p>“Monsieur de Miranda.”</p> - -<p>It was, in truth, the unlucky bridegroom, who came limping with -difficulty into the room, his right foot still almost useless; the sharp -pain of the dislocation, the result of his jump, being renewed every -time he attempted to place it upon the ground. The habitual dignity of -his bearing thus destroyed, his forty odd years revealed themselves in -unmistakable characters in every feature of his face; the -melancholy-looking black line of the mustache stood sharply defined -against the withered skin; the eyelids drooping, the temples sunken, his -hair in disorder, the ex-beau resembled one of those ruins, beautiful in -the twilight, but which in the full noonday are seen to be only -crumbling walls, nettles, brambles, and lizards. And as Lucía stood -hesitating, unable either to utter a word of welcome or to throw herself -into his arms, Gonzalvo, the constant censor of matrimony, terminated -the strange situation by bursting out laughing and advancing to give a -serio-comic embrace to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_170" id="page_170"></a>{170}</span> the pitiable caricature of the returned husband.</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">A few</span> days’ sojourn in Bayonne sufficed to alleviate greatly the pain of -Miranda’s foot and to make Pilar Gonzalvo and Lucía acquainted, and even -in some degree intimate with each other. Like Miranda, Pilar was on her -way to Vichy, with the difference that, while what Miranda required of -the waters was that they should eliminate the bile from his system, the -little Madridlenian was going to the health-giving springs in search of -particles of iron to enrich her blood and restore the brilliancy to her -lustrous eyes. Eager, like all people of weak and delicate organization, -for novelty and excitement, the new friendship with Lucía, the curious -incidents of the wedding journey, and the inspection of her bridal -finery, which Pilar looked at, article by article, examining the lace on -every jacket, the flounces on every dress, the initials on every -handkerchief, served to divert her greatly. Besides, the frank -simplicity of the Leonese offered a virgin and uncultivated soil in -which to plant the exotic flowers of fashion, and the poison weeds of -society scandal. Pilar, at the time we speak of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_171" id="page_171"></a>{171}</span> twenty-three years old, -had the precocious malice characteristic of young girls who, connected -with the aristocracy, through their social relations, and belonging to -the middle class, through their antecedents, are familiar with society -in all its aspects, and can as easily discover who has given a -rendezvous to a duke as who it is that corresponds with the neighbor on -the third floor. Pilar Gonzalvo was tolerated in the distinguished -houses of Madrid. To be tolerated is one of the degrees of social -standing; to be received, as her brother was, is another degree; beyond -being tolerated and received is the highest degree of all—to be -courted; few enjoy the privilege of being courted; this being reserved -for the notabilities who are chary of their society, who allow -themselves to be seen once or twice a year; for the bankers and wealthy -men who give balls, entertainments, and midnight masses, with a supper -afterward; for beauties, during the brief and dazzling period of their -full efflorescence; for politicians during the time when they are in -power, like cards when they are trumps. There are cases of persons who -have been received and who suddenly find themselves courted for some -particular reason,—for inventing a new style of wearing the hair, on -account of a winning horse, a whispered scandal of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_172" id="page_172"></a>{172}</span> which they are the -heroes, and which people fancy they can read in their faces.</p> - -<p>Of these ephemeral successes Perico Gonzalvo had had many; his sister -not one, in spite of repeated efforts on her part to obtain one. She did -not succeed even in being tolerated or admitted. The world is wide for -men, but narrow, narrow for women. Pilar always felt the invisible -barrier that raised itself between her and those noblemen’s daughters -whose brothers associated so familiarly with Perico. Hence sprung up in -her breast a secret rancor that, struggling with admiration and envy, -produced the nervous irritation that undermined the health of the -Madridlenian. The fever of an unsatisfied desire, the pangs of wounded -vanity, destroyed the equilibrium of a not very healthy or well-balanced -organization. Like her brother, she had a skin of lymphatic whiteness, -whose many freckles she concealed with cosmetics; her eyes were blue and -expressive though not large, and her hair, which she had the art of -arranging becomingly, was fair. Her ears, at this time, seemed made of -wax, her thin lips appeared like a faint red line above the sallow chin, -her blue veins showed under the skin and her gums, pale and flaccid, -imparted to the sparse teeth the hue of old ivory. Spring had set in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_173" id="page_173"></a>{173}</span> -for her under very unfavorable auspices; the Lenten concerts and the -last balls of the Easter holidays, of which she had not missed one, had -cost her palpitations of the heart every night, indescribable weariness -in the limbs, strange caprices of appetite; the anæmia was turning to -neurosis; and Pilar masticated, in secret, bits of the clay statuettes -that adorned the corner shelves of her dressing-room. She experienced -intolerable pains in the epigastrium, but in order not to interrupt her -amusements she was silent about all this. At last, as summer approached, -she resolved to speak of her ailments, thinking, not without reason, -that the malady offered a good pretext for taking a trip to the country, -in conformity with the canons of good society. Pilar lived with her -father and a paternal aunt, neither of whom was willing to accompany -her; the father, a superannuated magistrate, being reluctant to leave -the Bourse, where, on the sly, he speculated with moderation and -success; the widowed aunt dreading the dissipations which her niece was -no doubt planning as a part of the treatment. This task then devolved -upon Perico Gonzalvo, who accompanied his sister to El Sardinero, -counting upon finding there friends who would relieve him in his duties -as escort. And so it was; there were plenty of acquaintances<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_174" id="page_174"></a>{174}</span> at the -seashore, who undertook to keep Pilar constantly on the go and to take -her everywhere. But, unfortunately for Perico, the sea baths, which in -the beginning had been of service to his sister, ended, when she -indulged in them to excess, wishing to swim and display her skill in the -water, in inflicting serious injury on her delicate organization; and -she began once more to suffer from lassitude, to awaken bathed in -perspiration, to lose her appetite for plain food, while she ate -voraciously of dainties. What most terrified her was to see that her -hair had begun to fall out in handfuls. It enraged her every time she -combed it, and she would scream out to Perico and tell him to bring her -some remedy before she should become entirely bald. One day the -physician who attended her took her brother aside and said to him: “You -must be careful with your sister. Don’t let her take any more baths.”</p> - -<p>“But is she seriously ill, seriously ill?” asked the young man, opening -his small eyes to their fullest extent.</p> - -<p>“She may become so in a short time.”</p> - -<p>“The devil, the devil, the devil! Do you think she has consumption, -consumption?”</p> - -<p>“I do not say that. I do not think the lungs are affected as yet, but -the moment least<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_175" id="page_175"></a>{175}</span> expected there will be a determination of blood to -them, congestion will supervene and—— We see cases of that kind every -day. The blood is greatly impoverished. She has the pulse of a chicken -and there is present, besides, an extreme degree of nervous excitement, -which increases periodically, with profound gastric disturbance. If you -follow my advice you will avail yourselves of the autumn for a course of -mineral waters.”</p> - -<p>“Panticosa, Panticosa?”</p> - -<p>“In this case I think the iron springs of Vichy preferable. Anæmia is -the first enemy to be combatted, and the gastric symptoms are also -benefited by those waters. After Vichy come Aguas Buenas and -Puertollano; but attend to the matter at once. Within the last fortnight -she has lost ground, and the falling of the hair and the sweats are very -serious symptoms.”</p> - -<p>And as Perico was going away with bent head, the doctor added:</p> - -<p>“Above all, no excitement, no dancing, no swimming—mental -repose—neither music nor novels. Peasant women, afflicted with the -disease from which your sister is suffering, cure themselves with water -into which a handful of nails or old iron has been thrown. Civilization -tends to make everything artificial. If she<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_176" id="page_176"></a>{176}</span> wants to get well let her -not keep late hours, let her attend no entertainments;—a loose -corset—low heels——”</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes, order the impossible, the impossible,” lisped Perico, under -his breath. “Ask my sister to give up a single one of her pleasures; she -would not do so though she knew Old Nick were to carry her off if she -refused.”</p> - -<p>When Pilar heard the opinion of the Esculapius she threw her arms around -Perico’s neck in a transport of sisterly affection such as she had never -before manifested. She employed a thousand wiles to obtain her desire; -she grew gentle, obedient, prudent in all things, and promised all and -more than all that was asked of her.</p> - -<p>“Periquin, precious, come, say that you will take me. Say that you will -take me, silly. There is no one in the world to be compared to you. What -Puertollano are you talking about? Let us go to France. How delightful! -It seems like a dream. What will Visitacion and the de Lomillos say when -they hear it! But you see, when the doctor orders it, it has to be done. -You think I am going to be in your way, hanging on to you all the time? -No, my dear boy, I shall find plenty of friends. Don’t you suppose there -will be some one there whom we know? I will manage, you<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_177" id="page_177"></a>{177}</span> shall see. I -will make a gown of gray holland, that will last me—Well, well, don’t -be waspish. I know that I must lead a regular life, of course, and go to -bed early—at eight, with the chickens. What more do you want? Ah, what -a treasure of a brother Heaven has bestowed upon me. No wonder all the -girls are dying of love for him!”</p> - -<p>“Do you think, do you think that you are deceiving me with your -flatteries? Go, leave me in peace. I shall take you because it is -necessary, it is necessary; if I did not, who could put up with you, put -up with you next winter? But see that you behave sensibly, or I shall -throw all that confounded hair into the fire,—with all your efforts you -never look like a lady.”</p> - -<p>Pilar swallowed the insult, as in such circumstances she would have -swallowed a much more disagreeable dose, and thought only of the -fashionable excursion which was to crown, with so much splendor, her -summer expedition. Gonzalvo senior, who, besides his half-pay, had some -private means, loosened his purse-strings on the occasion, not without -advising his daughter, however, to be prudent and economical. With -Perico’s affairs he never interfered; he made him a monthly allowance -and pretended not to see that Perico spent ten times<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_178" id="page_178"></a>{178}</span> as much as he -received, gave himself the airs of a prince, and never asked for an -increase in the sum given him.</p> - -<p>Thus provided, the brother and sister set out from El Sardinero in -triumph for France. They rested at Bayonne, putting up at the Hotel St. -Étienne, where we had the honor of making their acquaintance. Perico -thought he saw the heavens open before him when he learned that Miranda -and his wife intended to go on to Vichy, and recognized that Lucía was -the person best suited to relieve him in the duty of bearing Pilar -company, and even of nursing her should it become necessary. He -accordingly encouraged the intimacy between the two women, and it was -arranged that they should all travel together to Vichy.</p> - -<p>The details given by her brother concerning Lucía and Miranda sharpened -singularly the eager curiosity of the sick girl, and her keen scent -perceived romantic possibilities in the events that had happened to the -newly married pair. The brother and sister had conversed at length about -the matter, in half-finished phrases, venturing at times on some coarser -or more graphic expression than usual, with much laughter on both sides. -One of Lucía’s greatest pleasures was the conversations she occasionally -held with Perico, when the latter<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_179" id="page_179"></a>{179}</span> deigned to treat her, not as a child, -but as a grown woman, communicating to her certain details, anecdotes, -and events which, as a general thing, do not reach the ears of young -girls brought up with strictness and decorum. Perico and his sister, who -had no great amount of tenderness or affection for each other, had yet a -perfect understanding in the field of scandal, and at times the sister -completed the piquant phrase arrested on the lips of the brother by a -touch of the delicacy which the presence of a woman inspires in the man -least capable of delicacy. Pilar experienced an unhealthy enjoyment in -witnessing aspects of the cosmograma of life unknown to the noblemen’s -daughters so greatly envied by her, who, living in the cloistral -atmosphere of their palaces, watched over constantly by the mother or -the austere governess, bear on their brows, at the age of twenty-five, -the stamp of their haughty innocence.</p> - -<p>“I went up to Artegui’s room,” said Perico to Pilar, “because, to tell -you the truth, to tell you the truth, my curiosity was aroused when I -heard he had a fine girl, a fine girl with him.”</p> - -<p>“It was enough to arouse the curiosity of the statue of Mendizabal -itself. That Artegui, who has never been known to make a slip.”</p> - -<p>“An eccentric fellow, an eccentric fellow.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_180" id="page_180"></a>{180}</span> Rich as Crœsus and he -leads the life of a friar. If I had his money, his money—you should -see!”</p> - -<p>“But tell me, don’t you think there is something between Artegui and -Lucía?”</p> - -<p>“Pish, no,” said Perico, who, differing in this from his sister, was not -addicted to speaking ill of people unless they had given him some cause -of offense. “This Artegui has only milk in his veins, milk in his veins, -and I am very sure he has not said as much as that to her!” and he -snapped his thumb nail against the tip of his forefinger.</p> - -<p>“The truth is that she has not a particle of style about her. But let us -come to facts, Periquin; did you not tell me that she was greatly -grieved and upset when he went away and Miranda came in afterward?”</p> - -<p>“But put yourself in her place, put yourself in her place. Miranda -looked like a scarecrow——”</p> - -<p>“No, I should not like to be in her place,” exclaimed Pilar, bursting -into a laugh.</p> - -<p>“And then the idiot did what all coxcombs do when they are angry,” -continued Perico, laughing in his turn. “When he ought to have tried to -make himself agreeable, to say something to the poor girl, he launched -into a philippic against her because she did not return to Miranda de<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_181" id="page_181"></a>{181}</span> -Ebro, de Ebro, to take care of his dislocated foot. And then, it could -have happened to no one but him to faint for a dislocation and neglect -to telegraph to his wife to inform her of it. And he asked her with a -tragic air, ‘Where is your attentive companion gone to?’ The man was -heavenly.”</p> - -<p>“You see, it is as I said, the husband is jealous. You are nothing but a -simpleton.”</p> - -<p>“Child, child, child! No one can deceive me in those matters! I tell -you, I tell you, there was nothing between Artegui and Lucía, Lucía. I’d -bet a hundred dollars this moment, this moment——”</p> - -<p>“And I,” insisted Pilar, with the clairvoyance of an invalid, “can -assure you that as far as she is concerned—as for him I have not seen -him, if I were to see him I should know—but as for her, I heard her -heave sigh after sigh—and they were not for Miranda. She is pensive at -times, and then again she brightens and laughs and is like a child.”</p> - -<p>“Bah, bah, bah! I don’t say that in her secret heart—but you know -nothing about those matters, and I can assure you that as for there -being anything between them, there was nothing of the kind. I ought to -know.”</p> - -<p>“And I too,” persisted Pilar. “Well, we are both right. There is nothing -between them,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_182" id="page_182"></a>{182}</span> but she is—what is it they say of pigeons?—struck on -the wing.”</p> - -<p>“Bah, bah!” said Perico again, manifesting in this way his contempt for -everything like sentiment, illusion, or the like romantic nonsense. -“That is of no consequence, that is of no consequence. Miranda will be -lucky if nothing worse awaits him than that. It is a piece of stupidity, -a piece of stupidity to dislocate one’s foot and be obliged to wait two -days to have it set, to have it set, leaving one’s bride to travel about -the world alone. It is charming, charming. What vexes him most is that -it should be known, be known—I tease him——”</p> - -<p>“No, see here, don’t make him angry. You know they have come to us as if -they had dropped down from heaven.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t worry, child; don’t worry. The truth of the matter is that -Miranda cannot live, cannot live without me, because he is bored to -death; and no one but me can drive away the spleen, the spleen, the -spleen, talking to him of his conquests. And he looks like a piece of -putty. He would need to drink half Vichy to cure him—To begin cutting -capers at his age, at his age——”</p> - -<p>It was not spleen that was the matter with Miranda, however; it was the -affection of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_183" id="page_183"></a>{183}</span> liver, greatly aggravated by anger caused by the -ridiculous adventure which had cut short the wedding trip. His temples -had a greenish hue, the shadows under his eyes were purple, the bile had -imparted a yellow tinge to the skin; and, as the proximity of a new -house makes old houses look still older, so did Lucía’s youthful bloom -emphasize the deterioration in her husband. The enchanting transition -from girlhood to womanhood was now taking place in Lucía; her movements, -slower and more composed, were more graceful than formerly, while in him -maturity was fast passing into old age, rather because of physical decay -than of years. The stronger the evidence he gave of failing health, the -deeper the traces left upon his countenance by suffering, the more -tender and affectionate did Lucía show herself toward him. A certain -moroseness, a certain inexplicable harshness on the part of Miranda, did -not discourage her in her task; she waited upon him with the solicitude -of a daughter; she spoke to him affectionately; she herself prepared his -medicines and bandaged the injured foot with the pious care she might -have displayed in dressing the image of a saint; she was happy, touched -even, if he but found the bandage properly adjusted. At last, Miranda -was able to walk without risk. Dislocations are<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_184" id="page_184"></a>{184}</span> not generally attended -by serious consequences, although at Miranda’s age they are apt to be -somewhat obstinate. He was soon pronounced cured, and the whole party -prepared to set out for Vichy.</p> - -<p>The season was advancing; it was now almost the middle of September, and -to wait longer would be to expose themselves to the persistent rains of -that place. At Miranda’s request, the landlord wrote to the Springs to -engage lodgings. With a verbosity peculiarly French he tried to convince -Miranda and Perico that they ought to hire a <i>châlet</i> in order to save -the ladies the annoying familiarity of the hotel table, and make them -feel as if they were at home. Divided between the two families the -expense would not be excessive, and the advantages would be many. This -was agreed upon, and Miranda asked for his bill at the hotel, which was -brought to him, written in almost illegible characters. When he had -succeeded in deciphering them he sent for the landlady.</p> - -<p>“There is an error here,” he said, putting his finger on the scrawl, -“you have made a mistake against yourself. You have made out my wife’s -bill for the same number of days as mine, while in reality it should be -made out for two days more.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_185" id="page_185"></a>{185}</span></p> - -<p>“Two days more?” repeated the landlady reflectively.</p> - -<p>“Yes, Señora, was she not here two days before I came?”</p> - -<p>“Ah, you are right—but Monsieur Artegui paid for those days.”</p> - -<p>Lucía, who, at the time, was folding some articles of clothing -preparatory to packing her trunk, turned her head suddenly, like a bird -at the fowler’s call. Her face was pale.</p> - -<p>“Paid!” repeated Miranda, in whose lackluster eyes flashed a short-lived -spark. “Paid! and by what right did he pay for them, Señora, I should -like to know?”</p> - -<p>“Señor, that does not concern me” (<i>ce n’est pas mon affaire</i>), -exclaimed the landlady, having recourse, the better to explain her -meaning, to her native tongue. “I receive travelers, is it not so? A -lady and a gentleman arrive, is it not so? The gentleman pays me for the -time the lady has been here, when he takes his departure, and I do not -ask if he has the right to pay me or not. Is it not so? He pays, and -that is all (<i>voilà tout</i>).</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Miranda, raising his voice, “this lady’s bills are paid by -me and by no one else, and you will do me the favor to send a check -to—that gentleman, returning him the amount he has paid.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_186" id="page_186"></a>{186}</span></p> - -<p>“The gentleman will be so kind to excuse me,” protested the landlady, -slaughtering the Spanish language, without compunction, in her -confusion. “I must decline to do what the gentleman asks; I am truly -desolate, but this cannot be done; this has never been done in our -house. It would be an offense, a serious offense, and Monsieur de -Artegui would have much reason to complain. I beg the gentleman’s -pardon.”</p> - -<p>“Go to the devil!” answered Miranda in excellent Spanish, at the same -time turning his back upon his interlocutor, and forgetting, as was -usual with him when he was annoyed, his artificial politeness in his -mortification at the landlady’s refusal to comply with his wishes.</p> - -<p>Lucía on this night, too, bandaged Miranda’s foot, now almost well. She -did it with her accustomed lightness of touch and skill, but, as she -placed her husband’s foot upon her knee, the better to arrange the -compress and secure the elastic bands around the joint, she did not -smile as formerly. In silence she performed her task of mercy, and on -rising from the ground she breathed a light sigh, such a sigh as one -breathes after completing some task fatiguing alike to mind and body.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_187" id="page_187"></a>{187}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> <i>châlet</i> hired at Vichy by the families of Miranda and Gonzalvo bore -the poetic name of “Châlet of the Roses.” In justification of its name, -along its open-work balusters had been trained the airy festoons of a -wilderness of climbing roses, at the extremities of whose branches -languidly drooped the last roses of the season. Roses of a pale yellow -contrasted with flame-hued Bengal roses; and dwarf-roses, of a warm -flesh-tint, looked like diminutive faces, curiously peeping in at the -windows of the <i>châlet</i>. In the peristyle grew in graceful confusion -roses of all sorts and colors. Pink Malmaison roses lifted themselves -proudly on their stems; tea-roses dropped their leaves languidly; roses -of Alexandria, beautiful and stately, poured from their cups their -intoxicating perfume; moss-roses smiled ironically, with their carmine -lips half hidden by their luxuriant green mustaches; white roses rivaled -the snow with their cold pure beauty, their modest primness like that of -artificial flowers. And among her lovely sisters the exotic -<i>viridiflora</i> hid her sea-green buds, as if ashamed of the strange -lizard-like hue of her flowers, of her ugliness as a monstrosity, -interesting only to the botanist.</p> - -<p>The <i>châlet</i> had the usual two stories,—the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_188" id="page_188"></a>{188}</span> <i>entresol</i>, consisting of -a dining-room, kitchen, small parlor, and reception-room; the main floor -being reserved for the bedrooms and dressing-rooms. Along the main story -ran a balcony protected by a railing of lace-like delicacy, and along -the <i>entresol</i> ran a similar balcony, which was almost completely -covered by trailing vines. A delicate iron railing separated the -<i>châlet</i> from the public road—an avenue bordered with trees; low walls -performed the same office with respect to the adjoining houses and -gardens. At either side of the entrance stood, on a massive gray column, -a bronze figure of a boy, holding up in his chubby arms a ground glass -globe, which protected a gas-jet. It was evident at a glance that the -<i>châlet</i>, with its thin wooden walls, could afford but slight protection -to its inhabitants against the cold of winter or the heat of summer; but -in the mild and genial autumn weather this fanciful building, with its -light and delicate ornamentation, carved like a drawing-room toy, -adorned with blooming rose-garlands, was the most coquettish and -delightful of abodes; the most appropriate nest possible to imagine for -a pair of loving turtle-doves. I regret to have to give these charming -dwellings, which abound in Vichy, the foreign name of <i>châlet</i>, but how -is it to be avoided if there is no corresponding<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_189" id="page_189"></a>{189}</span> term in our own -tongue? What we call cabin, cottage, or country house is not at all what -is understood by the word <i>châlet</i>, which is an architectural conception -peculiar to the Helvetian valleys, where art, deriving its inspiration -from nature, reproduced the forms of the larches and spruce trees and -the delicate arabesques of the ice and the hoar-frost, as the Egyptians -copied the capitals of their columns from the lotus-flower. The -<i>châlets</i> of Vichy are built solely for the purpose of being rented to -foreigners. The wife of the <i>concierge</i> undertakes the management of the -house, the marketing, and even the cooking; the <i>concierge</i> himself -attends to the cleaning of the house, prunes the plants in the little -garden, trains the vines, sweeps the sanded walks, waits at table, and -opens the door. The Mirandas and the Gonzalvos, then, installed -themselves in the <i>châlet</i> without further trouble than giving the -<i>concierge</i> their wraps and taking their places at the dining-room -table.</p> - -<p>Although Lucía, and still more Pilar, felt fatigued after the long -railway journey, they could not help admiring the beauty of the abode -which fate had allotted them. The balcony, especially, they thought -delightful for sewing or reading. It brought to Pilar’s mind the many -water-color scenes, landscapes painted<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_190" id="page_190"></a>{190}</span> on fans, and sentimental -pictures that she had seen representing the now hackneyed subject of a -young girl with her head framed in foliage. Lucía, on her side, compared -her house in Leon, antique, massive, bare and gloomy, with this -dwelling, where all was neat and bright, from the shining waxed floors -to the curtains of blue cretonne adorned with clusters of pink -bell-flowers. When Lucía sprang out of bed on the day following that of -their arrival, her first impulse was to go out into the balcony; from -thence she went down into the garden, fastening up her morning gown with -pins, to keep it from being wet by the damp grass. She looked at the -roses, fresh from their bath of dew, lifting themselves proudly on their -stems, each with its necklace of pearls or diamonds. She inhaled the -odor of each in turn, passing her fingers over their leaves without -daring to pluck them. At this hour the roses had scarcely any perfume; -what she perceived was, rather, the aroma of the general freshness and -moistness that rose from the beds of flowers and from the surrounding -trees. In Vichy there are trees everywhere; in the afternoon, when Lucía -and Pilar went out to see something of the town, they uttered -exclamations of delight at every turn at the sight of some tree, some -alley, or some park. Pilar<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_191" id="page_191"></a>{191}</span> thought Vichy had an elegant aspect; Lucía, -less well-informed in matters of elegance and fashion, enjoyed simply -the spectacle of so much verdure, so much nature, which rested her eyes, -making her think at times that, notwithstanding its crowded streets and -its brilliant shops, Vichy was a village, exactly suited to gratify her -secret desire and need for solitude. A village of palaces, with all the -adornments and refinements of comfort and luxury characteristic of our -age, but a village after all.</p> - -<p>Pilar and Miranda began to take the waters simultaneously, although with -the difference of method required by the different natures of their -maladies. Miranda drank the powerful water of the Grande Grille, -undergoing at the same time a complicated course of treatment of local -effusions, baths and douches, while the anæmic girl drank in small doses -the pungent, gaseous, and ferruginous water of the Source des Dames. -From this time forth a constant struggle went on between Pilar and those -who had charge of her. It was necessary to use heroic efforts to prevent -her leading the same life as the fashionable visitors, who spent the -entire day in displaying their toilets and amusing themselves. From this -point of view the presence in Vichy of some six or eight Spanish ladies, -acquaintances of the Gonzalvos,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_192" id="page_192"></a>{192}</span> who intended to remain till the end of -the season, was pernicious to Pilar. The best and most brilliant part of -the season was over; the races, the pigeon-shooting, the public -excursions in chaise and omnibus to the Bourbonese, beginning in August, -had ended in the early part of September. But there still remained the -concerts in the Park, the promenade on the asphalt-paved avenue, the -nightly entertainments in the Casino; the theater, which, now soon to -close, was more and more crowded every night. Pilar was dying to join -the dozen or so of her fashionable compatriots who were participating in -the short-lived round of watering-place gayeties. The physician at Vichy -who attended Pilar, while he recommended amusements for Miranda, -prohibited strictly to the anæmic girl every species of excitement, -advising her strongly to avail herself of the semi-rural character of -the town to lead a country life as far as was possible, going to bed -with the chickens and rising with the sun. This regimen required a great -deal of perseverance on the part of the patient, and, more than this, to -have some one constantly at her side who should oblige her to follow -strictly the doctor’s orders. Neither Miranda nor Perico was calculated -for this office. Miranda complied with the social requirements, -exhorting Pilar<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_193" id="page_193"></a>{193}</span> to “take care of herself,” and “not to be imprudent,” -with that fictitious interest which egotists display when the health of -another is in question. Perico grew angry at seeing his sister pay so -little heed to the advice of the doctor, a neglect that might delay the -cure, and consequently prolong their stay in Vichy; but he was incapable -of watching over her and seeing that she carried out the orders she had -received. He would say to her at times:</p> - -<p>“I hope the devil will fly away with you, fly away with you, and that -you may be as yellow as a lemon this winter. You will have it so, so let -it be.”</p> - -<p>The only person, then, who devoted herself to the task of making Pilar -observe the regimen prescribed by the doctor, was Lucía. She did so, -moved by that need of self-sacrifice experienced by young and vigorous -natures, who must have an outlet for their superabundant energy, and by -the instinct which impels such natures to feed the animal neglected by -every one else, or to protect the child abandoned in the street. There -was no one within Lucía’s reach but Pilar, and on Pilar Lucía placed her -affections. Perico Gonzalvo did not sympathize with Lucía, whom he -thought very provincial and very little womanly, as far as the art of -pleasing was concerned. Miranda,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_194" id="page_194"></a>{194}</span> now somewhat rejuvenated by the -favorable effects of the first week of the waters, went with Perico to -the Casino and to the Park, holding himself erect and twisting his -mustache once more. The two women, then, were thrown upon each other’s -society. Lucía subjected herself in everything to the mode of life of -the patient. At six she softly rose and went to awaken the sick girl, so -that prolonged sleep might not induce debilitating sweats. Then she -would take her out on the balcony on the ground floor to breathe the -pure air of morning, and both enjoyed the country sunrise, which seemed -to electrify Vichy, causing it to thrill with a sort of matutinal -expectancy.</p> - -<p>The business of the day began very early in the town, for almost all of -the inhabitants kept boarders during the season, and were obliged to do -their marketing and be ready to give breakfast to their guests by the -time these should have returned from drinking their morning glass of -water. Usually the mornings were rather cloudy, and the summits of the -tall trees rustled as the breeze played through them. Now and then some -workman would pass by with long beard, ill-washed and shy face, -shuffling his feet, only half awake, unable to shake off fully the -leaden sleep which had overpowered him, exhausted by fatigue, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_195" id="page_195"></a>{195}</span> night -before. The domestic servants, with their baskets of coal on their arms, -their large aprons of gray or blue cloth, and their smoothly combed -hair—like that of a woman who has but ten minutes in the day for her -toilet, and who makes good use of them—walked with quick step, fearing -to be late. From a neighboring barracks came the soldiers, holding -themselves erect, their uniforms tightly buttoned across their chests, -their ears red from the vigorous rubbing they had given them during the -matutinal ablutions, the backs of their heads close shaven, their hands -in their trousers’ pockets, and whistling an air. An old woman, with a -clean white cap, her gown turned up, carefully swept up the dead leaves -which strewed the asphalt pavement, followed by a lap-dog that sniffed, -as if trying to recover the scent, at each heap of leaves swept up by -the diligent broom. There were vehicles in great number, and of various -forms and sizes, and Lucía amused herself by watching them and noting -the different styles and shapes to be seen. Some, mounted on enormous -wheels, were drawn by little donkeys with pricked-up ears, driven by -women with harsh and weather-beaten countenances, who wore the classic -Bourbonese hat, a species of straw basket with two black velvet ribbons -crossing<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_196" id="page_196"></a>{196}</span> each other over the crown; these were milk-wagons; at the back -of the wagon was a row of tin cans containing the milk. The carts -employed in the transport of earth and lime were more clumsy than these -and were drawn by strong percherons, with harnesses adorned by tassels -of red wool. Going for their load, they rolled along with a certain -carelessness; while, returning laden, the driver cracked his whip, the -horse trotted along spiritedly and the bells of the harness tinkled. -When the weather was fine, Lucía and Pilar would go down into the little -garden and stand with their faces pressed to the iron railing, looking -out into the avenue; but on rainy mornings they remained on the balcony, -sheltered by the carved projections of the <i>châlet</i>, and listening to -the noise of the raindrops plashing fast, fast on the leaves of the -plane trees that rustled with a silky murmur.</p> - -<p>But the weather seemed determined to favor the travelers, and shortly -after their arrival in Vichy began a series of days as brilliant and -serene as it was possible for days to be in autumn, that season so -peculiarly serene, especially in its early part.</p> - -<p>The sky was clear and cloudless, the air genial, vegetation in all the -plenitude of its splendor of coloring and growth; the afternoons<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_197" id="page_197"></a>{197}</span> were -long, the mornings were bright, and Lucía availed herself of this -conjunction of favorable circumstances to persuade Pilar to take a trip -into the country in accordance with the doctor’s advice. It was a part -of the treatment that Pilar should take rides on a donkey in order that -the uneven trot of the animal might serve her as exercise, setting her -blood in motion without fatiguing her; and although the sick girl -cordially detested this species of conveyance, and, until they emerged -from the town, persisted in going on foot, dragging herself laboriously -along rather than mount it, yet she consented to do so when they were -outside the town. The exercise excited her, and imparted a faint color -to her cheeks. Lucía would joke with her about her appearance.</p> - -<p>“You see how beneficial it is to ride a spirited steed,” she would say. -“You look splendid; you look like a different person; see, to make a -conquest, all you have to do is to take a turn up and down as you are -now, before the Casino, when the band is playing.”</p> - -<p>“Horrors!” exclaimed the sick girl, with a little cry. “What if the -Amézegas were to see me—they who never ride except in a jaunting car or -a brougham!”</p> - -<p>The two friends would go sometimes to the Montagne Verte, sometimes to -the Source des<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_198" id="page_198"></a>{198}</span> Dames, sometimes to the intermittent spring of Vesse. -The Montagne Verte is the highest point in the neighborhood of Vichy. -The hill is covered with vegetation, but scrubby vegetation, scarcely -rising above the surface of the earth, so that from a distance it looked -to them like the head of a giant covered with short and very thick hair. -When they reached the summit, they ascended to the mirador, and looked -through the great field-glass, examining the immense panorama that lay -spread before them. The gentle slopes, clad with vines, descended to the -Allier, which wound in the distance like an enormous blue snake. Far -away the chain of the Fonez raised its snow-capped hills, the giants of -Auvergne, vaporous and gray, looked like cloud-phantoms; the castle of -Borbon Busset emerged from the mists, its seignorial towers casting into -the shade the peaceful palace of Randan, with all the disdain of a -legitimate Bourbon for the degenerate branch of Orleans. Lucía’s -favorite excursion was to the Source des Dames; a narrow footpath, -shaded by leafy trees, gently followed the course of the Sichon, -pausing, when the river paused to form a shallow lake, and then -continuing its winding course along the border of the tranquil stream. -At every step some picturesque accident broke the monotony of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_199" id="page_199"></a>{199}</span> the rows -of poplars and elms,—now a lavatory, now a little house standing on the -river’s brink, now a dam, now a mill, now a duck pond. The mill, in -particular, seemed as if it might have been placed there by some -landscape painter for artistic effect. Ancient and moss-grown, it rested -on wooden posts that were slowly decaying in the water; in the center of -the structure the wheel gleamed like an enormous eye shining in the -brown and wrinkled forehead of a Cyclops. The drops of liquid silver -that leaped from spoke to spoke with every revolution one might fancy -tears dropping from the immense eye, and the groan to which the massive -wheel gave utterance as it turned completed the resemblance, imitating -the breathing of the monster. Through the ill-joined planks of a bridge, -boldly thrown across the very bend of the cataract which formed the dam, -could be caught glimpses of the water foaming and roaring below. In the -dam some half-dozen ducks were lazily paddling, and innumerable sparrows -flew hither and thither under the irregular eaves of the roof, while in -the dark aperture of one of the irregularly placed windows grew a pot of -petunias. Lucía loved to sit and watch the mill from the bank opposite, -lulled by the monotonous snore of the wheel and the gentle plash of the -water.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_200" id="page_200"></a>{200}</span> Pilar preferred the intermittent spring, which procured her the -emotions of which her sickly organization was so avid. The spring was -reached by a pleasant path, and from the bridge could be obtained a fine -view of the surrounding country.</p> - -<p>The Allier is a broad and deep stream, but at this season of the year -its waters are greatly diminished by the summer draughts, the channel -being almost dry, except in the deepest parts, leaving the sandy bed of -the river exposed to view in broad white bands. In places, dark rocks -intercepted the current, forming eddies where the water foamed angrily -and then went on its way, calm and placid as before. Beyond stretched an -open plain. Wide meadows, with here and there cows grazing and sheep -browsing, were bounded on the horizon line by pale green poplars, -straight, with pointed tops, like the artificial trees of the toy sets. -The osiers, on the contrary, were squat and round, looking like balls of -somber verdure dotting the meadow. In the distance could be seen the -summit of the Montagne Verte, outlined in pure dark green against the -sky with a certain hardness and distinctness, that reminded one of a -Flemish landscape. On the river bank the right arms of the washerwomen, -rising and falling like the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_201" id="page_201"></a>{201}</span> arms of marionettes could be seen, and the -monotonous sound of the bat beating the linen could be heard. Carts -laden with sand and gravel slowly ascended the rough slope of the bank, -and then as slowly crossed the bridge, the team bathed in sweat, the -bells tinkling at rare intervals. Auvergnese peasant women walked along, -dressed in dull-colored garments, wearing the straw panier above the -white coif, guarding their cows, whose udders, swelling with milk, swung -as they went, and which, looking with melancholy gaze at the passers-by, -would suddenly start on an oblique run, lasting some ten seconds, after -which they resumed their former slow and resigned pace. At the corner of -the bridge a poor man, decently clad, and with the air of a soldier, -begged for charity with only a supplicating inflexion of the voice and a -sorrowful contraction of the brow.</p> - -<p>In proportion as they left the bridge behind them, penetrating more -deeply into the shade of the road leading to Vesse, the heart of Lucía, -who felt herself now really in the country, would grow lighter. The -trees here were wilder, less straight and symmetrical than in Vichy; the -path less even and more natural; the grass borders less trim, and the -villas and houses on either side of the road less neatly<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_202" id="page_202"></a>{202}</span> kept and -handsome. No zealous hand removed the dry leaves that formed a natural -carpet for the ground. At intervals was to be seen some shed, in whose -dark shadow gleamed the agricultural implements, and the rural and -pungent odor of the turned-up earth penetrated the lungs, healthy and -strengthening as the wholesome vegetables growing in the neighboring -gardens. The distance from the bridge to the spring was short. Arrived -there they crossed the hall of the little house, entered the garden, and -directed their steps toward the vine-covered arbor containing the -fountain. They found the basin empty; from the brass tube of the jet not -a drop of water flowed. But Pilar knew beforehand the precise time at -which the singular phenomenon would occur, and made her calculations -with exactness. During the interval before the water made its -appearance, she would remain leaning over the basin, her heart -palpitating, silently listening, with her right hand held like an -ear-trumpet to her ear.</p> - -<p>“He is coming; I hear him hissing,” Lucía would say, as if they were -speaking of some monster.</p> - -<p>“You will see that he won’t come for five minutes yet,” Pilar would -answer in a tone of conviction.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_203" id="page_203"></a>{203}</span></p> - -<p>“I tell you he is coming, my dear; he is sputtering now.”</p> - -<p>“Let me listen. No, no! It is the noise of the wind shaking the trees. -You are dreaming.”</p> - -<p>Then a short pause of complete silence would follow—a tragic interval.</p> - -<p>“Hist! now, now!” the sick girl would cry, clapping her hands; “now it -is coming, and in earnest!”</p> - -<p>In effect, a strange gurgling noise was heard, followed by a shrill -whistle, and then a jet of boiling water, which emitted an intolerable -odor of sulphur, rose straight, swift, and foaming to the very roof of -the high arbor. A thick steam enveloped the basin, and diffused itself -through the atmosphere, now filled with the sickening odor of the -sulphur. Thus the stream rose impetuously until the force below began to -diminish when, with the fury of impotence, it issued in wild leaps, like -the convulsions of an epileptic, writhing in anger, sputtering with -desperate articulation; at last it would fall down, vanquished and -powerless, sending forth only at rare intervals a thin stream, like the -last flashes of a dying taper. Its agony ended with two or three -hiccoughs from the tube at whose orifice the stream would appear, but -without sufficient force to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_204" id="page_204"></a>{204}</span> emerge. The spring would not now flow again -for ten hours at least.</p> - -<p>Lucía and Pilar would often dispute together about the termination of -the phenomenon as they had done about its beginning.</p> - -<p>“It has stopped. He is going to sleep. Good-night, sir,” Lucía would -exclaim with a wave of the hand.</p> - -<p>“No, child. He will make his appearance three or four times yet before -he goes to rest.”</p> - -<p>“He can’t.”</p> - -<p>“He can. You shall see; he will give a few <i>little spits</i> more, as the -servant of a cousin of mine, an artillery officer says. Hush, listen, -listen to him still snoring! One, two, three, now he is spitting!”</p> - -<p>“Four, five, six! There, he won’t come back again. The poor fellow is -tired out.”</p> - -<p>“No, he won’t come again now; he has given his last gasp.”</p> - -<p>Returning, the friends would find the bridge more animated than they had -found it on going to the spring. This was the hour at which the -townspeople and the bathers returned from their expeditions into the -country, and many equestrians were to be seen hastening to the town, -displaying their riding-trousers and buttoned gaiters, against which -gleamed brightly stirrup and spur. An occasional sociable, looking<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_205" id="page_205"></a>{205}</span> like -a light canoe, proceeded on its way, drawn by its handsome pair of -well-matched ponies, with lustrous coats and clean hoofs, proud of their -elegant burden. Hasty glimpses could be caught of wide straw hats, -profusely adorned with lilacs and poppies; of light gowns, laces, and -ribbons; light-colored muslin parasols; gay countenances, gay with the -gayety of good society, which is always set in a lower key than, the -gayety of common people. This latter was enjoyed by the pedestrians, for -the most part happy family parties, who wore contentedly the livery of -golden mediocrity or even of plain poverty; the father, obese, -gray-haired, red-faced, with gray or maroon coat, carrying on his -shoulder the long fishing pole; the daughter wearing a dark woolen gown, -a little black straw hat adorned with a single flower, carrying on her -left arm the little basket containing the flies and other piscatorial -appurtenances, and leading by the right hand the little brother who had -outgrown his trousers and jacket and who showed the ankles of his boots, -proudly holding the pail in which floated the foolish fishes, victims of -the death-dealing pastime of his father.</p> - -<p>Lucía took such delight in the view of the bridge and the river that she -retarded her steps in passing them in order to prolong the pleasure.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_206" id="page_206"></a>{206}</span> -The green curtain of the new park stretched before her view. The whole -of this beautiful garden was a marsh, until the massive dykes erected by -Napoleon III to prevent the inundations following the rise of the -Allier, and the draining of the ground, transformed it into a paradise. -The choice trees growing in the fertile soil had for the most part tones -intense and soft, like green plush; but some of them, now turning -yellow, shone, in the light of the setting sun, like pyramids of golden -filagree work. Others were reddish with a brick-like red, that, where -the sun fell, showed carmine. The sick girl, as they returned to the -town, liked to sit and rest awhile on one of the benches of the park. -There were generally visitors there at this hour, and sometimes they -would meet members of the Spanish colony, acquaintances of Perico or -Miranda, with whom they would exchange salutations and the trivial -phrases current in society. Sometimes, too, the rich Cubans, the de -Amézegas, would flash like comets on their sight, with their -extraordinary hats, their enormous parasols, and their fanciful -adornments, always in the height of the fashion. Pilar could distinguish -them a league away by their famous hats, impossible to confound with any -other head-covering whatsoever. They resembled two large pudding dishes, -completely<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_207" id="page_207"></a>{207}</span> covered with small, fine, red feathers and adorned each with -a natural bird, a species of pheasant, artistically mounted with -outspread wing, and head turned gracefully to one side. This strange -semi-Indian ornament suited well the tropical pallor and flashing eyes -of the two young Cubans. When they drew near, Lucía would give Pilar a -push with her elbow, saying, with a touch of malice:</p> - -<p>“See, there come the wonderful foreign birds of those friends of yours.”</p> - -<p>The meeting with “the Amézegas,” as Perico called them, always produced -a slight degree of fever in Pilar, which left her prostrate for a couple -of hours afterward. When she descried them in the distance she -instinctively arranged her hair, put forward her foot covered with a -little Louis XV shoe of Morocco leather, and nervously passed her hand -over the brown lace of her wrap, bringing into full view the turquoise -arrow that fastened it. They would enter into conversation, the de -Amézegas speaking in languid or disdainful accents, looking at the sky -or at the passers-by and striking the ground with the knobs of their -parasols as they spoke. Short answers, lazily given—“What would you -have, child?” “It was magnificent,” “More people there than ever,” “Of -course the Swede was there,”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_208" id="page_208"></a>{208}</span> “Cream-colored satin and grenadine the -color of heliotrope, combined,” “As usual, devoted to her,” “Yes, yes, -it is warm,” “Well, I am glad you are better, child,”—responded to the -eager questions of Pilar. Then the Cubans would continue on their way -with titters politely suppressed, half-finished phrases, and a rustle of -new fabrics, planting their heels firmly on the ground as they walked. -For at least a quarter of an hour afterward, Pilar did nothing but -criticise the belles, and others, also.</p> - -<p>“They are getting to be more and more extravagant and loud every day. -Now, do you like that odd gown with the head of a bird, to match the -bird on the hat, fastening every pleat? They look like a glass case in -the Museum of Natural History. Even on the fan a bird’s head! It is not -credible that Worth should have conceived that grotesque style. I -believe they make them at home themselves with the help of the maid and -then say they were ordered from Worth.”</p> - -<p>“But it is said for a fact that their father is a very wealthy banker in -Havana.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes; they have more tricks than <i>trapiches</i>,”<a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a> said Pilar, -repeating a jest that had been going the rounds of Madrid all the -winter, <i>à-propos</i> of the Amézegas.</p> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> A sugar plantation in Cuba.</p></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_209" id="page_209"></a>{209}</span></p> - -<p>“There is no doubt but that birds are a very curious ornament. I have -one, too, in a hat.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, in a toque; but that is different. Besides, a married lady can use -certain things that in the dress of a young girl——”</p> - -<p>“And for that reason Perico was quite right not to buy you that wrap -embroidered in colored beads that you took such a fancy to. It was very -striking.”</p> - -<p>“Nothing of the kind. It was very distinguished-looking. What do you -know of those matters?”</p> - -<p>“I? Nothing,” answered Lucía, smiling.</p> - -<p>“The gown of the Swede must have been lovely—cream-color and -heliotrope! I like the combination. But how she is making herself talked -about with Albares—a married man! Good need they both have of the -waters!”</p> - -<p>“Why, I heard your brother say that she does not take the slightest -notice of him.”</p> - -<p>“Bah! unless you would have them pay the town-crier to publish it! -Albares is a fool, inside and out, who loves to attract attention. The -fact is that every one in Vichy is talking about them.”</p> - -<p>Lucía remained thoughtful, her gaze fixed on the flower-knots of the -park, that looked like enameled medallions fastened on a green satin -skirt. They were formed of several varieties of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_210" id="page_210"></a>{210}</span> the coleus; those in -the center had lance-shaped and brilliant leaves of dark brown, purplish -red, brick-red, red of the color of the turkey’s comb, rose-red. At the -edge, a row of ruins of Italy, showed their bluish disks against the -fresh vivid green of the grass. The larches and the pines formed, here -and there, in some retired corner of the park, woody, Swiss-like clumps, -their innumerable branches drooping languidly to the ground. Through the -light foliage of the majestic catalpas streamed the last rays of the -setting sun, and splashes of golden light danced here and there upon the -fine sanded walk. The place had the mysterious and secluded air of a -temple. A solemn, poetic silence prevailed, which it almost seemed a -sacrilege to break by a word or movement.</p> - -<p>The visitors had begun to leave the park, the light crunching of the -gravel under their feet sounding fainter and fainter in the distance. -But the two friends were in the habit of remaining to “lock up the -place” as the saying is, for it was precisely at the sunset hour that -Lucía thought the park most beautiful in this melancholy autumnal -season. The dying rays of the sun, now low in the western sky, fell -almost horizontally on the grassy meads, lighting them up with hues like -liquid gold. The dark cones of the fir trees dotted this ocean of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_211" id="page_211"></a>{211}</span> light -in which their shadows were disproportionately prolonged. The plane -trees and the Indian chestnuts were dropping their leaves, and from time -to time a burr would fall to the ground with a hard, dull sound, and -opening allow the shining chestnut to roll out. In the large -flower-knots, which contrasted with the green of the grass, the pale -eglantine dropped its fragile petals at the faintest breeze, the -verbenas trailed themselves languidly, as if weary of life, their -capriciously growing stalks breaking the oval outlines of the bed; the -sweet milfoil raised its shower of blue stars, and the rare coleuses -displayed the exotic tints and the metallic luster of their spotted -leaves, resembling the scales of a serpent, white with black spots, -green with flesh-colored veins, dark amaranth striped with copperish -red. A profound thrill, precursor of winter, ran through all nature, who -seemed to have adorned herself in her richest attire for her death. -Thus, the virgin vine was arrayed in her splendid purple robe and the -white poplar raised coquettishly its plumy white crest; thus the -coralline decked itself with chains and rings of blood-red coral and the -zinnias ran through the whole scale of vivid colors in their broidered -petticoats. The striped maize shook its green and white-striped<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_212" id="page_212"></a>{212}</span> silken -skirts with melodious rustle, and far away on the edge of the meadow, -bathed in sunlight, a few tender saplings bent their youthful heads. The -dead leaves covered the paths in such abundance that Lucía felt with -delight her foot sink up to the ankle in the soft carpet. The contact of -the edge of her gown with the leaves produced a quick murmuring sound, -like the hurried breathing of some one following close behind; and, a -prey to childish terror, she would turn back her head now and again and -smile at herself when she saw that her fears were illusory. There were -many varieties of leaves, some dark, decayed, almost rotted; others dry, -brittle, shriveled; others yellow or still greenish, moist with the sap -of the branch through which they had drawn their life. The carpet lay -thicker in the shady spots by the borders of the lake, whose surface -rippled like undulating glass at the light contact of the evening -breeze, breaking into innumerable wavelets, that dashed unceasingly -against one another.</p> - -<p>Tall weeping-willows bent with a melancholy air above the water, that -reflected back their tremulous branches, among which could be seen the -disk of the sun, whose rays, concentrated by this species of camera -obscura, struck the eye with the force of arrows. In a labyrinth in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_213" id="page_213"></a>{213}</span> the -lake, an enormous clump of malangas displayed their exuberant tropical -vegetation, their gigantic fan-like leaves motionless in the still air. -Swans and ducks paddled—the former, with their accustomed fantastic -grace, swaying their long necks, the latter, quacking harshly,—toward -the bank, the moment Lucía and Pilar appeared, in quest of bits of -bread, which they swallowed greedily, raising their tails in the air as -each mouthful went down. The islet, with its pine tree, cast a -mysterious shade over the surface of the lake. A sheaf of reeds raised -their slender forms and by their side the sharp poas shook their brushes -of chestnut velvet.</p> - -<p>A delightful coolness rose from the water. The landscape breathed a -tender melancholy, a gentle drowsiness, the repose of mother nature, -fatigued with the continued production of the summer, and preparing for -her winter sleep. Lucía was no longer a child; external objects now -spoke to her eloquently, and she began to listen to their voice. The -scene before her plunged her into vague meditation. Her soul seemed to -detach itself from her body, as the leaf detaches itself from the -branch, and like it to wander without aim or object, yielding itself up -to the delight of annihilation, to the sweetness of non-existence. And -how pleasant death must be, a death like that of the leaves,—<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_214" id="page_214"></a>{214}</span>a gentle -loosening of the bonds of life, the passage to more beautiful regions, -the satisfaction of the mysterious longings hidden in the recesses of -the soul! When ideas like these thronged to her mind, a bird, perhaps, -would fly down from some tree; she would hear the fluttering of its -wings in the air; it would hop along the sanded walk, ruffling its -feathers among the dead leaves; she would approach, and suddenly it -would fly away and go to perch on the topmost branch of the murmuring -acacias.</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X.</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> voice of the sick girl would break the spell.</p> - -<p>“Eh, child, what are you thinking about? How romantic those girls -brought up in the provinces are!”</p> - -<p>The sharp and clear-sighted eyes of Pilar fastened themselves, as she -said this, on Lucía’s face, where she descried a faint shadow, a sort of -gray veil extending from the forehead and the temples to the circles -under the eyes, and a certain sunkenness at the corners of the mouth. -Her morbid curiosity was awakened, inspiring her with a desire to -dissect for her pastime this simple heart. Her unerring<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_215" id="page_215"></a>{215}</span> woman’s -instinct had revealed many things to her, and unable to content herself -with a discreet guess, she desired to obtain the confidence of Lucía. It -would be one more emotion for her to enjoy during her stay at the -springs.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know what I was thinking about—nothing,” answered Lucía, -calling to her aid the most commonplace of excuses and the most common.</p> - -<p>“Because it sometimes seems as if you were sad, pretty one; and I don’t -know why you should be sad, for you are precisely in the most delightful -part of the honeymoon. Ah, you are to be envied! Miranda is very -agreeable. He has good manners, a good presence.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, indeed; a very good presence,” repeated Lucía, like an echo.</p> - -<p>“And he dotes upon you. Why, any one may see that. True, he goes about a -good deal with my brother—but what would you have, child? All men are -like that. The chief thing is that when they are with one they should be -amiable and affectionate—and that they should not be jealous. No, that -good quality, at least, Miranda has; he is not jealous.”</p> - -<p>Lucía turned red as fire, and, stooping down, gathered a handful of dry -leaves from the ground, in order to hide her confusion; then<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_216" id="page_216"></a>{216}</span> she amused -herself crumbling them between her thumb and forefinger and blowing the -dust into the air.</p> - -<p>“And yet,” continued Pilar, “any one else in his place—No, see, if I -were a man, I don’t know what I should have done—this thing of having a -stranger escorting one’s bride for so many days—in that way, in such -close company—and precisely when——”</p> - -<p>At this direct and brutal thrust, Lucía raised her head, and fixed on -her friend the ingenuous but dignified and severe glance which at times -shone in her eyes. Pilar, skillful in her tactics, drew back in order -the better to make her spring.</p> - -<p>“It is true that any one who knew you and him, would be just as -unsuspicious as Miranda. You, as we all know, a little saint, an angel -in a niche; and he—he is a gentleman of the old school, notwithstanding -his eccentricities—he is as honorable as the Cid. He takes it from far -back. I have known him very well for a long time past,” declared Pilar, -who, like all young girls of the middle class who have mixed in good -society, was eager to have it appear that she knew everybody.</p> - -<p>“You—you have known him for a long time?” murmured Lucía, conquered, -offering the sick girl her arm to lean upon.</p> - -<p>“Yes, child. He goes to Madrid every<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_217" id="page_217"></a>{217}</span> year; sometimes to spend the whole -winter there, but generally only a month or two in the spring. He has -little liking for society; he was invited to several houses, for his -father, the Carlist chief, was a distinguished man in his part of the -country, and he is connected with the Puenteanchas and with the Mijares, -who are also Urbietas, but he was so chary of his society that every one -was dying to have him. Once, because he danced a rigadoon, at -Puenteancha’s, with Isabelita Novelda, they teased her about it all the -evening—they said she could now undertake to tame wild beasts; that she -could take Plevna without firing a gun—Isabelita was as proud as a -peacock, and it turned out that the Puenteancha had requested him to -dance, as a favor to her, and that he had consented, saying that he -would dance with the first woman he met—he met Isabelita and he asked -her. Fancy how the silly girl looked when it was known! After being -convinced that she had made a conquest! Her nose grew longer than it -was, and it was long enough already—ha, ha!”</p> - -<p>The sick girl’s laughter ended in a cough—a little cough that tickled -her throat and took away her breath, compelling her to sit down on one -of the rustic benches of the park. Lucía slapped her gently on the back -without speaking,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_218" id="page_218"></a>{218}</span> not wishing to say a word that might change the -current of the conversation. Her eyes spoke for her.</p> - -<p>“I can tell you it was a dreadful disappointment,” resumed Pilar, when -she had recovered her breath. “The hundreds of thousands of francs which -his father had laid by for him would have suited the Noveldita -exactly—but they say that he does not like women!”</p> - -<p>“He does not like women?” said Lucía, as if the pronoun <i>he</i> could refer -to only one person.</p> - -<p>“They say, however, that as a son he has few equals—he pets his mother -like a baby. She is said to be a woman of great refinement, belonging to -the French aristocracy—extremely delicate in her health, and I even -think that long ago, when she was young——”</p> - -<p>The sick girl tapped her forehead significantly with her forefinger.</p> - -<p>“It seems the father desired that the child should be born on Spanish -soil and he brought his wife before her confinement to Ondarroa, his -native place; they accustomed the boy to speak Spanish, except with his -nurse, with whom he spoke the Basque dialect. Paco Mijares, who is a -relation of his and knows all about it, told me so.”</p> - -<p>Lucía listened eagerly, drinking in every<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_219" id="page_219"></a>{219}</span> word with avidity, to all -these insignificant details.</p> - -<p>“He has curious fancies and caprices. At one time he took the notion to -work and entered a commercial house. After that he studied medicine and -surgery, and I understand that he put Rubio and Camison in the shade. In -Madrid he went to the hospitals to study for pleasure; at the time of -the war he did the same thing. Do you know where I sometimes used to -meet him in Madrid? In the Retiro, looking fixedly at the large lake. -What is the matter, child?”</p> - -<p>Lucía, with closed eyes and deathly pale, leaned back against the trunk -of the tree that shaded the bench on which they sat. When she opened her -eyes, the shadow on her temples was more marked, and her gaze wandered -like that of a person recovering from a swoon.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know—I sometimes seem to lose consciousness in that way. It is -as if there were a sinking here,” she murmured, laying her hand on her -heart.</p> - -<p>“It is as I thought,” said Pilar to herself. “She has begun her capers -early,” she added, in her own mind, cynically. Night was falling -rapidly; a cold breeze stirred the foliage of the trees; the two -friends, shivering, drew their wraps closer around them. At the same -moment<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_220" id="page_220"></a>{220}</span> two dark figures appeared at the end of the avenue. They were -those of Miranda and Perico, who manifested some surprise at finding -Lucía and Pilar in the park at this late hour.</p> - -<p>“A pretty way, a pretty way to cure yourself! The devil! you’ll be lucky -if you don’t get an attack of pneumonia for this! get up, you crazy -girl; come, come!”</p> - -<p>Pilar rose, weak and pale, and took Miranda’s arm. Perico offered his to -Lucía, whose natural vigor of constitution had by this time got the -better of her momentary faintness.</p> - -<p>“I doubt if she can take the waters to-morrow,” the latter said to her -companion. “She was rather excited to-day, and now the reaction shows -itself in fatigue.”</p> - -<p>“I wager she would be strong enough, strong enough, if I offered to let -her go to the Casino!”</p> - -<p>“Ah, Periquillo of my soul!” cried the sick girl, whose fine ear had not -lost a word of the conversation, “will you let me go, eh? What harm -would that do me? Miranda, you intercede for me.”</p> - -<p>“Once in a while—it might be good for her—it would serve to distract -her.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t mind what he says, Gonzalvo. Señor Duhamel says she ought not to -go, and who knows best, she or the doctor?” said Lucía.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_221" id="page_221"></a>{221}</span></p> - -<p>“And you?” asked Perico, incited to a touch of gallantry by the hour, -the sight of the husband walking in front, and his inveterate -habits,—“and you, young and pretty as you are, why do you not come to -the Casino? All that finery that is lying idle in your trunks would be -better employed where it could be seen. Come, make up your mind, make up -your mind, and I will bring you a bunch of camellias like the one the -Swede carried last night.”</p> - -<p>“I have no desire to eclipse the Swede,” said Lucía, with a smile. -“Where would she be if I were to show myself?”</p> - -<p>“Well, although you say it in jest, in jest, it is the simple truth,” -and Perico traitorously lowered his voice. “You are worth a dozen -Swedes”; and in a louder tone, he added: “If Juanito Albares did not -make such a fool of himself, deuce a one would look at her, would look -at her.”</p> - -<p>(Juanito Albares, as Perico familiarly called him, was a duke, a grandee -of Spain, a count and a marquis, and had I know not how many other -titles besides, a fact worthy to be borne in mind by the future -biographers of the elegant Gonzalvo.)</p> - -<p>“Where are your eyes, then?” exclaimed Lucía, with Spanish frankness. -“You have<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_222" id="page_222"></a>{222}</span> great audacity to say that! The Swede is beautiful! Her -complexion is whiter than milk, and then her eyes——”</p> - -<p>“Put no confidence in whiteness,” interposed Pilar, “while Venus’s towel -and Paris white are to be bought. She is too large.”</p> - -<p>“Too tall,” declared Perico, like the fox in the fable.</p> - -<p>“Never mind,” said Miranda, in a low voice, to Pilar. “We will make that -obstinate brother of yours listen to reason, and you shall go some night -to the Casino. A pretty thing it would be if you were to leave Vichy -without seeing the theater and listening to the concert. It would be -unheard of.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, Miranda! You are my guardian angel! If there is no other way of -accomplishing it, you and I will run away some night—an elopement. We -will do as they do in the novels: you shall come on a fiery steed, I -will get up behind, and let them overtake us if they can. We will first -put Perico and Lucía under lock and key, and leave them there to do -penance for their sins, eh? What do you say?”</p> - -<p>When they reached the entrance to the <i>châlet</i>, where lights were -already shining among the dark foliage of the trees, Miranda said to -himself:</p> - -<p>“This one is more amusing than my wife.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_223" id="page_223"></a>{223}</span> At least she says something, if -it is only nonsense; and she is cheerful, although she has half of one -lung God knows in what condition.”</p> - -<p>“This girl is more insipid than water, than water,” Perico, on his side, -said to himself on parting from Lucía.</p> - -<p>Meantime the longed-for day of the evening entertainment arrived. Pilar -was in the habit of spending a couple of hours daily in the Salle des -Dames of the Casino, generally from one to three o’clock in the -afternoon. The Salle des Dames is one of the many attractions of the -fine building which is the center of the gayety of the town, where the -ladies who are subscribers to the Casino can take refuge without fear of -masculine intrusion; there they are at home, and rule with absolute -sway; they play the piano, embroider, chat, and sometimes indulge in a -sherbet or some sweetmeat or bon-bon, which they nibble with as much -enjoyment as if they were mice let loose in a cupboard full of dainties. -It might be taken for a modern Moorish harem, a gynecæum, not hidden -within the modest shadow of the home, but situated in the most public of -all possible places. There congregated all the feminine stars of the -firmament of Vichy, and there Pilar met assembled the small but -brilliant Spanish-American colony—the de Amézegas, Luisa Natal, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_224" id="page_224"></a>{224}</span> -Countess of Monteros; and there was established a sort of Spanish -coterie which, if not very numerous, was none the less animated and gay. -While some blonde Englishwoman executed pieces of classic music on the -piano, and the Frenchwomen seized the occasion to display exquisite -worsted-work, at which they worked at the rate of two or three stitches -an hour, the Spanish women, more sincere, gave themselves up frankly to -idleness and spent the time chatting and fanning themselves. A fine -geographical globe at the farther end of the parlor seemed asking what -was its object and aim in such a place; and in exchange, the portraits -of the two sisters of Louis XVI, Victoria and Adelaide, traditional -<i>dames</i> of Vichy, with powdered hair and rosy, smiling faces, presided -over the exhibition of frivolity continually being celebrated in their -honor. There were whisperings, like the flutterings of bird’s wings in -an aviary; sounds of laughter, like the sound of pearls dropping into a -crystal cup; the silky flutter of fans, the click of the sticks, the -noise made by the casters of the chairs rolling over the waxed floors, -the <i>frou-frou</i> of skirts, like the rustling of insects’ wings. The air -was perfumed by the mingled odors of gardenia, toilet vinegar, -smelling-salts, and perfumery. On chairs and tables lay trinkets and -articles of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_225" id="page_225"></a>{225}</span> adornment, long-handled silk parasols embroidered in gold, -work-boxes of Russian leather, work-baskets of straw ornamented with -worsted balls and tassels; here a lace scarf, there a lawn handkerchief; -here a bunch of flowers exhaling in death their sweetest perfume, there -a dotted tulle veil, and, resting on it, the pins used to fasten it. The -group of Spanish women, headed by Lola Amézega, who was of a very -resolute character, maintained a certain independence and intimacy among -themselves, very different from the reserve of the Englishwomen, between -whom and the Spanish group there was even perceptible a feeling of -secret hostility and mutual contempt.</p> - -<p>It afforded great diversion to the Spanish group to see the Englishwomen -gravely take out a newspaper, as large as a sheet, from their pockets, -and read it from the first word to the last.</p> - -<p>Pilar had been unable to persuade Lucía to accompany her to the Salle -des Dames; the shyness and timidity resulting from her provincial -education deterred her from going; she dreaded, more than fire, the -inquisitive glances of those women, who examined her toilet as minutely -as a skillful confessor examines the recesses of the conscience of his -penitent. Pilar, on the contrary, was there in her natural element.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_226" id="page_226"></a>{226}</span> Her -rather shrill voice yielded in power only to the Cuban lisp of the -leader, Lola Amézega.</p> - -<p>Let us listen to the concert:</p> - -<p>“Well, I bought this to-day,” Lola was saying unconstrainedly, as she -turned up the sleeve of her pink muslin gown, trimmed with dark garnet -bows, and displaying to view a bracelet, from which hung a little pig -with curled-up tail and swelling sides, executed in fine enamel.</p> - -<p>“I have one in another style,” said Amalia Amézega, showing a pig no -less resplendent than her sister’s, which dug its snout into the lace of -her necktie.</p> - -<p>“Heavens! what an ugly fashion!” exclaimed Luisa Natal, a belle whose -attractions were now on the wane, and who was very careful to use no -ornaments except such as might serve to enhance her beauty. “For my -part, I would not wear such creatures. They make one think of -black-pudding, don’t they, countess?”</p> - -<p>The Countess of Monteros, a Spanish woman of the old-fashioned type, -very devout and somewhat austere, nodded in the affirmative.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know what they are going to invent next,” she said slowly. “I -have seen in the shops, elephants, lizards, frogs, and toads, and even -spiders,—in short, the most disgusting<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_227" id="page_227"></a>{227}</span> creatures possible,—as -ornaments for young ladies. In my youthful days we had no fancy for such -oddities; fine brilliants, beautiful pearls, a ruby heart—and, yes, we -wore cameos, also, but it was a charming caprice—one had one’s likeness -or that of some virgin or saint engraved on the stone.”</p> - -<p>There was a brief silence; the Amézegas, subjugated by the imperiousness -of that authoritative voice, did not venture to reply.</p> - -<p>“See, countess,” said Pilar, at last, delighted to have an opportunity -to enrage the Amézegas, “what is really pretty is that pin of Luisa’s.”</p> - -<p>Luisa drew from her hair the long golden pin with its head of amethyst -set with diamonds.</p> - -<p>“The Swede wore one like it yesterday,” she said, handing it to the -countess. “She had on the whole set—earrings, a necklace of amethyst -balls, and the pin. She looked magnificent with those and the heliotrope -gown.”</p> - -<p>“Last night?” asked Pilar.</p> - -<p>“Yes, at the theater. The other was gloomy and listless as usual; at ten -he entered her box and handed her the customary bouquet of camellias and -white azaleas; they say it costs him seventy francs a night. It is a -regular addition to his bill at the hotel.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_228" id="page_228"></a>{228}</span></p> - -<p>“That nephew of mine has neither shame nor discretion,” said the -Countess of Monteros gravely.</p> - -<p>“A married man!” said Luisa Natal, who lived very happily with her -husband, who blindly obeyed all her caprices.</p> - -<p>“And is it known, finally, whether the Swede is the daughter or the wife -of that baron of—of—I never can remember his name—well, of that old -man who escorts her?” asked the countess, allowing herself to be drawn -at last, in spite of her dignity, into the current of curiosity.</p> - -<p>“Of Holdteufel?” asked Amalia Amézega, in a sing-song voice. “Bah! who -knows! But judging by the liberty he allows her he would seem to be her -husband rather than her father.”</p> - -<p>“One needs to have effrontery,” continued Luisa Natal, with gentle and -smiling condemnation, “to make one’s self the talk of every one in that -way.”</p> - -<p>“The idea!” said Pilar, in her thin voice. “Why, that is what he wants. -What do you suppose? The point of the thing and the pleasure of it are -in being talked about.”</p> - -<p>“Juanito was always the same—always fond of making a noise,” murmured -the countess softly, remembering how her nephew, when a wild boy of ten, -used to go to her house and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_229" id="page_229"></a>{229}</span> give her a headache, teasing her for a -thousand nonsensical things.</p> - -<p>“Why, the day before yesterday——”</p> - -<p>Eager curiosity was expressed in every face. The group drew their chairs -closer together and for a full minute a sound of casters rolling over -the floors could be heard.</p> - -<p>“The day before yesterday,” continued Amalia Amézega, lowering her -voice, “she went to the shooting match——”</p> - -<p>“Do you shoot now?” asked Pilar and Luisa Natal simultaneously.</p> - -<p>“A little, for amusement,” and Lola smoothed down the straight black -fringe of hair that covered her forehead to within half an inch of the -eyebrows, making her look like a page of the Middle Ages, setting off -the tropical pallor of her face and her large eyes like those of a -child, but of a malicious and precocious child.</p> - -<p>“Well,” continued Amalia, seeing that her audience was listening -attentively, “Gimenez, and the little Marquis of Cañahejas, and Monsieur -Anatole were there, and they were all talking about a paragraph in -<i>Figaro</i>, alluding to a scandal caused at one of the most fashionable -watering places in France, or all Europe, by the insane passion of a -Spanish grandee for a Swedish lady——”</p> - -<p>“Only the initials of the names were given,”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_230" id="page_230"></a>{230}</span> added Lola; “but it was as -clear as daylight. And to make it more clear it said, ‘<i>This worthy -grandson of the Count of Almaviva spends a fortune in flowers!</i>’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>A chorus of laughter broke from the circle. Lola had a way of saying -things with a certain lisp and a movement of the eyelids that greatly -added to their piquancy.</p> - -<p>“And she? How does she receive his attentions?” asked Pilar.</p> - -<p>“She?” replied Lola. “Oh, every night, on receiving the bouquet, she -answers invariably: ‘Dhanks, tuke, you are too amiaple!’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>They laughed more loudly than before. Even the countess smiled, holding -her fan before her face for the sake of propriety.</p> - -<p>“Hist!” said Luisa Natal, “there she comes.”</p> - -<p>“The Swede!” exclaimed Pilar.</p> - -<p>They all turned round, greatly excited. The door of the Ladies’ Parlor -opened slowly, an old man, dressed with elegant simplicity, with white -side-whiskers, the rest of his face being smoothly shaven, stood in a -courtly attitude at the threshold of the door, while a tall and graceful -woman passed into the room; her classic beauty was set off by her gown -of black silk, close-fitting and sparkling with jet; the hat of tulle, -trimmed with golden wheat-ears,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_231" id="page_231"></a>{231}</span> rested on her brow like a diadem; her -walk was noble and queenly. Without deigning to salute any one, she went -straight to the piano and, seating herself before it, proceeded to play -a mazourka of Chopin’s in a masterly manner. Her attitude served to -display to advantage the stately grace of her figure—the long and -rounded arms, the hips, the shoulder-blades, which at every movement of -her white hands defined themselves clearly through the tight-fitting -bodice.</p> - -<p>“Is it not true,” said Pilar in a low voice to Luisa Natal, “that if -Lucía Miranda were to dress like her, she would resemble her somewhat in -her figure?”</p> - -<p>“Bah!” murmured Luisa Natal, “the Mirandita has not an atom of <i>chic</i>.”</p> - -<p>From the group of Englishwomen now broke forth the energetic hissing -sound which in every language signifies “Silence! hold your tongues and -listen, or at least permit others to listen.” The Spanish women touched -one another with their elbows and imperturbably went on with their -whispering.</p> - -<p>“Do you see that man?” said Lola Amézega.</p> - -<p>“Who? who? who?” They all asked in chorus.</p> - -<p>“Who do you suppose? Albares. There,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_232" id="page_232"></a>{232}</span> there at the window. Take care. -Don’t let him see that you are observing him.”</p> - -<p>Looking in at the window overlooking the roof of the Casino was to be -seen, in effect, a youthful, almost boyish face defined against the -porcelain-like whiteness of the necktie, among whose folds rested one of -those agates called “cat’s eyes,” on which the caprice of fashion has of -late bestowed so exaggerated a value. A morning-suit of a soft, -exquisite shade of gray, a fine beaver hat, a gardenia in the -button-hole, and chamois gloves of a rather bright color—such were the -details of the costume of the inquisitive young man who was thus -exploring with his gaze the Salle des Dames. He presented a strange -mixture of weakness and strength; with an under-sized frame, he had the -muscles of a Hercules. Gymnastic exercises, fencing, riding, and hunting -had apparently hardened a constitution, which nature had made weakly, -almost sickly. He was short of stature, his limbs were delicate as a -woman’s, but the muscles were of steel. That this was the case was -apparent from the manner in which his garments hung upon him; from a -certain virile turn of the knees and the shoulders; in addition to this -he had that air of haughty superiority which wealth, birth, and the -habit of command, united, bestow.</p> - -<p>But if the duke had expected to be rewarded<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_233" id="page_233"></a>{233}</span> for his indiscretion, he -was doomed to disappointment; for the Swede, after she had played with -perfect self-possession and consummate skill some half-dozen mazourkas, -arose with no less majesty than she had displayed on her entrance to the -room, and without looking to the right or left walked straight toward -the door. This opened as if by magic, and the diplomat with the white -side-whiskers presented himself, grave and courteous as before, and -offered her his arm. It was the exit of a queen, <i>très réussie</i>, as the -group of Frenchwomen said among themselves.</p> - -<p>“One would think she was the Princess Micomicona,” said Lola Amézega, -who had spent no less than two hours before the looking-glass, that -morning, practicing the regal walk of the Swede.</p> - -<p>“What an air!” said Luisa Natal. “No, it cannot be denied that she is a -handsome woman. What a figure! and what hands! Have you noticed them?”</p> - -<p>“What a disappointment for Albares!” exclaimed Amalia; “she did not even -know he was there.”</p> - -<p>Every eye was turned toward the window. The duke had disappeared.</p> - -<p>“Now he has no doubt gone to the park to try to meet her; shall we go -see?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes; the sight will be amusing.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_234" id="page_234"></a>{234}</span></p> - -<p>They rose, and hastily gathering up their fans, parasols, and veils, -hurried toward the door.</p> - -<p>“Eh, young ladies!” said the Countess of Monteros, “don’t walk so fast. -I am not so young as you are, and I shall be left behind. By my faith,” -she added, under her breath, “when I see my fine nephew I shall tell him -what I think of him for making that poor Matilde, who is an angel, -grieve herself to death by his conduct, as he is doing.”</p> - -<p>While Pilar amused herself in a manner so agreeable to her inclinations, -Lucía sat waiting for her on the balcony of the <i>châlet</i>. At this hour -neither Miranda nor Perico was in the house. The Casino had swallowed up -every one. Only at rare intervals was a passer-by to be seen in this -retired neighborhood. The only sound to be heard was the monotonous -noise of the machine on which the daughter of the <i>concierge</i> was -sewing. In the garden, the roses, drunk with the sunshine which they had -been quaffing all the morning, exhaled themselves in perfumes; even the -cold white roses showed the effects of the heat in a tinge, like pale -flesh-color, but flesh-color still. It seemed as if all the odors of the -garden had mingled together to form one sole odor, penetrating, -powerful, inebriating, like the fragrance of a single<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_235" id="page_235"></a>{235}</span> rose, but a rose -of gigantic size—a glowing rose that exhaled from its purple mouth an -intoxicating and deadly fragrance. Lucía had taken her work and busied -herself at it for a while, but after a quarter of an hour or so the -cushion fell from her lap, the thimble slipped from her finger, and she -sat with vacant gaze fixed on the clump of rose bushes, until at last -her eyelids closed of themselves, and leaning her forehead against the -vine that covered the balcony, she abandoned herself to the delicious -enjoyment of the balmy air, unconscious of external sights or sounds, -scarcely breathing. Two months before she could not have remained quiet -for half an hour; the beauty of nature would have incited her to -physical activity. Now, on the contrary, it invited her to repose, it -produced in her a sort of half-conscious torpor, like that of the lizard -sleeping in the sun.</p> - -<p>One afternoon Pilar, returning from the clubhouse, found Lucía more -pensive than usual.</p> - -<p>“Silly child,” she said, “of what are you thinking? If you were to go to -the Casino it would amuse you greatly.”</p> - -<p>“Pilarcita,” murmured Lucía, throwing her arms around the neck of her -friend, “will you keep a secret for me if I tell you one?”</p> - -<p>The eyes of the sick girl lighted up.</p> - -<p>“Of course I will! open your heart to me,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_236" id="page_236"></a>{236}</span> child. In confidence, is it -not so? You may tell me anything. I have seen so many things—there is -nothing that could surprise me.”</p> - -<p>“Listen,” said Lucía, “I want to know, at all costs, how Don Ignacio -Artegui’s mother is.”</p> - -<p>Pilar drew back, disappointed; then laughing, with her cynical laugh, -she cried:</p> - -<p>“Is that all? A great secret that! What a big handful three flies make.”</p> - -<p>“For Heaven’s sake!” entreated Lucía uneasily, “don’t give a hint of -this to any one. I am dying to know, but if any one should hear—Miranda -or——”</p> - -<p>“Simpleton! I shall soon learn what you wish to know, and without any -one hearing anything about it. I have a hundred ways of finding out. I -promise you your curiosity shall be gratified.”</p> - -<p>Pilar tapped Lucía, who looked serious and a little confused, two or -three times on the cheek.</p> - -<p>“Are we going to take a walk to-day, madam nurse?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“Yes, and you shall drink some milk in Vesse. But put on a warmer dress, -for Heaven’s sake; you are so careless, you are quite capable of -exposing yourself to taking a cold. Have you not observed how fragrant -the roses<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_237" id="page_237"></a>{237}</span> are? In Leon there are hardly any roses; I remember that I -used to place all I could find before the image of the Virgin, which I -have there in my room.”</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> Casino was for Perico and Miranda, as for all the other idlers of -the colony, house and home during the time they spent at the springs. -The great edifice, taken as a whole, might be likened to a concert of -voices, inviting to the enjoyment of the rapid and easy life of our age. -The spacious peristyle, the principal façade with its broad roof, its -private garden where exotic plants grow in graceful baskets, and its -rich and fanciful ornamentation of dazzling whiteness; the tall columns -of burnished porphyry that support the interior portion of the building; -its luxurious arm-chairs and broad divans; the mischievous cupids -(artistic symbol of the ephemeral passions that last during a two weeks’ -course of the waters), that run around the cornice of the large -ball-room or hover on the blue background of the broad panels of the -theater; the profusion of gold, artistically disposed in touches, like -points of light, or in long stripes, like sunbeams; the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_238" id="page_238"></a>{238}</span> large -window—everything, in short, contributes to give one the idea of an -Athenian temple, improved and enriched with the benefits and pleasures -of modern civilization. A glance at the southern façade of the Casino -discovers at once the <i>numen</i> to whom worship and sacrifice are here -paid, the nymph of the waters, gracefully inclining her urn, while from -some rushes at her feet emerge two cupids, one of them supporting a -shell, which receives in its hollow the sacred water that flows in a -copious stream from the urn. The priests and flamens of the temple of -the nymphs are the waiters of the Casino who, at a sign, a movement of -the lips, hasten, swiftly and silently, to bring the desired -article—cigars, newspapers, writing-materials, refreshments, even the -waters, which they carry at a run, in a little tank, turned mouth -downward over a plate, so that they may not lose their temperature or -the gases which give them their value.</p> - -<p>Miranda’s favorite resort was the reading-room, where were to be found -various Spanish periodicals, including the organ of Colmenar, which he -read with the air of a statesman. Perico was more frequently to be found -in another apartment, gloomy as a cave, with hangings of a dirty gray, -adorned with red fringe, in which a row of spotted guttapercha benches<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_239" id="page_239"></a>{239}</span> -stood fronting a row of tables covered with the traditional melodramatic -and much worn green cloth. As the out-going tide deposits on the shore -fringe after fringe of seaweed, so on the backs of the red guttapercha -benches had the heads and shoulders of the players deposited a series of -layers of filth, signs which grew more marked in proportion as the -benches receded and the play rose from harmless piquet to exciting -<i>écarté</i>, for the row began with social games and ended with games of -chance. The benches at the entrance were clean in comparison with those -at the far end of the room. This apartment, in which rites so unholy -were practiced in honor of the nymph of the waters, had witnessed many -deeds of prowess of Perico, which, from the resemblance they bore to -others of the same order, do not deserve special mention. Still less -worthy of description are the scenes, dear to the novelist, that -succeeded one another at the gaming tables. Play at Vichy partakes, to -some extent, of the hygienic refinement characteristic of the place, -whose inhabitants take pleasure in saying that no one has ever blown his -brains out in their town on account of the green cloth, as constantly -happens at Monaco; so that the hall of the Casino does not lend itself -to descriptions of the dramatic or soul-harrowing<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_240" id="page_240"></a>{240}</span> order. There the -loser puts his hands into his pockets and walks out of the room, more or -less disgusted according as he happens to be of the nervous or the -lymphatic temperament, but satisfied that he has been fleeced in a -perfectly legitimate manner, a fact which is guaranteed to him by the -presence there of government officials and agents of the company of -lessees with the purpose of preventing cheating, quarreling, or -disturbances of a similar kind, proper only to low gambling houses and -not at all in place in those Olympic regions in which the cards are -dealt with gloved hands.</p> - -<p>It is to be adverted that although Perico was one of those who most -contributed, by the pomade on his hair and the friction of his -shoulders, to grease and polish the backs of the guttapercha benches, he -did not correspond to the traditional type of the gambler, as portrayed -in pictures of a moral and edifying character. When he lost, it never -occurred to him to tear his hair, blaspheme, or raise his clenched fists -to Heaven. It is true, indeed, that he took every precaution which it -was possible to take not to lose. Play is like war; fortune and chance -are said to decide the victory in both; but the skillful strategist -knows very well that a plan which is the result at once of insight and -of reflection, which is at<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_241" id="page_241"></a>{241}</span> the same time analytic and synthetic, -generally secures an easy triumph. In both cases, an error in -calculation may lead to ruin, and in both, if it be true that the -skillful generally vanquish, it is no less true that the daring at times -sweep all before them and conquer in their turn. Perico possessed a -profound knowledge of the science of play, and, in addition, carefully -studied the character of his adversaries, a course which seldom fails to -produce happy results. There are people who grow angry or confused in -playing, and act according to the mood they chance to be in, so that it -is easy to surprise and vanquish them. Perhaps the enigma called luck, -chance, or happy inspiration is nothing but the superiority of the man -who retains his judgment and his self-possession over other men who are -mad with passion. In short, Perico, who, although impulsive and -loquacious to excess, had a head cool as ice, understood so well the -marches and counter-marches of the battle fought every day in the -Casino, that after winning many small fortunes he succeeded in winning a -large fortune in the shape of a good-sized bundle of thousand-franc -notes, which he quietly put into his waistcoat pocket and then walked -out of the hall with his accustomed air and bearing, leaving the loser -to reflect on the transitoriness of all<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_242" id="page_242"></a>{242}</span> earthly possessions. This -happened on the day following that on which Lucía had manifested to -Pilar so great an interest in the health of Artegui’s mother. Perico was -not naturally parsimonious, at least not unless he needed money for his -amusements, when he would economize a maravedi, and making a sign to -Pilar, who was in the Salle des Dames, to walk with him outside on the -roof, he said to her, giving her his arm:</p> - -<p>“So that you may not be always saying that I did not buy you anything at -Vichy, see, I am going to make you a present.”</p> - -<p>“A present?” and Pilar opened wide her eyes.</p> - -<p>“A present, yes. One would think that I had never made you a present -before. Come, say what you want, say what you want.”</p> - -<p>“But are you in earnest? How generous you are getting!” said the sick -girl; “will you buy me <i>anything</i> I ask you?”</p> - -<p>“Come to the shops and choose,” he said, leading the way.</p> - -<p>Pilar hesitated long, like a child before a dish of various kinds of -sweetmeats; at last she made choice of two diamonds, clear as two drops -of water, for her ears, and a hand mirror, with a frame of chased gold, -a novel and fanciful trinket worn hanging from the belt, a style of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_243" id="page_243"></a>{243}</span> -ornament which no one in Vichy but the Swede had yet been seen to wear. -On returning home with her purchases, the sick girl’s eyes shone so -brightly and her cheeks were so rosy that Perico said:</p> - -<p>“You women are the very devil. One has only to give you a tambourine or -a bell, a bell, to cure you of all your ailments. I laugh at drugs, I -laugh at drugs. I wager you have no pain in the stomach, now.”</p> - -<p>“Periquillo! You are a jewel! See, I am wild with joy, and if you would -only—ah! say yes.”</p> - -<p>“If I would only—Do you want me to buy you something else? No, child, -enough for to-day.”</p> - -<p>“No, nothing of the sort—but to-night—I should like to go to the -concert to show the mirror; neither Luisa Natal nor either of the -Amézegas has one like it, or even knows that such a thing is to be had -in Vichy. They will open their eyes with astonishment. Come, Periquin, -you <i>will</i> take me, won’t you. For once, come, say yes.”</p> - -<p>Lucía begged Pilar, almost on her knees, to give up the dangerous -pleasure she longed for. It was precisely the most critical stage of her -malady. Duhamel hoped that nature, aided by a regular way of life, would -conquer in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_244" id="page_244"></a>{244}</span> struggle, and that perhaps a couple of weeks of -determined self-denial on her part would decide the victory in her -favor. But it was impossible to dissuade the sick girl from her purpose. -She spent the day feverishly examining the contents of her wardrobe; -when night came she went to the Casino, escorted by Miranda; she wore a -dress which she had not before worn, thinking it too thin and summery—a -gown of white gauze spotted with carnations of various colors; from her -belt hung the mirror; in her ears sparkled the solitaires, and in her -hair, placed with Spanish grace, was a bunch of carnations. Thus -arrayed, and flushed with fever and gratified vanity, she looked almost -handsome, notwithstanding her freckles and the emaciation of her -features, worn by illness. She had, then, a great success at the Casino; -it may be said that she shared the honors of the evening with the Swede, -and with an eccentric English lord, of whom it was rumored that he had -the floor of his stable covered with a Turkish carpet and his -reception-room paved with stone. Happy and admired, to Pilar the Casino -seemed like a scene from the Arabian Nights, with its countless -gas-lights, its perfumed atmosphere, through which floated the strains -of the magnificent orchestra; its ball-room where the sportive cupids on -the ceiling seemed<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_245" id="page_245"></a>{245}</span> to hover in a golden mist. Gimenez, the little -Marquis of Cañahejas, and Monsieur Anatole disputed with one another the -pleasure of dancing with her. Miranda danced a rigadoon with her, and, -to crown her happiness and triumph, the Arézegas kept casting furtive -glances, during the evening, at the little mirror—a style of trinket -like which there was but one other in the room, that which gleamed at -the side of the Swede. It was, in short, one of those moments that stand -alone in the life of a vain girl, when gratified pride gives rise to -emotions so sweet as almost to be mistaken for feelings deeper and -purer, that forever remain unknown to such natures. Pilar danced with -each one of her partners as if he had been her favored lover, so -brightly did her eyes sparkle, so happy did she seem. Perico could not -but say to her, <i>sotto voce</i>:</p> - -<p>“You are dancing, eh? We shall see what Duhamel will say to-morrow. It -will be heavenly, heavenly. To-morrow I shall make my escape, my escape. -To a certainty you will explode, you will explode like a firecracker.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t imagine it. I feel so well!” she exclaimed, drinking a glass of -iced water flavored with currant syrup which Monsieur Anatole, the -Hispanomaniac had just brought her.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_246" id="page_246"></a>{246}</span></p> - -<p>On the following morning, when Lucía went to waken Pilar, she -involuntarily started back when she saw her. The sick girl lay with one -cheek buried in the pillows; her sleep was uneasy and broken; in her -ears, colorless as wax, the solitaires still gleamed, their limpid -purity contrasting with the ashen hue of the cheek and neck. There were -black shadows under her eyes. Her tightly-drawn lips resembled two -withered rose-leaves. The general effect was corpse-like. On the chairs -were scattered various articles of clothing used the night before; the -white satin shoes, heel upward, were at the foot of the bed; on the -floor some carnations were lying, and the never-enough-to-be-admired -mirror, the innocent cause of all this evil, rested on the night table. -Lucía softly touched the shoulder of the sleeping girl, who awoke with a -start and raised herself on her elbow; her half-opened eyes were dull -and glazed, like the eyes of a dead animal; a heavy, fetid odor was -perceptible; the sick girl was bathed in perspiration.</p> - -<p>She could not get up, for on placing her foot on the floor she was -seized with a chill, her teeth chattered, an icy sweat bathed her limbs, -and she was obliged to cover herself up again with the bed-clothes. She -felt, in addition, a sharp and violent pain in her left side. She<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_247" id="page_247"></a>{247}</span> shook -like a reed in the wind and all the coverings which were put over her -were ineffectual in restoring warmth to her chilled body.</p> - -<p>Lucía rushed to the room of her husband, who, between sleeping and -waking, was smoking a cigarette. The waters agreed with Miranda: the -faded tones of his skin, under which the blood was beginning again to -circulate and the adipose tissue to be renewed, were disappearing, -giving place to that look of mature freshness which bestows a certain -beauty on stout well-preserved women of middle-age. Such was the -physical effect of the waters upon Miranda; their moral effect was a -desire for rest and selfish ease, an inclination to fall into a regular -way of living, such as is often observable in persons of mature years, -and which makes them regard as an irreparable misfortune half-an-hour’s -delay in dinner or bed-time. The ex-beau desired to lead an easy -comfortable existence, to take care of his precious health, and, in -short, to sustain the traditional reputation for respectability and -importance of the Mirandas. Lucía entered the room like a whirlwind, and -pale and trembling said:</p> - -<p>“Get up; go and see if you can find Señor Duhamel and bring him at once. -Pilar is very ill.”</p> - -<p>Miranda sat up in bed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_248" id="page_248"></a>{248}</span></p> - -<p>“Of course the crazy creature is ill. Why, she danced last night as if -she were out of her senses! She was well-employed!”</p> - -<p>Lucía looked at her husband in astonishment.</p> - -<p>“Go at once,” she said, “go at once! She has had a chill—she complains -of a pain in her side, and she has almost lost her voice.”</p> - -<p>Miranda rose grumbling.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know what her brother is here for,” he muttered, drawing on his -boots. “He might very well go.”</p> - -<p>“Tell him so, you, if you wish,” said Lucía, her eyes swimming in tears. -“I cannot go into Gonzalvo’s room to waken him. In any case you were -going to rise now to drink the waters.”</p> - -<p>“It would be time enough for that in three quarters of an hour. One -would suppose that girl was the only person here whose health is of any -consequence. Other people, too, are sick and have to take care of -themselves. To-day, precisely, I am feeling wretched.”</p> - -<p>Lucía had been in the habit of manifesting a deep interest in Miranda’s -health, asking him every day those minute particulars which mothers are -wont to ask their children—and which bore the indifferent; but on this -occasion she turned her back on him and went to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_249" id="page_249"></a>{249}</span> the kitchen where she -asked the wife of the <i>concierge</i> for a cup of lime-leaf tea and carried -it herself to Pilar.</p> - -<p>Duhamel frowned when he saw the patient. What most displeased him was to -learn that she had taken two or three iced drinks at the ball. Duhamel -was a little old man with skin like parchment, in whose bright and -searching eyes all the vitality of his body seemed to have concentrated -itself. His hair and eyebrows were gray, but of his teeth, which were -long and yellow as ivory, and which he showed when he smiled, which was -often, not one was wanting.</p> - -<p>In his movements he was quick and gliding as an eel. Having at one time -gone to Brazil on a scientific expedition, he possessed a smattering of -Brazilian Portuguese, which he persisted in trying to pass off for -Spanish.</p> - -<p>“Let the whole treatment, <i>ó tratamento</i>, be stopped,” he said, -addressing himself exclusively to Lucía, although the sick girl’s -brother was present, guided doubtless by that infallible instinct -possessed by the physician and which enables him to distinguish at once -the person most interested in his instructions and most capable of -carrying them out: “The patient, <i>a doente</i>, has done wrong in -disobeying my orders in this way.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_250" id="page_250"></a>{250}</span></p> - -<p>“But now, what is to be done?”</p> - -<p>“We will try a strong counter-irritant; there is congestion of the -lungs; we must try to dissipate it. <i>Bon Dieu!</i> to dance and take iced -drinks! And now we have the sweats to fight against.”</p> - -<p>This dialogue between the doctor and Lucía took place at a sufficient -distance from the sick girl’s bed to prevent her from hearing it. Lucía -informed herself minutely regarding all that concerned the nursing of -the patient, the hours at which nourishment was to be given to her, and -the precautions which it was necessary to observe. After she had applied -to Pilar the remedies prescribed by the doctor, she set the room in -order, moving about on tiptoe, half closed the shutters, and then -installed herself at the bedside in a low sewing-chair. Pilar was very -feverish and suffered greatly from thirst. At every moment Lucía would -put to her lips the glass of gum-water, previously warmed on the little -stove. In the afternoon Duhamel came again and found that the -counter-irritant had had the effect of restoring to some extent the sick -girl’s voice, and rendering her breathing easier. The fever, however, -was high, the perspiration having been checked. The pulmonary congestion -lasted for eight days, and when, in obedience<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_251" id="page_251"></a>{251}</span> to Duhamel’s orders—as -lying in bed increased the fever and debilitated her—Pilar rose, the -girl looked like a specter; to the symptoms, bad enough in themselves, -of anæmia were now added others more alarming still. Her limbs no longer -supported the weight of her clothing, which slipped down from them as if -they had been the limbs of a badly stuffed doll. She herself was -alarmed, and in one of those moments of clairvoyance which are apt to -visit persons suffering from the dreadful disease which now held her in -its clutches, she asked for the famous mirror, which Lucía, in order not -to vex her, gave her very unwillingly. When Pilar saw herself in the -glass she recalled her image as she had seen it on the night of the -ball, the carnations in her artistically arranged hair, her face beaming -with happiness. The contrast between her face as she now saw it and as -she had seen it a week ago, was so strong that Pilar threw the mirror -with a quick movement on the ground. The glass was broken and the -exquisitely chased frame dinted by the blow.</p> - -<p>It was not long, however, before the flattering illusion which -mercifully blinds the consumptive to his danger and smooths his path to -the very portals of the tomb, again took possession of her. The symptoms -of the disease<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_252" id="page_252"></a>{252}</span> were so marked that seeing them in another she would -have regarded them as fatal; and yet Pilar, animated as ever, continued -to lay out plans for the future and thought she was suffering only from -an obstinate cold, which would eventually cure itself. She had a -constant hacking cough, with viscous expectoration; the slightest -increase of temperature excited profuse perspiration, and instead of her -former capricious appetite she had now an intense loathing for food. In -vain the wife of the <i>concierge</i> put in practice all her culinary arts, -inventing a hundred dainty dishes. Pilar regarded them all alike with -repugnance, especially such as were of a nutritious kind. There began -now for both the friends a valetudinarian existence. Lucía scarcely ever -left Pilar, taking her out on the balcony to breathe the fresh air if -the weather was fine, keeping her company in her room if it was bad, -using all her efforts to amuse her and to make the hours seem less -tedious. The sick girl now began to feel the impatience, the desire for -change of scene, which generally seizes those affected by the disease -from which she suffered. Vichy had become intolerable to her; the more -so, as she saw that the season was now drawing to a close, that the -Casino was fast becoming deserted, that the opera-troupe were about to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_253" id="page_253"></a>{253}</span> -depart, and the brilliant swallows of fashion to take flight for other -regions. The Amézegas had come to bid her good-by, and to give her the -last vexation of the season. If Lucía had followed her own inclinations, -she would have received them in the little parlor down-stairs, making -some excuse for Pilar; but the latter persisted in her desire that they -should come up to her room, and Lucía was compelled to yield. The Cubans -were triumphantly happy because they were going to Paris to make their -purchases for the winter, and from thence to display their finery at the -most fashionable entertainments in Madrid and in the Retiro, and they -spoke with the lisp and with the affected airs habitual to them on such -occasions.</p> - -<p>“Yes, child, who could endure it here any longer—this place has grown -so stupid—not a soul to be seen. Yes, Krauss has gone. She has a -contract in Paris. She scored a triumph on the last night of ‘Mignon.’ -Some of the hotels are closed already. As you may suppose the rope has -followed the pail; when the Swede left, was it likely he was going to -remain? He will follow her to Stockholm. Yes, indeed! but have you not -heard? On the day of her departure he filled her carriage with flowers. -A whole parlor carriage filled with<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_254" id="page_254"></a>{254}</span> gardenias and camellias; just think -of it! He has spent a small fortune already in flowers. Luisa -Natal?—why, where should she go but to Madrid? Ah! the countess will -stop at Lourdes on her way—she intends to remain at least a week there. -Yes, Cañahejas is going on a visit to a castle belonging to some -relations of Monsieur Anatole, where they will shoot until November. -Gimenez? I don’t know, child; he is always engaged in some mysterious -affair or other. They say that Laurent, the soprano of the company—that -cross-eyed woman—I don’t believe a word of it—he is an incorrigible -braggart——”</p> - -<p>“And you, you remain here, eh?” added Amalia, joining her lisp to -Lola’s. “How long, child? But you will die of <i>ennui</i>, here. This is a -convent, now! Why, that is nothing—what signifies a cold? Cheer up. -This winter the Puenteanchas will give some private theatricals—the -Monteros told me so. The Torreplanas de Arganzon have already signified -their intention of receiving on Thursdays. We shall have Patti in the -Real, and Gayarré,—think of it! We have sent to secure a box in case we -should not arrive in time.”</p> - -<p>“I am going to order a couple of frocks from Worth—simple ones, as I am -not married. One for skating—I dote upon skating! In the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_255" id="page_255"></a>{255}</span> Casa de Campo -last year—do you remember, Amalia?—that day——”</p> - -<p>“That the king complimented you on your skating? Yes, I remember it, of -course.”</p> - -<p>And the voices of both sisters mingled in a concert of little laughs of -gratified pride; both saw again in imagination the frozen lake, the -trees covered with their embroidery of frost, the early morning mist, -and the youthful figure of the king, his countenance pale with cold, -with his effeminate frame, his easy and elegant manners, and his -half-mischievous, half-courteous smile as he bent forward to compliment -the skater on her skill.</p> - -<p>The visit left Pilar more impatient, more feverish, more excited than -ever. Pilar was desperate; at any cost she desired to leave Vichy, to -fly away, to break from the dark prison of sickness and make her -appearance once more, a brilliant butterfly, in the world of fashion. -She fully believed herself able to do so; she did not doubt but that her -strength was equal to it. No less impatient than herself were two other -persons—Miranda and Perico. Perico, accustomed to live in perpetual -divorce from himself, could not endure solitude, which compelled him to -keep his own company; and as for Miranda, the period prescribed for his -drinking the waters being now<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_256" id="page_256"></a>{256}</span> at an end and his health notably -improved, he thought it was time to betake himself to winter quarters -and enjoy in peace the result of the treatment. It annoyed him extremely -to see that his wife, appointed by high decrees to nurse himself, should -neglect, as she did, her providential mission, dedicating her days and -nights to a stranger suffering from a malady painful to witness and -perhaps contagious. Therefore, he suggested to Lucía that they should -take their departure, leaving the Gonzalvos to their fate, as those are -left behind, in a shipwreck, for whom there is no room in the lifeboat. -But contrary to all his expectations, he met with a vehement and -obstinate resistance from Lucía. She indemnified herself now, by giving -free utterance to her feelings, for all she had hitherto concealed, even -from herself.</p> - -<p>“It would be necessary to have no heart—to have no heart!” she said. -“Poor Pilar, she would be well off indeed with her brother, who does not -know even how to arrange her pillows, for a nurse. What would become of -her? I cannot bear even to think of it.”</p> - -<p>“She could send for a sister of charity—she would not be the first who -has done so,” answered Miranda roughly.</p> - -<p>“How cruel—poor girl! To talk like that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_257" id="page_257"></a>{257}</span> is even worse than leaving her -to die alone like a dog.”</p> - -<p>“Well, as for her, confound me if she would have stayed behind for you -or for me, or for the angel Gabriel himself. And what obligation are we -under to nurse her? One would think——”</p> - -<p>“Do you not say that you are Gonzalvo’s friend?” said Lucía, riveting -her gaze on her husband.</p> - -<p>“His friend, yes, in a social way. What do you know about those things? -We are friends as hundreds of other people are friends.”</p> - -<p>“Then why do we live in the same house with the Gonzalvos. They were not -my friends; but now I have come to like her, and the idea of going away -and leaving her so ill——”</p> - -<p>“Good Heavens! has she not her father, her aunt, her brother? Let them -come, in the devil’s name, to take care of her. What have we to do with -the matter? If your vocation was to be a sister of charity, you should -have said so before, and not have got married, my child. Your duty now -is to see to your husband and your house, and nothing more.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Lucía, raising her face, in which the rounded and -evanescent contours of youth were beginning to lose themselves in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_258" id="page_258"></a>{258}</span> -firmer outlines of early womanhood: “I will go, if you command me; but I -am none the less convinced that it is a wicked action to abandon a -friend in this way in her dying moments.”</p> - -<p>She left the room. In her mind there was beginning to germinate a -singular conception of marital authority; she thought her husband had a -perfect, incontestable and manifest right to forbid her every species of -enjoyment or happiness, but that she was free to suffer; and that to -forbid her to suffer, to forbid her to devote herself, as she wished to -do, to the care of the sick girl, was cruel tyranny. These strange -notions are common enough with the unhappy, who often take refuge in -suffering as in a sanctuary, in order to avail themselves of the -immunity it confers.</p> - -<p>The question, however, settled itself better than Lucía could have -anticipated, for that very afternoon Perico took part in it, and decided -it with his accustomed effrontery.</p> - -<p>“Good-by, my dear boy,” he said, entering Miranda’s room, dressed in -traveling attire, wearing cloth gaiters and a felt cap, and carrying a -double-barreled fowling-piece slung across his shoulder.</p> - -<p>And as Miranda looked at him in amazement:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_259" id="page_259"></a>{259}</span></p> - -<p>“I have made up my mind,” he said. “Vichy is too stupid, and as Anatole -makes a point of it——”</p> - -<p>“You are going to Auvergne?”</p> - -<p>“To the Castle of Ceyssat, of Ceyssat. It seems there are hares and deer -there by the hundred, by the hundred—and one can have a good time at -the castle; there is a large party—eighteen guests.”</p> - -<p>Miranda put as much energy as he could summon into his voice and -gestures, and said to the enthusiastic sportsman:</p> - -<p>“But Lucía and I had decided on returning to Spain in two or three days -at the latest, and as Pilar is—in delicate health—your presence here -is indispensable.”</p> - -<p>“Go to the deuce, to the deuce!” exclaimed Perico, faithful to his rule -of always speaking his mind freely. “Can’t you wait a fortnight to -oblige me? What are you going to do in Spain? To bury yourself in Leon, -and vegetate there, vegetate there. Here you are in the honeymoon, the -honeymoon. Not a word, not a word. I will leave my sister with you. I -know she will be well taken care of, well taken care of. Good-by; I must -catch the train. I will bring you back a deer’s head for a cane-rack.</p> - -<p>“But listen; see here—<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_260" id="page_260"></a>{260}</span>—”</p> - -<p>Perico was already at the door. Miranda called to him from the window; -but the young man turned round smiling, and waving him an adieu, hurried -on in the direction of the station. And so it was that in this struggle -between two selfish natures, the most daring, if not the bravest or the -noblest, conquered.</p> - -<p>Miranda was in a diabolical humor when Duhamel came to afford him some -slight consolation, saying that the sick girl during the last few days -had shown signs of improvement and that she ought to avail herself of -them to return to Spain in search of a milder climate, adding, in his -broken French-Portuguese that, as he intended, like most of the other -consulting physicians of Vichy, to return soon to Paris, they might -travel together, and in this way he would be able to see how the motion -of the train agreed with the patient, and to determine whether she -needed to rest or whether she could bear the journey to Spain without -further delay. The doctor’s advice appeared to every one to be very -judicious and Lucía wrote a letter to Perico, at the dictation of Pilar, -charging him to return within a fortnight, as that was the date fixed -upon by Duhamel to close his office at Vichy. The new arrangement -moderated in some slight degree the ill-humor of Miranda, consoled<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_261" id="page_261"></a>{261}</span> -Lucía, and rejoiced the patient, who longed, above all things, to return -to Madrid.</p> - -<p>It was true; the very frailty of Pilar’s constitution, opposing less -resistance to the disease, retarded the inevitable termination of her -sufferings; and as the hurricane that uproots oaks only bends the reed, -so was the progress of the malady which had declared itself less violent -in this delicate frame than it would have been in a more vigorous one. -In a portion of one of the lungs, tubercles were present, and those -terrible breaches had already been made in it which doctors call -cavities; but the other lung was still unaffected. It is with the lungs, -however, as it is with fruit—a very brief space of time is sufficient -to infect a sound one if the one beside it be decayed. At all events, -the momentary improvement in Pilar was so marked as to allow of her -taking a short walk every morning, leaning on Lucía’s arm; and her -disinclination for food was now not so obstinate as before.</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII.</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> aspect of Vichy, in truth, in those last days of October, was well -calculated to inspire sadness. Dead leaves lay everywhere. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_262" id="page_262"></a>{262}</span> park, -formerly so full of animation, was deserted; only a few visitors, who -had come late in the season to drink the waters—and who were really -ill—were to be seen promenading the asphalt pavement lately thronged -with richly-dressed people and enlivened by the buzz of cheerful -conversation. No one hastened now to sweep up and carry away the yellow -leaves that covered the ground like a carpet, for Vichy, so clean and -attractive in the season, becomes neglected-looking and filthy as soon -as its fashionable summer guests have turned their backs upon it. The -whole town looked as if a general removal were taking place; the -adornments of the balconies of the <i>châlets</i>, deserted now by their -tenants, had been removed, so that they might not be injured by the -rains; in the streets were heaps of brick and mortar to be used in -building, which no one had ventured to undertake in the summer, not -wishing to mar the beauty of the place during the season. The shops for -the sale of articles of luxury had, one after another, closed their -shutters, and their owners, taking with them their wares, had departed -for Nice, Cannes, or some other wintering place of the kind. A few shops -still remained open, and their show-cases served to divert Lucía and -Pilar when they went out for their leisurely<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_263" id="page_263"></a>{263}</span> walks. The chief of these -was a shop for the sale of curiosities, antiques, and objects of art, -situated almost in front of the famous “Nymph,” and consequently at the -back of the Casino. The shop being too small to conveniently hold the -<i>mare magnum</i> of objects which it contained, they overflowed its limits -and invaded the sidewalk. It was a delightful occupation to rummage -among its recesses, and to pry into its corners, making at every instant -some new and curious discovery. The proprietors of the shop, having -little business at this season, made no objection to their doing so. -They were a married couple: the husband a Bohemian from the Rastro, with -sleepy eyes, a well worn coat and a torn necktie worthy of a place among -the antiques of his shop; the wife fair, thin, willowy, and agile as a -garret cat, gliding among the precious objects heaped up to the ceiling. -Lucía and Pilar found great amusement in examining the heterogeneous -assemblage. In the center of the shop, a superb table of Sèvres -porcelain and gilt-bronze proudly displayed its splendor. On the central -medallion was represented in enamel, on a blue background of the shade -peculiar to <i>pâte tendre</i>, the broad, good-natured, but rather sad -countenance of Louis XVI; around this was a circle of smaller -medallions, representing the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_264" id="page_264"></a>{264}</span> graceful heads of the ladies of the court -of the guillotined king—some with powdered hair, piled high on the -head, and surmounted by a large basket of flowers; others with hoods of -black lace fastened under the chin; all with immodestly <i>décolleté</i> -gowns, all smiling and richly dressed, with the freshest of complexions -and the rosiest of lips. If Lucía and Pilar had been learned in history, -how many reflections would have been suggested to them by the sight of -all these ivory necks adorned with diamond necklaces or tight velvet -bands, destined, doubtless, like that of the king who presided with -melancholy air over the beautiful bevy, to bow to the executioner’s -knife.</p> - -<p>The pride of the collection was the ceramics. There were a number of -Dresden figures, pure, soft, and delicate in coloring as the clouds -painted by the dawn; rosy cupids garlanded with wreaths of sky-blue -flowers; shepherdesses with a complexion of milk and roses guarding -sheep adorned with crimson bows; nymphs and swans who exchanged amorous -compliments in groves of a pale green, planted with roses; violinists -holding the bow with affected grace, advancing the right foot, ready to -take part in a minuet; flower-girls who simperingly pointed to the -basket of flowers which they carried on their left arms. Side by side<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_265" id="page_265"></a>{265}</span> -with these pastoral fancies, rare products of Asiatic art displayed -their strange and deformed shapes, like idols of a barbarous faith; -across rotund vases, adorned with yellow leaves and purple or -flame-colored flowers, flew bands of unnatural-looking birds or glided -monstrous reptiles; on the dark background of flat-sided vases stood out -boldly fantastic scenes—green rivers flowing over ochre beds; kiosks of -crimson lake, hung with golden bells; mandarins with gorgeous trains -falling in straight lines, sleek, drooping mustaches, oblique eyes, and -heads like pumpkins. The Majolica and Palissy plates seemed fragments -taken from the bed of the sea, pieces of some sunken reef or of some -oozy river-bed. There, among sea-weed and algae, glided the gleaming, -slimy eel, the mussel opened its fluted shell, the silver bream flapped -its tail, the snail lifted up its agate horn, the frog stared with stony -eyes, and the many-clawed crab, looking like an enormous black spider, -moved along with a sidewise motion. There was a dish on which Galatea -reclined among the waves, her coursers, blue as the sea, pawing the air -with their webbed hoofs, while Tritons, with puffed-out cheeks, blew -their winding trumpets. In addition to the porcelain there were pieces -of silver, antique and heavy, such as are handed down from<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_266" id="page_266"></a>{266}</span> father to -son in honest provincial families; enormous salvers, broad trays, huge -soup-tureens with massive artichokes for handles; there were wooden -coffers inlaid with pearl and ivory; iron chests carved with the -delicacy of filagree-work; china tankards of antique shape, with metal -bands that recalled the beer-drinkers immortalized by Flemish art.</p> - -<p>Pilar was enchanted especially with the agate cup-shaped jewel-cases, -with the jewelry of different epochs, from the amulet of the Roman lady -to the necklace of false stones and fine enamels of the time of Marie -Antoinette; but what most delighted Lucía were the church ornaments, -which awoke in her the religious sentiment, so well calculated to move -her sincere and ardent soul. The figures of two of the apostles, -solemnly pointing heavenward, stood outlined in brass on two stained -glass windows, doubtless torn from the ogive of some dismantled -monastery. On a triptych of brownish yellow ivory were represented Eve, -with meager nude figure, offering Adam the fatal apple, and the Virgin -in the mysteries of the Annunciation and of the Ascension; all -incorrectly done, with that divine candor of early sacred art, in the -ages of faith. Notwithstanding the rudeness of the design, the face of -the Virgin, the modesty of her downcast look, the mystic<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_267" id="page_267"></a>{267}</span> ideality of -her attitude charmed Lucía. If she had had money enough, she would -certainly have bought a crucifix which lay unnoticed among the other -curiosities of the shop. It was of ivory also, and was made in a single -piece, with the exception of the arms. The expression of the dying -Christ, nailed to a rich pearl cross, was painfully realistic, the -nerves and muscles showing the contraction of the death agony. Three -diamond nails pierced the hands and feet. Lucía said a paternoster every -day before it and even kissed the knees when she thought herself -unobserved.</p> - -<p>She enjoyed looking at paintings; all the more as she could understand -them, which was not the case with all of the objects of art, some of -which she thought ugly and extravagant enough. It was plain that that -fierce swaggerer, rushing, sword in hand, on his adversary, was going to -cleave his heart in twain at a blow. What a lovely sunrise in that -Daubigny! With what naturalness those sheep of Jacque—valued at a -thousand francs apiece (there were twelve in the picture) were browsing! -How white the feet which that Favorite Sultana of Cala y Mora was -dipping in the marble basin! The head of the young girl, after Greuze, -was a marvel of innocent grace. And that Quarrel in a Flemish Inn—it -was enough to make one<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_268" id="page_268"></a>{268}</span> laugh to see how the earthenware flew around in -fragments, and the copper saucepans rolled about, and the two plowmen of -St. Oustade, misshapen and clownish-looking, distributed blows and cuffs -on all sides, their ape-like ugliness heightened by the grotesqueness of -their attitudes.</p> - -<p>But even more than the bazar of objects of art, where so great a -diversity of forms and colors, styles and artistic ideals, after all -confused her, did one among the many stalls at the edge of the sidewalk -near the Casino, interest Lucía. These stalls represented the modest and -unpretending branches of trade. Here an old German cried his -wares—glasses to drink the waters—engraving on them with an emery -wheel the initials of the purchasers’ names in their presence; there a -Swiss offered for sale toys, dolls, little boxes, and book folders -carved in beech-wood by the shepherds; here lenses were sold, there -combs and writing-materials. Lucía’s favorite stall was one presided -over by a peddler of curiosities from Jerusalem and the Holy Land. -Mother-of-pearl calvaries with simple carvings in relief, pen handles of -olive-wood terminating in a cross, heads of the Virgin cut on shell, -brooches and trinkets of enamel adorned with arabesques, cups of black -bitumen, aromatic lozenges—<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_269" id="page_269"></a>{269}</span>such were the contents of the peddler’s -box. All this was sold by an Israelite of not unpleasing appearance, -with black eyes and yellow skin, wearing a dark red Arab fez and wide -trousers, gentle, insinuating, a Levantine in everything, with a -smattering of many languages and a good knowledge of Spanish, which, but -for the use of an occasional archaism, he spoke like a native. In this -man’s conversation Lucía found entertainment in the absence of other -sources of interest. She would question him about the holy village of -Bethlehem, the sacred house of Nazareth, Mount Olivet, and all the other -holy places which she had pictured to herself as situated rather in some -mysterious and remote paradise than on the earth. Between Lucía and the -peddler there was thus established the habit of having a ten minutes -chat every afternoon in the open air, which she enjoyed all the more -when he told her that he was a Christian and a Catholic, catechized and -instructed by the Franciscans of Bethlehem. Lucía bought specimens of -all his wares, even to a rosary of those opaque greenish beads, called, -not without some analogical similitude, Job’s tears.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know how you can like that ugly rosary,” said Pilar.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_270" id="page_270"></a>{270}</span></p> - -<p>“But just see,” exclaimed Lucía, “they look like real tears.”</p> - -<p>But the swallow of the Levant, too, flew away in his turn, in search of -milder climes. One day they did not find Ibrahan Antonio in his -accustomed place; discouraged, perhaps, by a day without a sale, he had -packed up his wares and departed, no one knew whither. Lucía missed him; -but the retreat was a general one; on all sides, closed up and empty -shops were to be seen. On the pavements were mountains of straw, piles -of wrapping paper, packing cases and boxes bearing in large letters the -word “fragile.” The gloom, the disorder, the ever-increasing bareness of -a removal reigned. Pilar thought Vichy in this condition so unattractive -that she planned excursions which should take her away from the -principal streets. One morning she took a fancy to go to the -pastry-cook’s shop and witnessed the manufacture of two or three -thousand cakes and bonbons. On another morning she visited the -subterranean galleries which contain the immense reservoirs of water and -the enormous pipes that supply the baths of the thermal establishment. -They descended a narrow staircase whose lowest steps were lost in the -obscurity of the gallery. The keeper preceded them, carrying in her hand -a miner’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_271" id="page_271"></a>{271}</span> flat-shaped lamp, which emitted a disagreeable odor. Miranda -carried another lamp, and a little street urchin, who made his -appearance among them as suddenly as if he had fallen down from the -clouds, took charge of a third. The vaulted roof was so low that Miranda -was obliged to stoop down in order to avoid striking his head against -it. The narrow passage made an abrupt turn and they suddenly found -themselves in another gallery, which received, as in a yawning mouth, -the pipes that, owing to the perpetual dampness, were here covered with -rust. From the roof exuded a fine white moisture that sparkled in the -light; on either hand flowed a stream of water over a bed of residuum -and alkaline phosphates, white and floury, like newly fallen snow. As -they advanced further into the long subterranean gallery, a suffocating -heat announced the passage of the overflow of the Grande Grille, the -temperature of whose waters was still higher in this confined atmosphere -than it was at its source. From the walls, covered with patches of -mildew and limy scales, hung monstrous fungi, cryptogamous plants full -of venom, whose noxious whiteness gleamed on the wall like a pale and -sinister eye gleaming in a livid countenance. Dusty cobwebs shrouded the -elbows of the pipes like gray winding-sheets shrouding forgotten<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_272" id="page_272"></a>{272}</span> -corpses. Through the loose stones of the pavement could be caught -glimpses of the black water below. They could hear plainly the steps of -the people passing overhead, and the hard sound of the horses’ hoofs. At -intervals there was an airhole, through the iron grating of which came -the daylight, livid and sepulchral, imparting a yellow tinge to the red -flame of the lamps. The pipes wound like intestines through the damp -passage, now dragging themselves along the ground like gigantic -serpents, now reaching upward to the roof, like the black tentacles of -some enormous polypus. At one time they emerged from the corridors into -a brighter spot—a species of circular cave with a skylight, in whose -far end yawned the open mouth of the Lucas well, disclosing the still, -somber, and unfathomable water within. The urchin held his lamp over the -brink and looked down. The keeper seized him by the arm.</p> - -<p>“Eh, my friend,” she said, “take care that you don’t fall in there. It -would not be easy to go down a hundred yards, which is the depth of that -hole, to look for you.”</p> - -<p>Lucía, fascinated, approached the mouth of the well. The mephitic gases -it exhaled made the smoky flames of the lamps flicker. Here the -temperature was not warm, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_273" id="page_273"></a>{273}</span> cold—a dense, airless cold, which made -breathing difficult. An iron door opened into another gallery, on -entering which they all drew back in alarm, with the exception of the -keeper, at finding themselves surrounded by a vast expanse of water, a -sort of subterranean lake. They were standing on a narrow plank, thrown -like a bridge across the reservoir. The water, lying in its stone tomb, -had a stillness and limpidity that had something lugubrious in them. The -flame of one of the lamps, that had been left on the opposite bank to -show the extent of the deposit, threw long lines of wavering light over -the gloomy transparence of the lake, and looked, in the distance, like -the torch of a hired assassin in some Venetian prison. So fantastic was -the aspect of this lake, overhung by a granite sky, that one might fancy -it peopled with floating corpses. Lucía and Pilar experienced a vague -terror, and like children, or rather, like women, they were especially -horrified at the idea that in some one of the narrow and confused -passages, they might stumble over a rat. They knew that the deposits of -water communicated with the sewers, and two or three times already they -had turned pale, fancying they had seen a black shadow pass by, which -was only the wavering shadow of some parasites cast by the light of the -lamps<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_274" id="page_274"></a>{274}</span> upon the wall. Suddenly both women uttered a cry; this time there -was no room for doubt, they heard the sharp, shrill squeal of a rat. -Lucía stood for an instant motionless, with dilated eyes; it was -impossible here to run away. But the street urchin and the keeper burst -out laughing; they were both familiar with the sound, which was produced -by the corking of the bottles of mineral water on the other side of the -wall. The two women breathed more freely, however, when they emerged -from the gloomy labyrinth, and saw once more the light of day and felt -the fresh air blowing across their perspiring brows.</p> - -<p>One place only did Lucía visit unaccompanied—the church of St. Louis. -At first the Leonese, accustomed to the grandeur of the superb basilica -of her native place, was not greatly pleased with the edifice. St. Louis -is a poor mediæval rhapsody conceived by a modern architect; the -interior is disfigured by being painted in tawdry colors; in a word, it -resembles an actress masquerading as a saint. But Lucía found in the -temple a Virgin of Lourdes, which charmed her exceedingly. It stood in a -grotto of blooming roses and chrysanthemums, and above its head was the -legend: I am the Immaculate Conception. Lucía knew very little about the -apparitions of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_275" id="page_275"></a>{275}</span> Bernadette, the shepherdess, or the miracles of the -sacred mountain; but notwithstanding this, the image exercised a -singular fascination over her, seeming to call to her with mysterious -voice that floated among the grateful perfumes of the flowers, and the -flickering of the tall white tapers. The image, gay, smiling, and -simple, with floating robes and blue mantle, touched Lucía’s soul more -than the stiff images of the cathedral of Leon, clad in their pompous -garments, had ever done. One afternoon, as she was going to the church, -she saw a funeral procession pass along and she followed it. It was the -funeral of a young girl, a Child of Mary. The beadle, dressed in black, -a silver chain around his neck, walked with official gravity at the head -of the procession; four young girls, dressed in white, followed him, -their teeth chattering with cold, their cheeks violet, but proud of -their important rôle of carrying the ribbons. Then came the priests, -grave and composed, their rich voices swelling at intervals on the still -air. Inside the hearse, adorned with black and white plumes, was the -coffin covered with a snow-white cloth starred with orange-blossoms, -white roses, and heaps of lilacs that swayed with every movement of the -car. The Children of Mary, the companions of the deceased, walked along -almost gayly, lifting<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_276" id="page_276"></a>{276}</span> up their muslin skirts to keep them from touching -the muddy ground. The civil commissary, in his robes, headed the -mourners; behind him came a crowd of women dressed in black, in the -midst of whom walked the family of the dead girl, their faces red and -their eyes swollen with weeping. The church bells tolled with melancholy -sound while the coffin was being taken out of the hearse and placed on -the catafalque. Lucía entered the nave and piously knelt down among -those who were mourning for one whom she had never seen. She listened -with a melancholy pleasure to the office for the dead, the prayers -intoned in full and mellow voices by the priests. Those unknown Latin -phrases had for her a clear signification; she did not understand the -words, but she could comprehend without difficulty that they were -laments, menaces, complaints, and at times ardent and tender sighs of -love. And then, as had happened in the park, there came to her mind the -secret thought, the desire to die, and she said to herself that the dead -girl lying there in her coffin, covered with flowers, calm and -peaceful,—seeing nothing, hearing nothing of the miseries of this -wretched world, that goes round and round, and yet in all its countless -revolutions never brings a good day nor an hour of happiness,—was more -to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_277" id="page_277"></a>{277}</span> be envied than she who was alive and obliged to feel, to think, and -to act.</p> - -<p>“Yes, but—the soul!” Lucía said to herself.</p> - -<p>Thus curiously did a simple and ignorant girl repeat the thought -expressed in the philosophical soliloquy of the Danish dreamer!</p> - -<p>“Ah, and how good it must be to be dead,” thought Lucía. “Don Ignacio -was right in saying that—that—well, that there is no such thing as -happiness. If one only knew what fate awaited one in the other world! -Where now is the soul of that body that lies there! And what would be -the use of dying if after all one does not cease to exist, and to be -conscious of what is going on around one.”</p> - -<p>Certain it is that these wild imaginings, aided by the sleepless hours -passed at the sick girl’s bedside, and perhaps by another cause, also, -dimmed the freshness of Lucía’s complexion, and tinged with gloom her -once happy and tranquil disposition. Miranda, who, cut off from all -other society, now sought that of his wife, was struck by the melancholy -expression of her countenance, and thoughts, never fully set at rest -since the unfortunate mishap of the wedding journey, sprung up again in -his mind. This thorn, which pierced his vanity, the keenest of his -feelings, to the quick, could never cease to rankle. Had Miranda’s -nature<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_278" id="page_278"></a>{278}</span> been more amiable, he might have won by love the open and -generous heart of the young Leonese, but it would seem as if some demon -inspired him always to do exactly the opposite of what he ought to have -done. He acquired the habit of speaking harshly to Lucía, and of -treating her with a certain scorn, as if he never forgot her inferiority -of station. He reminded her by covert allusions of her social position. -He spied upon her every action, reproached her with the time spent in -taking care of Perico’s sister, and, in short, adopted a system of -opposition and tyranny, admirably adapted to succeed with weak or -perverse women, whom it subjugates and charms. Lucía it brought to the -verge of desperation.</p> - -<p>A few days before the one fixed for Perico’s return, Pilar received from -him a letter which she handed to Lucía to read. He announced in it his -near return and gave at the same time some details of the fashionable -life he was leading at the Castle of Ceyssat, and, among other pieces of -news, mentioned the death of the mother of Ignacio Artegui, which -Anatole had communicated to him, thinking it would interest him as -concerning a compatriot. He added that the son had taken the body to -Brittany, to the same old castle of Houdan, at which his childhood had -been passed, for interment. Miranda<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_279" id="page_279"></a>{279}</span> was present when this paragraph was -read, and noticed the rapid glance of intelligence that passed between -Pilar and Lucía and the sudden pallor that overspread the face of his -wife. Lucía left the house that afternoon and went to the church of St. -Louis, in which she spent half an hour or so. She went back to the -<i>châlet</i>, entered her room, where there were writing materials, wrote a -letter, which she hid in her bosom, ran down-stairs and walked rapidly -in the direction of the main street. Night was falling, the first lamps -were being lighted, and the street urchins, the choirboys of -civilization, were standing about on the pavement, crying out the names -of the Paris papers which had just arrived. Lucía went straight toward -the red lamp of the shop and dropped her letter into the wooden -letter-box. At the same instant she felt her arm seized in a vise-like -grip and turned around. Miranda was beside her.</p> - -<p>“What is the meaning of this,” he cried, in a voice of suppressed anger. -“You here, and alone,—what are you doing?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing,” she stammered.</p> - -<p>“Nothing! why, have you not just dropped a letter into the letter-box?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, a letter,” she answered.</p> - -<p>“Why did you lie, then?” exclaimed the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_280" id="page_280"></a>{280}</span> husband, in furious accents, his -mouth and chin trembling with jealous rage.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know what I may have said when you hurt my arm,” answered -Lucía, recovering her self-possession. “What is true is that I dropped a -letter there just now.”</p> - -<p>“And why did you not give it to me to post? Why did you come here -yourself—alone?”</p> - -<p>“I wished to post it myself.”</p> - -<p>Some passers-by turned around to listen to the dialogue carried on in -angry tones and in a foreign tongue.</p> - -<p>“We are making a scene,” said Miranda. “Come.”</p> - -<p>They turned into a solitary street and for the space of a few minutes -both maintained an eloquent silence.</p> - -<p>“For whom was that letter?” the husband at last asked abruptly.</p> - -<p>“For Don Ignacio Artegui,” answered Lucía, in a firm and composed voice.</p> - -<p>“I knew it!” said Miranda under his breath, suppressing a malediction.</p> - -<p>“He has lost his mother. You yourself heard so to-day.”</p> - -<p>“It is highly indecorous, highly ridiculous,” said Miranda, whose voice -sounded harsh and broken like the crackling of burning brambles,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_281" id="page_281"></a>{281}</span> “for a -lady to write in this unceremonious fashion to a man.”</p> - -<p>“I am indebted to Señor de Artegui for services and favors,” said Lucía, -“which compel me to take a part in his griefs.”</p> - -<p>“Those services, if there be such, it is my duty to acknowledge. I would -have written to him.”</p> - -<p>“Your letter,” objected Lucía simply, “would not have served to console -him, while mine would; and as it was not a question of etiquette but -of——”</p> - -<p>“Hold your tongue,” cried Miranda rudely; “hold your tongue and don’t -talk nonsense,” he continued, with that roughness which even men of -culture do not hesitate to display when speaking to their wives. “Before -marrying you should have learned how to conduct yourself in society, so -as not to bring ridicule upon me by committing silly actions, which are -in bad taste. But I have no right to complain; what better could I have -expected when I married the daughter of a retailer of oil and vinegar!”</p> - -<p>Miranda walked with long strides, dragging rather than supporting his -wife, and they had now almost reached the <i>châlet</i>. At this offensive -speech Lucía, with pale cheeks and flashing eyes, freed herself -violently from his clasp, and stood still in the middle of the road.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_282" id="page_282"></a>{282}</span></p> - -<p>“My father,” she cried, in a loud voice, making an effort to keep back -her sobs, “is an honest man, and he has taught me to be honest, too.”</p> - -<p>“Well, one would never have known it,” replied Miranda, with a bitter -and ironical laugh. “To judge by appearances he has taught you to palm -off the spurious article for the genuine as he himself probably did with -his provisions.”</p> - -<p>At this last stab Lucía rushed forward, passed through the gate, hurried -up the stairs as quickly as she had a short time before descended them, -and shutting herself in her room gave free vent to her anguish. Of the -thoughts that passed through her mind during this long night, which she -spent extended on a sofa, the following letter, assuredly not intended -by its author for publication and still less intended to awaken the -applause of future generations, will give some idea:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Dear Father Urtazu</span>: The fits of rage you warned me about are -beginning to come, and that sooner and with more frequency than I -had thought possible. The worst of it is, that thinking well over -the matter, it seems to me that I myself am in some sort to blame. -Don’t laugh at me, for pity’s sake, for I am trying to keep my -tears back while I write, and this blot, which I hope you will -excuse, is even caused by one of them falling upon the paper. I am -going to tell you everything as if I were in Leon,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_283" id="page_283"></a>{283}</span> kneeling before -you in the confessional. The mother of Señor de Artegui is dead. -You already know from my previous letters that this is a terrible -misfortune, for it may bring with it others—which I do not wish -even to think about, father. In short, I reflected that Señor de -Artegui would be very sad, very sad, and that perhaps no one would -think of saying a kind word to him and especially of speaking to -him of our Lord, in whom he cannot but believe—is it not so, -father?—but whom he may forget, perhaps, in the bitterness of his -grief. Moved by these considerations I wrote him a letter, -consoling him as best I could—I wish you could have seen it. I -said a great many things in it that I think were very fine and very -comforting. I told him that God sends us sorrows so as to make us -turn to Him in our grief; that then it is He is most with us—in -short, all that you have taught me. I told him, besides, to be -assured that he was not the only one who mourned for that poor -lady, that saint; that I mingled my tears with his, although I knew -that she was now in glory, and that I envied her. Ah, and that is -the truth, father! Who so happy as she? To die, to go to heaven! -When shall I attain such happiness!</p> - -<p>But to return to my story. I went to post the letter and Miranda -followed me and seized me by the arm, and heaped insults upon me, -calling me all sorts of bad names, and, what I felt more than all, -insulting my father. Poor, dear father! How is he to blame for what -I may do? Tell him nothing of all this, Father Urtazu, for the love -of God! I was so indignant that I answered him haughtily, and then -went and shut myself up into my room. I feel as crushed as if the -house had fallen in upon me.</p> - -<p>My health is beginning to suffer from all these things.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_284" id="page_284"></a>{284}</span> Tell Señor -Velez de Rada that when he sees me he will no longer be pleased -with my looks. My head is dizzy just now and I often have severe -fits of giddiness. Good-by, father; advise me, for I am bewildered -by all this. Sometimes I think I have done wrong, and again I think -I am not in any way to blame. Is pity a sin? When I look into my -heart I find only pity there; nothing more.</p> - -<p>Excuse the writing, for my hand trembles greatly. Write soon, for -charity’s sake, for we are shortly to leave this place, and I -should like to receive a letter from you before we go. Your -respectful daughter in Jesus Christ,</p> - -<p class="r"> -<span class="smcap">Lucía Gonzalez</span>.<br /> -</p></div> - -<p>To those familiar with the conversational style of Father Urtazu, and -who desire to have some knowledge of the epistolary style employed by so -learned a man, the following letter will afford satisfaction:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Lucigüela of my sins</span>: Ah, child, how well we know how to represent -things so as to put our dear little selves in the best light! Pity, -eh? I’ll give you pity! You did wrong, and very wrong, to write -that letter without your husband’s knowledge, and I am not -surprised that he should have behaved like a very dragon about it. -You should have asked his permission; and if he had refused -it—patience! Did I not tell you, child, that to be a good wife and -to make the journey in peace you should put a couple of arrobas of -patience in your trunks? We forget to do that, and this is the -result. Go, unlucky child, and buy a supply of patience now where -you are, and feed upon it, for you stand sorely in need of it. Your -husband ought not to have insulted your good, kind father (although -in some respects he deserves it, and I know myself the reason why), -but remember that he was angry, and when<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_285" id="page_285"></a>{285}</span> one is excited,—I, who -have a hot temper myself, can make allowance for him! As I said -before, patience, patience, and no more clandestine notes. What -call had you to turn preacher? And there is no need to grieve. God -tightens the cord, but he does not strangle; he is no executioner, -and perhaps when you least expect it, he will send you -consolation—as a gift, and not because of your own merits. And -good-by, for the mail is closing; and besides, I have the lungs of -a frog on the slide of a microscope, and I am going to study the -manner in which those little people breathe. Remember to say a few -prayers, eh? And that will take down our pride a little. The -blessing of God and of San Ignacio be with you, child.</p> - -<p class="r"> -<span class="smcap">Alonzo Urtazu, S.J.</span><br /> -</p></div> - -<p>When these counsels reached her, Lucía had already done by instinct what -Father Urtazu advised her to do. Mild and gentle now as a lamb, her -every glance was a mute petition for pardon. Miranda persistently -avoided looking at her, treating her with icy contempt. From the -constant strain on her feelings, and her continued attendance on Pilar, -the roses in Lucía’s cheeks had turned to lilies, and she had grown -noticeably thinner, although her appetite continued good. One morning -Duhamel called her aside, and said to her in his Portuguese-French.</p> - -<p>“You must take care of your health, <i>menina</i>. <i>Conservar-se. Vae cair -doente.</i> Less watching, less fatigue, regular sleep. So much nursing -<i>altera-the a saude</i>.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_286" id="page_286"></a>{286}</span></p> - -<p>“Do you think I shall take Pilar’s disease?” asked Lucía, in so tranquil -a voice that Duhamel stared at her.</p> - -<p>“No, it is not that.” And the physician, lowering his voice still more, -entered into a long and serious conversation with her.</p> - -<p>That night Lucía answered Father Urtazu’s letter in these words:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Dear Father</span>: Blessed be your lips! for it almost seems as if you -had the gift of prophecy, so true were your words when you said -that I should receive consolation. I am wild with joy, and I hardly -know what I am writing.... A child! what happiness, Father Urtazu! -To-morrow I am going to begin working on the baby-clothes, that the -little angel may not run any risk of coming into the world, like -our Lord, without swaddling clothes in which to wrap him. I am -putting a great deal of nonsense in this letter and a few tears, -too, but not like the last—these are tears of joy.</p> - -<p>To-morrow or the day after we shall leave Vichy. Miranda and I are -to spend a few days in Paris before returning to Leon. (I am wild -to be there to tell father the news; don’t tell him you, however; I -want to give him a surprise.) Poor Pilar and her brother are going -on to Spain, if the state of her health will admit of it, and she -has not to stop at some place on the road—to die, perhaps. For I -am not deceived by her apparent improvement; she is marked for -death. What I regret most is to have to leave her two or three -weeks before—But I am so happy that I don’t want to think of that. -Offer up a prayer for me.</p></div> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII.</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> Gonzalvos were unable to go on to Spain, for midway on the journey -Pilar was seized with symptoms so alarming, such sweats, swoons, fits of -retching and exhaustion, that they thought her last hour was at hand, -and that it would be fortunate if she reached Paris alive; in which case -Doctor Duhamel was not without hope that a few days rest there would -restore her strength sufficiently to allow of their proceeding on their -way. Miranda, who had thought himself already rid of the dying girl, -whom, although he did not nurse her himself, it annoyed him to see -others nursing, accepted this change of program with ill-concealed -discontent; Lucía, who could not reconcile herself to the idea of -deserting her friend on the brink of the grave, as it were, with a -lightening of the heart; and Perico, confident as he was that his sister -would lack no attention, with the secret determination to see all there -was to be seen in Paris. As for Pilar herself, possessed by the strange -optimism characteristic of her malady, she manifested great delight at -the prospect of visiting the capital of luxury and fashion, resolving to -make her purchases for the winter there that she might be as good as -“those affected Amézegas.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_288" id="page_288"></a>{288}</span></p> - -<p>They arrived in the great French capital on a dark and foggy morning and -were at once assailed by innumerable runners from the hotels, each -calling their attention to his omnibus and disputing their possession -with his rivals. One of these runners, with a dark face crossed by a -long scar, approached Miranda and said to him in good Spanish:</p> - -<p>“Hotel de la Alavesa, Señor—Spanish spoken—Spanish waiters—olla -served every day—Rue Saint-Honoré, the most central situation.”</p> - -<p>“It would be well to go there,” said Duhamel, touching Miranda on the -arm. “In a Spanish hotel <i>a doente</i> will receive better attention.”</p> - -<p>“Let us go, then,” said Miranda resignedly, giving the check for his -luggage to the runner. “Look here,” he added, addressing Perico, “you -and I will go with the luggage in the hotel omnibus, and we will send -Lucía and Pilar in one of those hackney-coaches—they do not jolt so -much.”</p> - -<p>They carried Pilar almost bodily from the railway carriage to the coach. -The runner installed himself on the box after giving many charges and -instructions to the postillion of the omnibus, and the driver whipped up -his sorry-looking nag. After driving through several<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_289" id="page_289"></a>{289}</span> broad and -magnificent streets they stopped in front of the Hotel de la Alavesa, -and Lucía, springing lightly as a bird to the ground, said to the -runner:</p> - -<p>“Do me the favor to assist me in helping this young lady out of the -carriage, she is ill.”</p> - -<p>But suddenly recognizing the man’s face, she cried excitedly:</p> - -<p>“Sardiola!”</p> - -<p>“Señorita!” responded the Biscayan, showing no less joy, cordiality, and -surprise than Lucía had done. “And I did not recognize you! How stupid -of me! But one sees so many travelers at that blessed station, meeting -them there when they arrive, and taking them there when they are going -away, that it is not to be wondered at.”</p> - -<p>And after looking at Lucía for a few moments longer, he added:</p> - -<p>“But the truth is, too, that you yourself are greatly changed. Why, you -don’t look like the same person as when Señorito Ignacio was with -you——”</p> - -<p>At the sound of this name, so long unheard by her, Lucía turned as red -as a cherry, and dropping her eyes, she murmured:</p> - -<p>“We will go at once to our rooms. Come, Pilar. Here, put your arm around -my neck—now the other around Sardiola’s—don’t be<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_290" id="page_290"></a>{290}</span> afraid to lean; -there! Shall we carry you in the queen’s chair?”</p> - -<p>And the Biscayan and her valorous friend, crossing hands, raised the -sick girl gently in the improvised throne, on which she sank like an -inert mass, letting her head fall on Lucía’s shoulder. In this way they -went up-stairs to the <i>entresol</i>, where Sardiola showed the two women -into a large and airy room, containing the customary marble -mantle-piece, the immense beds with hangings, the <i>moquette</i> carpet, -somewhat soiled and worn in places, the wash-stand and the traditional -clothes-rack. The windows of the room looked out into a small garden, in -the center of which was a light kiosk constructed of wood and glass, -which served as a bath-house. They placed Pilar in an arm-chair and -Sardiola stood waiting for further orders. His eyes, dark and brilliant -as those of a Newfoundland pup, were fixed on Lucía with a submissive -and affectionate look truly canine. She, on her side, had to bite her -lips to keep back the questions which crowded impatiently to them. -Sardiola, divining her thoughts with the loyal instinct of the domestic -animal, anticipated her words.</p> - -<p>“If the ladies should need anything,” he said hesitatingly, as if -fearing to seem intrusive, “let<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_291" id="page_291"></a>{291}</span> them call upon me at any time. If I am -at the station, Juanilla will come; she is the chambermaid of this -floor—an obliging girl, and quick as lightning. But if ever I can be of -any service—well, it would delight me greatly; it is enough for me to -have seen the Señorita with Señorito Ignacio——”</p> - -<p>And as Lucía remained silent, questioning only with the mute and ardent -language of the eyes, the Biscayan continued:</p> - -<p>“Because—did the Señorita not know? Well it was the Señorito himself -who got me this place. As the Alavese took Juanilla, who is a cousin of -mine, with her and it made me, well—sad, to see those hills which no -one but us country lads and the wild beasts had, with God’s help, ever -climbed before, overrun by government troops, and, in short, as I was -dying of sadness in that station, I wrote to the Señorito—his mother, -may her soul rest in glory, was still living—and he recommended me to -the Alavesa, and here I am at your service, living in clover.”</p> - -<p>Lucía’s eyes continued their mute questioning, more eager than ever. -Sardiola continued:</p> - -<p>“But what most pleased me was to live so near the Señorito——”</p> - -<p>“So near?” mutely asked the shining eyes.</p> - -<p>“So near,” he said in response, “so very<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_292" id="page_292"></a>{292}</span> near that—why it is -delightful!—you have only to cross the garden there to reach his -house.”</p> - -<p>Lucía ran to the balcony, and, as pale as wax, looked with wild eyes at -the building opposite. Sardiola followed her to the window and even the -sick girl turned her head around with curiosity.</p> - -<p>“Look there,” explained Sardiola. “Do you see that wall there and that -other wall which joins it at a right angle? Well, those are the walls of -the hotel. Now look at that other wall, which forms the third side of -the square—that is the wall of Don Ignacio’s house; it opens on the Rue -de Rivoli. Do you see those steps leading into the garden? You ascend by -those into the corridor on the first floor, into which the dining-room -opens—a very handsome room! The whole house is handsome. Don Ignacio’s -father accumulated a great deal of money. Do you see that little tree -there at the foot of the steps, that sickly-looking plane tree? That is -where the Señorito used to take his mother to sit to breathe the air; -she died of a disease the name of which I don’t remember, but which -means—well, that the heart becomes greatly enlarged—and as she had -dreadful fits of oppression at times so that she could scarcely breathe, -just<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_293" id="page_293"></a>{293}</span> like a fish when it is taken out of the water; she had to be -brought down into the garden, and even then there was not air enough for -her, and she would sit for an hour trying to get her breath. If you had -seen the Señorito! That was what might be called devotion! He supported -her head, he warmed her feet with his hands, he kissed her a thousand -times in an hour, he fanned her—well, it was a sight worth seeing! A -purer soul God never sent into the world nor shall we see another like -her in our time. After death the blessed saint looked so smiling and so -natural and so handsome, with her fair hair! He it was that looked like -a dead person; if he had been lying in the coffin any one would have -taken him for the corpse.”</p> - -<p>“Silence!” the eloquent eyes suddenly commanded.</p> - -<p>And Sardiola obeyed. Duhamel, Miranda, and Perico were entering the -room. Duhamel examined the apartment minutely and declared it, in his -Lusitanian-French jargon, to be sheltered, convenient, not too high, yet -well ventilated, and in every way suitable for the patient. Miranda and -Perico retired to the adjoining room to wash themselves after the -journey, and tacitly, without debating the question, it was decided that -patient and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_294" id="page_294"></a>{294}</span> nurse should room together, and that the two men should -occupy together also the room in which they were. Miranda interposed no -objection to this sacrifice on Lucía’s part; for Duhamel, calling him -aside, informed him that the disease was rapidly nearing its fatal -termination, and that he thought the sick girl could hardly live a month -longer, in view of which fact Miranda silently resolved to depart with -his wife in eight or ten days’ time under some pretext or other. But -fate, which had ordained that these events should have a very different -<i>dénouement</i>, disposed matters in such a way, employing Perico as her -instrument, that Miranda very soon began to find himself contented, -diverted, and happy in this Parisian Babylon; this gulf among whose -reefs and shoals the artful Gonzalvo piloted him with more skill and -dexterity than singleness of purpose.</p> - -<p>“What the deuce, what the deuce are you going to bury yourself in Leon -for now?” exclaimed Perico. “You will have time enough, time enough to -bore yourself there! Take my advice and avail yourself of the -opportunity. Why, you are well enough now! Those waters have made you -look ten years younger.”</p> - -<p>The sly fellow knew very well what he was about. Neither her father nor -her aunt had manifested any very great desire to come and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_295" id="page_295"></a>{295}</span> take care of -Pilar, and he foresaw that on him would devolve the disagreeable office -of sick nurse. His mind, fertile in wiles, suggested a thousand -artifices by which to charm Miranda in that magical city that of itself -turns the heads of all who set foot in it. Lucía’s husband made -acquaintance with the refinements of the French <i>cuisine</i> in the best -<i>restaurateurs</i>, (close your eyes, ye purists!) and the experienced -<i>gourmet</i> of middle age came to take a profound interest in the question -as to whether the <i>sauce Holandaise</i> were better in this restaurant or -in the one two doors below, and when the stuffed mushrooms had their -richest flavor. In addition to these gastronomic enjoyments he took -pleasure in frequenting the variety theaters, of which there are so many -in Paris. He was amused by the comic songs, the contortions of the -clown, the rollicking music, and the airy and almost Eden-like costumes -of the nymphs, who went disguised as saucepans, violins, or puppets. It -is even stated—but on evidence insufficient to establish it as a -historical fact—that the illustrious ex-beau sought to recall his past -glories and to refresh his dry and withered laurels, and selected for -his victim a certain proscenium-rat, in the high-sounding language of -the stage, called Zulma, although every one was well aware that in less -exalted<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_296" id="page_296"></a>{296}</span> regions she might be called Antonia, Dionisia, or the like. -This creature sang with inimitable grace the refrains of certain -<i>chansonnettes</i>, and it was enough to make one split one’s sides -laughing to see her when, with her hand on her hip, her right leg in the -air, a wink in her eye, and parted lips she uttered some slang -expression—a cry from the fish-stands or the market, repeated by her -rosy mouth for the delectation and delight of the audience. Nor were -these the only graces and accomplishments of the singer, for the -choicest part of her repertory, the quintessence of her art, she kept -rather for her hours of dalliance with those fortunate mortals who -succeeded in obtaining access, well-provided with gold-dust, to this -Danaë of the stage. What feline wiles did she employ with her adorers; -calling grave men of sixty her little mice, her little dogs, her little -cats, her <i>bébés</i>, and other endearing and delightful names, sweeter to -them than honey. And what shall I say of the incomparable humor and -grace with which she held between her pearly teeth a Russian pipe while -she sent into the air wreaths of blue smoke; the contraction of her -lips, accentuating the curves of her <i>retroussé</i> nose and the dimples of -her puffed-out cheeks? What of the skill with which she balanced herself -on two chairs at once without sitting, properly<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_297" id="page_297"></a>{297}</span> speaking, on either of -them, since her shoulders rested against the back of the one and her -heels on the seat of the other? What of the agility and dexterity with -which she swallowed in ten minutes ten dozen of raw oysters, accompanied -with two or three bottles of Rhine wine, so that it almost seemed as if -her throat had been annointed with oil to let them slip down smoothly? -What of the smiling eloquence with which she proved to some friend that -such or such a diamond ring was too small for his finger while it fitted -hers as if it had been made for it? In short, if the adventure that was -then whispered in the corridors of a certain variety theater and at the -<i>table d’hôte</i> of the Alavesa seems unworthy of the traditional splendor -of the house of Miranda, at least it is but just to record that its -heroine was the most entertaining, cajoling, and dangerous of the feline -tribe that then mewed discordantly on the Parisian stage.</p> - -<p>While Perico and Miranda kept off the blues in this way, Pilar’s -remaining lung was gradually being consumed, as a plank is consumed with -dry-rot. She did not grow worse because that was now impossible, and her -existence, rather than life, was a lingering death, not very painful, -disturbed only by an occasional fit of coughing which threatened to -choke her. Life<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_298" id="page_298"></a>{298}</span> was in her like the flickering flame of a candle burned -to the socket, which the slightest movement, the least breath of air -will suffice to extinguish. She had lost her voice almost entirely, so -that she could speak only in soft, low tones, such as a drum stuffed -with cotton might emit. Fits of somnolence, frequent and protracted, -would overpower her, periods of profound stupor, of utter exhaustion, -which simulated and foreshadowed the final repose of the tomb. Her eyes -closed, her body motionless, her feet side by side as if she already lay -in her coffin, she would lie for hours and hours on the bed, giving no -other sign of life than a faint, sibilant breathing. It was generally at -the noonday hour that this comatose sleep took possession of her, and -her nurse, who could do nothing for her but leave her to repose, and who -was oppressed by the heavy atmosphere of the room, impregnated with the -emanations from the medicines and the vapor of the perspiration—atoms -of this human being in process of dissolution—would go out on the -balcony, descend the stairs leading into the garden, and seating herself -in the shade of the stunted plane tree, would pass there the hours of -the <i>siesta</i>, sewing or crocheting. Her work consisted of diminutive -shirts, bibs equally diminutive, petticoats neatly scalloped. In this<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_299" id="page_299"></a>{299}</span> -sweet and secret occupation the hours passed by unnoticed, and -occasionally the needle would slip from her skillful fingers and the -silence, the solitude, the serenity of the heavens, the soft rustle of -the sickly looking trees would tempt the industrious needlewoman into a -pensive revery. The sun darted his golden arrows through the foliage -across the sanded paths at this hour, and the air was dry and mild. The -walls of the hotel and of Artegui’s house formed a sort of natural -stove, attracting the solar heat and diffusing it through the garden. -The railing which shut in the square bordered the Rue de Rivoli, and -through its bars could be seen pass by, enveloped in the blue mists of -evening, coaches, light victorias, landaus, whirled rapidly along by -their costly teams, equestrians who at a distance looked like puppets, -and workmen who looked like shadows cast from a Chinese lantern. In the -distance gleamed at intervals the steel of a stirrup, the gay color of a -gown or of a livery, the varnished spokes of a swiftly revolving wheel. -Lucía’s attention was attracted by the many varieties of horses. There -were Normandy horses with powerful haunches, strong necks and lustrous -coats, deliberate in pace, that drew, with a movement at once powerful -and gentle, the heavy vehicles to which they<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_300" id="page_300"></a>{300}</span> were harnessed; there were -English horses with long necks, ungraceful, but stylish, that trotted -with the precision of marvelous automatons; Arabian horses, with -flashing eyes, quivering and dilated nostrils, shining hoofs, dry coats, -and thin flanks; Spanish horses—although of these there were but -few—with luxuriant manes, superb chests, broad loins, and forefeet that -proudly pawed the air. As the sun sank lower in the west, the carriages -could be distinguished in the distance by the scintillation of the -lamps, but their forms and colors all blending together confusedly, -Lucía’s eyes soon wearied of the effort of following them, and with -renewed melancholy she fixed her gaze on the puny and -consumptive-looking plants of the garden. At times her solitude was -broken in upon, not by any traveler, either male or female—for visitors -to Paris as a general thing do not spend the afternoon under a plane -tree working—but by Sardiola, <i>in propria persona</i>, who, under pretext -of watering the plants, plucking up a weed here and there, or rolling -the sand of the path, held long conversations with his pensive -compatriot. Certain it is that they were never in want of a subject on -which to talk. Lucía’s eyes were no less tireless in asking questions -than Sardiola’s tongue was eager to respond to them. Never were matters<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_301" id="page_301"></a>{301}</span> -insignificant in themselves described with greater minuteness of detail. -Lucía was now familiar with the eccentricities, the tastes and the ideas -of Artegui, and knew by heart his traits of character, and the events of -his life, which were in no wise remarkable. The reader may find matter -for surprise in the fact that Sardiola should be so well acquainted with -all that related to a man with whom his intercourse had been so slight, -but it is to be observed that the Biscayan’s native place was at no -great distance from the family estate of the Arteguis, and that he was -the intimate friend of Ignacio’s former nurse, on whom the care of the -solitary house now devolved. The pair held long and intimate -conversations together in their diabolical dialect, and the poor woman -never wearied of relating the wonderful sayings and doings of her -nursling, which Sardiola heard with as much delight as if he had himself -performed the feminine functions of Engracia. Through this channel Lucía -came to have at her finger’s ends the minutest particulars regarding the -disposition and character of Ignacio; his melancholy and silence as a -child, his misanthropy as a youth, and many other details relating to -his parents, his family, and his fortune. Does fate indeed at times -please herself by bringing together mysteriously and by<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_302" id="page_302"></a>{302}</span> tortuous ways -two lives that constantly come in contact with and influence each other, -without apparent cause or reason? Is it true that, as there are secret -bonds of sympathy between souls, so there are other bonds connecting -events, which link them together in the sphere of the material and the -tangible?</p> - -<p>“Don Ignacio,” said the good Sardiola, “was always so. You see they say -that he never had any bodily ailment, not even so much as a toothache. -But his nurse Engracia says that from the cradle he suffered from a kind -of sickness of the soul or the mind, or whatever it may be called. When -he was a child, he was subject to strange fits of terror when night -came, without any known cause for them. His eyes would grow larger and -larger like that” (Sardiola traced in the air with his thumb and -forefinger a series of gradually widening circles) “and he would hide in -a corner of the room, huddled up like a ball, and stay there without -budging until morning dawned. He would never tell his visions, but one -day he confessed to his mother that he saw terrible things—all the -members of his family, with the faces of corpses, bathing and splashing -about in a pool of blood. In short, a thousand wild fancies. The -strangest part of the matter was that in the daytime the Señorito was as -brave<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_303" id="page_303"></a>{303}</span> as a lion, as everybody knows. At the time of the war it was a -pleasure to see him. Why bless you! he would go among the balls as if -they were sugar plums. He never carried arms, only a hanging satchel -containing I don’t know how many things—bistouris, lancets, pincers, -bandages, sticking-plaster. Besides this he had his pockets stuffed with -lint and rags and cotton batting. I can tell you, Señorita, that if -promotion were to be earned by showing no disgust for those -good-for-nothing liberals, no one would be better entitled to it than -Don Ignacio. On one occasion a bomb fell not two steps away from him. He -stood looking at it, waiting for it to explode, no doubt, and if -Sergeant Urrea, who was standing beside him at the time, had not caught -him by the arm—— Why, he would not retire even when the enemy charged -on us with the bayonet. In one of these charges a guiri<a name="FNanchor_B_2" id="FNanchor_B_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_B_2" class="fnanchor">[B]</a> -soldier—accursed be every one of his race—charged at him with his -bayonet. And what do you suppose Don Ignacio did?—it would not have -occurred even to the devil himself to do it—he brushed him aside with -his hand as if he had been a mosquito, and the barbarian lowered his -bayonet and allowed himself to be brushed aside. The Señorito gave him a -look. Heavens! such a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_304" id="page_304"></a>{304}</span> look, half-serious, half-smiling, that must have -made the boor blush for shame.”</p> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_B_2" id="Footnote_B_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_B_2"><span class="label">[B]</span></a> Government.</p></div> - -<p>Then followed an account of the attentions lavished by the son upon his -mother during her last illness.</p> - -<p>“I fancy I can see them now. There, there where you are sitting, Doña -Armanda; and he just here where I am standing, be it said with all -respect. Well, he would bring her down into the garden and he would -place her feet on a stool and put a dozen pillows of all sizes and -shapes behind her head, to help the poor lady to breathe easier. And the -potions! and the draughts!—digitalis here, atropina there. But it was -all of no use—at last the poor lady died. Would you believe that Don -Ignacio showed no extravagant grief? He is like a well; he keeps -everything inside, so that, having no outlet, it suffocates him. But he -did not deceive me with his calmness, for when he said to me, ‘Sardiola, -will you watch by her with me to-night,’ I thought of—see what a -foolish fancy, Señorita—but I thought of a cornet in our ranks who used -to play a famous reveille, that was so clear and full and beautiful; and -one day he played out of tune, and as we laughed at him he took his -cornet and blew it and said, ‘Boys, my poor little instrument has met -with a misfortune, and it has<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_305" id="page_305"></a>{305}</span> cracked.’ Well, the same difference of -sound that I noticed in the cornet of that fool, Triguillos, I noticed -in the voice of the Señorito. You know what a sonorous voice he has, -that it would be a pleasure to hear him give the word of command; but -that day his voice was—well, cracked. In short, he himself arrayed Doña -Armanda in her shroud, and he and I sat up with her, and at daybreak off -to Brittany in a special train,—with the body in a lignum-vitæ coffin, -trimmed with silver,—to the old castle, to bury the poor lady among her -parents, her grandparents, and all the rest of her ancestors.”</p> - -<p>Lucía, who, her work fallen on her lap, had been listening with all her -faculties, now concentrated them in her eyes to put a mute question to -Sardiola. The quick-witted Biscayan answered it at once.</p> - -<p>“He has never come back since and no one knows what he intends to do. -Engracia has not had a word from him. Although, indeed, for that matter, -he never tells his plans to a living soul. Engracia is there alone by -herself, for he dismissed all the other servants, rewarding them well, -before he went away. She attends to the little, the nothing, indeed, -there is to attend to, opening the windows occasionally, so that the -dampness may not have it all<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_306" id="page_306"></a>{306}</span> its own way with the furniture,—passing a -duster——”</p> - -<p>Lucía turned her head and looked intently at the windows, closed at the -time, behind which she could see passing at intervals the figure of an -elderly woman, whose head was covered with the traditional Guipuscoan -cap, fastened with its two gilt pins.</p> - -<p>“The house ought to be taken care of,” continued Sardiola, “for that -blessed Doña Armanda kept it like a silver cup—it is handsomely -furnished and very spacious. And now that it occurs to me,” he exclaimed -suddenly, slapping his forehead, “why don’t you go to see it, Señorita? -I will speak to Engracia, she will show us over it. Come, make up your -mind to go.”</p> - -<p>“No,” answered Lucía faintly; “what for?”</p> - -<p>“Why, to see it, of course. You will see Señorito Ignacio’s room, with -his books and the toys he had when he was a child, for his nurse -Engracia has kept them all.”</p> - -<p>“Very well, Sardiola,” answered Lucía, as if asking a respite. “Some day -when I am in the humor. To-day I am not in the mood for it. I will tell -you when I am.”</p> - -<p>Lucía was, in fact, greatly preoccupied by a matter which gave more -anxiety to her than to any one else. Duhamel had told her that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_307" id="page_307"></a>{307}</span> Pilar’s -end was drawing near, and Pilar, who had not the slightest suspicion of -this, gave no indication of wishing to prepare her soul for the solemn -change. They talked to her of God, and she answered, in a scarcely -audible voice, with remarks about fashions or pleasure parties; they -wished to turn her thoughts toward solemn things and the unhappy girl, -with scarcely a breath of life left in her body, uttered some jest that -sounded funereal, coming from her livid lips.</p> - -<p>All Lucía’s pious eloquence was of no avail to conquer the invincible -and beneficent illusion that remained with Pilar to the last. She -appealed to Miranda and Perico, but they both shrugged their shoulders -and declared themselves altogether inexperienced in such duties and but -little adapted for them. The very day on which it occurred to her to -speak to them of the matter, they had a supper arranged with Zulma and -some of her gay companions in the snuggest and most retired little -dining-room at Brébant’s—a fit time this to think of such things. -Lucía, however, found some one to help her out of her difficulty, and -this was no other than Sardiola, who was acquainted with a Jesuit, a -compatriot of his, Father Arrigoitia, and who brought him in a trice. -Father Arrigoitia was as tall as a bean-pole, with stooping shoulders;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_308" id="page_308"></a>{308}</span> -and was as gentle and insinuating in his manners as his compatriot, -Father Urtazu, was harsh and abrupt. He made his first visit with the -pretext of bringing news from Pilar’s aunt; he returned to inquire, with -a great appearance of interest, about the bodily health of the sick -girl; he brought her some earth from the holy grotto of Manresa, and -some pectoral lozenges of Belmet, all wrapped up carefully together; -and, in short, used so much tact and skill that after a week’s -acquaintance with him Pilar asked of her own accord for what the Jesuit -so greatly desired to give her. As Father Arrigoitia was leaving the -room of the now dying girl, after having pronounced the words of -absolution, he heard behind the door sobs, and a voice saying: “Thanks, -many thanks!” Lucía was there, weeping bitterly.</p> - -<p>“Give them to God,” answered the Jesuit gently. “Come, there is no -occasion for grief, Señora Doña Lucía; on the contrary, we have cause -for congratulation.”</p> - -<p>“No, no; I am weeping for joy,” answered the nurse. And as the black -cassock and the tall belted figure of the Jesuit were receding from -view, she softly called to him. The priest retraced his steps.</p> - -<p>“I too, Father Arrigoitia, desire to confess myself, and soon, very -soon,” she said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_309" id="page_309"></a>{309}</span></p> - -<p>“Ah, very good, very good. But you are in no danger of death, thanks be -to God. In San Sulpicio, in the confessional to the right, as you -enter—I am always at your service, Señora. I shall return shortly to -see our little patient. There, don’t cry, you look like a Magdalen.”</p> - -<p>That afternoon Lucía went down as usual into the garden. But so -exhausted was she both in mind and body that, leaning back against the -trunk of the plane tree, she soon fell fast asleep. Before long she -began to dream, and the oddest part of her dream was that she did not -imagine she was in any strange or unknown place, but in the very spot -where she sat in the garden, only that this, in the capricious mirroring -of her dream, instead of being small and narrow, seemed to be enormous. -It was the same garden but seen through a colossal magnifying-glass. The -railing had receded far, far away into the distance and looked like a -row of points of light on the horizon; and this increase in its size -increased the gloom of the little garden, making it seem like a dry and -parched field. Casting her eyes around, Lucía fixed her gaze on what -seemed to be the front of Artegui’s house, from one of whose open -windows issued a pale hand that made signs to her. Was it a man’s hand -or a woman’s hand? Was it the hand of a living<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_310" id="page_310"></a>{310}</span> being or of a corpse? -Lucía did not know, but the mysterious beckoning of that unknown hand -exercised a spell over her that grew stronger every moment and she ran -on and on, trying to approach the house. But the field continued to -stretch away; one sandy belt followed another; and after walking hours -and hours she still saw before her the long row of sickly plane trees -fading into the distance and Artegui’s house further off than ever. But -the hand continued to beckon furiously, impatiently, like the hand of an -epileptic agitating itself in the air; its five fingers resembled -whirling asps, and Lucía, breathless, panting, continued to run on and -on, and one plane tree succeeded another and the house was still in the -distance. “Fool that I am!” she cried, “since I cannot reach it running, -I will fly.” No sooner said than done; with the ease with which one -flies in dreams, Lucía stood on tip-toe, and presto! she was in the air -at a bound. Oh, happiness! oh, bliss! the field lay beneath her, she -winged her way through the serene, pure blue atmosphere; and now the -house was no longer distant, and now there was an end to the -interminable row of plane trees, and now she distinguished the form to -which the hand belonged. It was a form, slender, without being meager, -surmounted by a countenance<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_311" id="page_311"></a>{311}</span> manly, though of a melancholy cast, but -which now smiled kindly, with infinite tenderness. How fast Lucía flew! -how blissfully she drew her breath in the serene atmosphere! Courage, it -is but a little distance now! Lucía could hear the flapping of her -wings, for she had wings, and the grateful coolness refreshed her heart. -Now she was close beside the window.</p> - -<p>Suddenly she felt two sharp pains pierce her flesh as if she had -received two wounds at once, made by two different weapons; hovering in -the air above her she saw an enormous pair of shears, two white dove’s -wings stained with blood fell to the ground, and losing her power she, -too, fell, down, down, not on the soil of the garden, but into an abyss, -a deep, deep gulf. At the bottom two lights were burning, and the -pitying eyes of a woman dressed in white were fixed upon her. It seemed -to her as if she had fallen into the grotto at Lourdes—it could be no -other; it was exactly as she had seen it in the church of St. Louis at -Vichy, even to the roses and the chrysanthemums of the Virgin. Oh, how -fresh and beautiful was the grotto with its murmuring spring! Lucía -longed to reach it—but as generally happens in nightmares, she was -wakened by the shock of her fall.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_312" id="page_312"></a>{312}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV.</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">A few</span> days after she had made her confession, Pilar expired. Her death -was almost sweet, and altogether different from what they had expected -it would be, inasmuch as it was painless. A more severe fit of coughing -than usual interrupted her respiration and the flame of life went out, -as the flame goes out in a lamp when the oil is exhausted. Lucía was -alone with the sick girl at the time, supporting her while she was -coughing, when suddenly dropping her head forward she expired. The -horrible malady, consumption, has so many different phases and aspects -that, while some of its victims feel life slowly ebbing away from them -hour by hour, others fall into eternity as suddenly as the wild animal -falls into the snare. Lucía, who had never seen any one die before, did -not suppose that this was anything more than a deep swoon; she could not -think that the spirit abandoned, without a greater struggle and sharper -pangs, its mortal tenement. She ran out of the room calling for -assistance. Sardiola was the first to come to the bedside in answer to -her cries, and shaking his head he said, “It is all over.” Miranda and -Perico came shortly afterward; they were both in the hotel at the time, -it being eleven<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_313" id="page_313"></a>{313}</span> o’clock, the hour at which they left the bed for the -breakfast table. Miranda raised his eyebrows when he received the -intelligence and setting his voice in a solemn key, said:</p> - -<p>“It was to be feared, it was to be feared. Yes, we knew she was very -ill. But so suddenly, good heavens!—it does not seem possible.”</p> - -<p>As for Perico, he hid his face in his hands, and murmured more than -thirty times in succession, “Good heavens! Good heavens! What a -misfortune! What a misfortune!” And I must add, in honor of the -sensibility of the illustrious schemer, that he even changed countenance -perceptibly, and that he made desperate attempts to shed, and did at -last succeed in shedding a few of those drops called by poets the dew of -the soul. I have not wished to omit these details lest it might be -thought that Perico was heartless, the fact being that curious and -minute statistical researches show him to have been less so than -two-thirds of the progeny of Adam. Sorrowful and dejected in very truth, -he allowed Miranda to lead him to his room, and it has also been -ascertained for a fact that in the whole course of that day no other -nourishment passed his lips than two cups of tea and a boiled egg, which -at nightfall extreme debility obliged him to swallow.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_314" id="page_314"></a>{314}</span></p> - -<p>Father Arrigoitia and Doctor Duhamel, in union with Miranda, empowered -by telegraph by the sorrowing family of Gonzalvo, provided the dead girl -with all that she now needed—a shroud and a coffin. Pilar, arrayed in -the robe of a Carmelite nun, was placed in the casket which was laid on -the bed she had occupied when living. Candles were lighted and the body -left, in accordance with the Spanish custom, in the chamber of death, -the French custom being to place the corpse, surrounded by lighted -candles, at the entrance to the room, in order that every one who passes -the door may sprinkle it with holy water, using for the purpose a sprig -of box floating in a vessel standing near by. The funeral services and -the interment were to take place on the following day.</p> - -<p>The arrangements for these were soon made, and at about three in the -afternoon, Father Arrigoitia was already reading from his breviary, -beside the open window in the chamber of death (from which all traces of -disorder had disappeared), the prayers for the dead, Lucía answering -“Amen” between her sobs. The flame of the tapers, paled by the glorious -brightness of the sun, showed like a reddish point of light, with the -black line of the wick strongly marked in the center. The rumbling<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_315" id="page_315"></a>{315}</span> of -approaching and receding carriage wheels could be heard, causing the -windows to rattle as they passed by; and above the noises of the street -the voice of the Jesuit father, saying:</p> - -<p>“<i>Qui quasi putredo consumendus sum, et quasi vestimentum quod comeditur -a tinea.</i>”</p> - -<p>As if in protest to the funeral hymn, the glorious winter sun darted his -rays upon the bowed gray head of the priest, and lighted with warm tones -Lucía’s neck, bowed also.</p> - -<p>And the prayer continued:</p> - -<p>“<i>Hen mihi, Domine, quia peccavi nimis in vita mea.</i>”</p> - -<p>A sunbeam, brighter and more daring than its fellows, stole into the -room and fell across the form of the dead girl. Pilar was wasted away -almost to a skeleton; death had bestowed neither beauty nor majesty on -this body, emaciated, diseased, and consumed by fever. The white -head-dress brought into relief the greenish pallor of the sunken -countenance. She seemed to have shrunk and diminished in size. Her -expression was undecided, between a smile and a grimace. Her teeth, of -an ivory hue, were visible. On her breast gleamed in the sunlight the -metal of a crucifix which Father Arrigoitia had placed between her -hands.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_316" id="page_316"></a>{316}</span></p> - -<p>The Jesuit and the friend of the dead girl prayed for about an hour. At -the end of that time the priest rose, saying that he would return to -watch beside the body after he had attended to some urgent business, -which required his presence at his own house. He looked at Lucía and, -noticing that her cheeks were pale and her eyes swollen, he said to her -kindly:</p> - -<p>“Go rest a little, child; you are as pale as the corpse. God does not -require that you should treat yourself in this way.”</p> - -<p>“Instead of resting, father,” returned Lucía. “I will go down into the -garden to breathe the fresh air awhile—Juanilla will remain here. I -feel the need of air, my head is burning.”</p> - -<p>The Jesuit fixed his glance on her anew, and, suddenly putting his mouth -close to her ear, he whispered, as if he were in the confessional:</p> - -<p>“Now that this poor girl is dead, you know what my advice is, do you -not? Put miles between you, daughter; this neighborhood, this place does -not suit you. Return to Leon. If I chance to be sent there—I shall be -able to congratulate you.”</p> - -<p>And as Lucía gave him an eloquent glance, he added:</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes, put miles between you. How many sick souls have I cured with -only this<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_317" id="page_317"></a>{317}</span> remedy! Well, good-by, good-by for a little while. Yes, my -dear child, yes; God keeps an account of all these things in Heaven.”</p> - -<p>“Father, I wish I were in her place,” murmured Lucía, pointing to the -dead girl.</p> - -<p>“Holy Virgin! No, child. You must live in order to serve God by -fulfilling his will. Good-by for a while, eh?”</p> - -<p>When Lucía went down into the garden, to her eyes, fatigued with -weeping, it seemed less sickly-looking and arid than usual. The yucas -raised their majestic heads wearing perennial crowns; the plants exhaled -a faint rural odor, more grateful, at any rate, than the odor of the -wax. The sun was sinking low in the west, but his rays still gilded the -points of the lance-shaped heads of the railings. Lucía, from habit, -seated herself under the plane tree, which the blasts of winter had -despoiled of its last withered leaf. The quiet of this solitary retreat -brought familiar thoughts again to her mind. No, Lucía could weep no -more; her dry eyes could not shed another tear; what she desired was -rest—rest. God and nature had forbidden her to wish for death; so that, -employing an ingenious subterfuge, she wished for a long sleep, a sleep -without end. While she was absorbed in these thoughts, she saw Sardiola -running toward her.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_318" id="page_318"></a>{318}</span></p> - -<p>“Señorita! Señorita!” The good Biscayan was panting for breath.</p> - -<p>“What is the matter?” she asked, languidly raising her head.</p> - -<p>“He is there,” said Sardiola, gasping.</p> - -<p>“He is—there.” Lucía sat erect, rigid as a statue, and pressed her -hands to her heart.</p> - -<p>“The Señorito—Señorito Ignacio. He arrived this morning—he is going -away again to-night—where, no one knows—he refused to see me—Engracia -says he looks worse even than when he left for Brittany.”</p> - -<p>“Sardiola,” said Lucía, in a faint voice, feeling her heart contract -until it seemed to be no bigger than a hazelnut; “Sardiola——”</p> - -<p>“I must go back, they need me at every moment. On account of to-day’s -misfortune there are a hundred errands to be done. Can I do anything for -you, Señorita?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing.” And Lucía’s faint voice died away in her throat. There was a -buzzing sound in her ears, and railing, walls, plane tree and yucas -seemed to whirl around her. There are in life supreme moments like this, -when feeling, long suppressed, rises mighty and triumphant, and -proclaims itself master of the soul. It was this already; but the soul -was perhaps ignorant, or only vaguely conscious of its subjection, when -suddenly it feels itself stamped,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_319" id="page_319"></a>{319}</span> as with a red-hot iron, with the seal -of its bondage. Although the comparison may appear irreverent, I shall -say that the same thing happens here, in a measure, as in conversions; -the soul wavers, undecided for a time, knowing neither what course it is -taking, nor what is the cause of its disquiet, until a voice from on -high, a dazzling light, suddenly come to dispel every doubt. The assault -is swift, the resistance faint, the victory sure.</p> - -<p>The sun was sinking rapidly in the west, the garden was in shadow, -Sardiola, the faithful watch-dog who had given the alarm, was no longer -there. Lucía looked around with wandering gaze, and put her hand to her -throat, as if she were strangling. Then she fixed her eyes on the house -opposite as if by some magic art its walls of stone could transform -themselves into walls of glass, and disclose to her what was within. She -gazed at it fascinated, suppressing the cry that rose to her lips. The -dining-room door stood ajar. This was not unusual, the nurse Engracia -frequently standing at its threshold of an afternoon to breathe the -fresh air and chat awhile with Sardiola; but there was something now in -the aspect of the half-open door that froze Lucía’s heart with terror, -and at the same time filled her soul with ardent joy. Through her brain, -incapable of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_320" id="page_320"></a>{320}</span> thought, ran the refrain, with the monotonous regularity -of the ticking of a clock:</p> - -<p>“He came this morning; he is going away to-night.”</p> - -<p>Then, her nerves irritated by this iteration, the sounds blended -confusedly together and she heard clearly only the last word of the -refrain—“night, night, night,” which seemed to sink and swell like -those luminous points that we see in the darkness during sleepless -hours, which approach and recede, without apparent change of place, by -the mere vibration of their atoms. She pressed her temples between her -hands as if she sought to arrest the movement of the persistent -pendulum, and rising, walked slowly, step by step, toward the vestibule -of Artegui’s house. As she put her foot on the first step of the stairs, -there was a buzzing in her ears like the humming of a hundred gadflies, -that seemed to say:</p> - -<p>“Do not go; do not go.”</p> - -<p>And another voice, low and mysterious, like the voice of the wind among -the dry boughs of the plane tree, murmured in a prolonged whisper:</p> - -<p>“Go, go, go!”</p> - -<p>She mounted the steps. When she reached the second step she stumbled -forward, tripping on the hem of her merino dressing-gown, which<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_321" id="page_321"></a>{321}</span> she now -noticed, for the first time, not only bore the traces of her attendance -in the sick room, but was both ugly and of an unfashionable cut. She -noticed, too, that her cuffs were limp and wet with the tears she had -lately shed, and on her skirt were bits of thread, evidences of her -sewing. She passed both hands over her dress, mechanically brushing off -the threads, and smoothed out her cuffs as she went toward the door. -Here she hesitated again, but the semi-obscurity that now reigned gave -her courage. She pushed open the door and found herself in a large and -gloomy apartment—the dining-room, whose dark, leather-covered walls, -high presses of carved oak, and chairs of the same wood, gave it an air -of still greater gloom.</p> - -<p>“This is the dining-room,” said Lucía aloud, and she looked around in -search of the door. It was situated at the far end, fronting the door -which led from the garden. Lucía walked toward it, raised the heavy -portière, turned the knob with her trembling hand, and emerged into a -corridor which was almost dark. She stood there breathless and uncertain -which way to turn, regretting now that she had so persistently refused -to visit the house before. Suddenly she heard a sound, the rattling of -plate and china. Engracia was doubtless washing<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_322" id="page_322"></a>{322}</span> the dishes in the -kitchen. She turned and walked along, the corridor in the opposite -direction. The thick carpet deadened the sound of her footsteps. She -groped her way along the wall in search of a door. At last she felt a -door yield to her touch, and, still groping, she entered a small room, -stumbling, as she went, over various objects; among others, the metal -bars of a bedstead. From this room she passed into another and much -larger apartment, faintly illuminated by the expiring daylight, that -entered through a high window. Lucía immediately came to the conclusion -that this must be Artegui’s room. There were in it shelves laden with -books, costly skins scattered around carelessly on the carpet, a divan, -a panoply of handsome weapons, some anatomical figures, a massive -writing-table littered with papers, several bronze and terra-cotta -figures, and above the divan hung the portrait of a woman whose features -she was unable to distinguish. Half-fainting, Lucía dropped on the sofa, -clasping both hands over her breast that heaved with the wild throbbing -of her heart, and said aloud:</p> - -<p>“His room!”</p> - -<p>She remained thus for a time, without a thought, without a wish, -abandoning herself to the happiness of being here, in this spot, where<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_323" id="page_323"></a>{323}</span> -Artegui had been. Night was rapidly approaching, and she would soon have -found herself in utter darkness if some one had not just then lighted a -lamp outside, whose light entered through the window. At sight of the -light Lucía started.</p> - -<p>“It must be night,” she exclaimed, this time also aloud.</p> - -<p>A thousand thoughts rushed through her mind. No doubt they were already -inquiring about her in the hotel. Perhaps Father Arrigoitia had already -returned, and they might even now be searching for her in the garden, in -her room, everywhere. She herself did not know why it was that the -thought of Father Arrigoitia came to her mind before that of -Miranda—but certain it is that her chief fear was that she might -suddenly come face to face with the amiable Jesuit who would say to her, -“Where have you been, my child?” Troubled by these fancies, she rose -tremblingly to her feet, saying in a low tone to herself:</p> - -<p>“It is not right to leave the corpse alone—alone.”</p> - -<p>And she tried to find the door, but suddenly she stood motionless, like -an automaton whose works have run down. She heard steps in the corridor, -approaching steps, firm and resolute; no, they were not those of -Engracia. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_324" id="page_324"></a>{324}</span> door of the room opened, and a man entered. Lucía was now -in the little room, concealed behind the curtain. This was not -completely, drawn, and through the opening she saw the man light a match -and then light a candle in one of the candlesticks; but the light was -unnecessary, she had already recognized Artegui.</p> - -<p>Yes, it was he, but he looked even more dejected, and his face bore -stronger traces of suffering than when she had last seen him. His -countenance was almost livid, his black beard heightening its pallor, -and his eyes shone feverishly. He sat down at the table and began to -write some letters. He was seated directly opposite Lucía, and she -devoured him with her eyes. As he finished each letter she said to -herself:</p> - -<p>“I have seen him; I will go now.”</p> - -<p>But she still remained. At last Artegui rose and did a curious thing; he -went over to the portrait hanging above the divan and kissed it. Lucía, -who had followed his every movement with intense interest, saw that the -likeness was that of a woman who closely resembled Artegui, and softly -murmured:</p> - -<p>“His mother!”</p> - -<p>The skeptic then opened a drawer in his writing-table, and drew from it -an oblong shining object, which he examined with minute care.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_325" id="page_325"></a>{325}</span> He was -absorbed in his occupation, when suddenly he felt his arm grasped -convulsively and saw beside him a woman with a countenance paler than -his own, eyes fixed and burning like two coals of fire, lips parted to -speak but mute, mute. He dropped the pistol on the floor and caught hold -of her. Her form yielded to his touch like a flower broken on its stem, -and he found himself with Lucía lying insensible in his arms.</p> - -<p>Alarmed, he laid her on the divan, and going to his dressing-room -brought from it a bottle of lavender water, which he poured over her -brow and temples, at the same time tearing open her gown to allow her to -breathe more freely. Not for an instant did it occur to him to call -Engracia; on the contrary, he murmured in low tones:</p> - -<p>“Lucía, do you hear me? Lucía—Lucía; it is I, only I—Lucía!”</p> - -<p>She opened her dazed eyes and answered in a voice low, also, but clear:</p> - -<p>“I am here, Don Ignacio. Where are you?”</p> - -<p>“Here, here—do you not see me?—here at your side.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes; I see you now. Is it really you?”</p> - -<p>“Tell me, I entreat you, Lucía, what this—this miracle means. How did -you come here?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_326" id="page_326"></a>{326}</span></p> - -<p>“Tell you—tell you—I cannot, Don Ignacio—my head feels confused. As -you were here, I wished to see you and I said to myself, I must see him. -No, it was not I that said so; it was a chorus of little birds that sang -it within me, and so I came. That is all.”</p> - -<p>“Rest,” said Artegui, in gentlest accents, as if he were speaking to a -child. “Lean your head on the cushion. Would you like a cup of tea—or -anything else? Do you feel better now?”</p> - -<p>“No, let me rest, let me rest.” Lucía closed her eyes, leaned back on -the divan, and remained silent. Artegui gazed at her anxiously with -dilated eyes, still trembling with excitement. He placed a footstool -under her feet, over which he drew the folds of her gown. Lucía remained -passive, murmuring disconnected words in a low voice, still slightly -wandering, but speaking now less incoherently and with clearer -enunciation.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know how I came here—I was afraid, so much afraid of meeting -some one—of meeting—Engracia—but I said to myself, on, on! Sardiola -says he is going away to-day, and if he goes away—you too are going to -Leon—and then, for all time to come, Lucía, unless it be in heaven, I -don’t know where you will see him again! When thoughts like these<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_327" id="page_327"></a>{327}</span> come -to one’s mind, one is afraid of nothing. I trembled, I trembled like a -leaf—it may be that I broke something in the little room—I should be -sorry for it if I did—and I should be sorry, too, if Father Urtazu and -Father Arrigoitia should blame me, as they will, oh, indeed they will—I -shall tell them I only wanted to see him for an instant—as the light -fell upon his face I could see him clearly; he looks so pale, always so -pale! Pilar too, is pale, and I—and everybody—and the world, yes, the -world that was rose-colored and azure before—but now—— Well, as I -wanted to see him, I entered. The dining-room is large. Engracia was -washing the dishes. How I ran! It was a chance to have found his room. -It is a pretty room. His mother’s likeness is there—poor lady! Duhamel -is a great doctor, but there are diseases for which there is no cure, as -I well know, but the grave. That is a cure for everything. How pleasant -it must be there—and here too. It is pleasant; one feels like sleeping, -because——”</p> - -<p>“Sleep, Lucía, my life, my soul,” murmured a passionate and vibrant -voice. “Sleep, while I guard your slumbers, and fear nothing. Sleep; -never in your cradle, watched over by your mother, did you sleep more -secure. Let them come, let them come to seek you here!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_328" id="page_328"></a>{328}</span></p> - -<p>Like a hind wounded by an arrow from some unseen hand, Lucía started at -the sound of those words, and opening her eyes, and passing her hand -over her forehead, she sprang to her feet and standing before Artegui -looked around her, her cheeks flushed with sudden shame; her glance and -her intelligence now clear.</p> - -<p>“What is this?” she cried, in a changed voice—“I here—yes, I know now -what brought me here, why I came and when—and I remember, too—ah! Don -Ignacio, Don Ignacio! You must be surprised, and with good reason, to -meet me again when you least expected. At what a moment did I come! -Thanks, Holy Virgin; now I am in possession of all my senses and my -reason, and I can throw myself at your feet, Don Ignacio, and say to -you, ‘For God’s sake, by the memory of your mother who is in -heaven,—by—by—all you hold sacred, never again, promise me, never -again to think of taking the life you can employ so usefully!’ If I knew -how to speak, if I were learned like Father Urtazu, I would put it in -better words, but you know what I mean—is it not so?—promise me never -again—never again——”</p> - -<p>And Lucía, with disheveled hair, pathetic, beautiful, threw herself at -Artegui’s feet and embraced his knees. Artegui raised her with -difficulty.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_329" id="page_329"></a>{329}</span></p> - -<p>“You know,” he said, with confusion, “that I have attached little value -to life; more, that I have hated it ever since I have realized its -hollowness, and have known what a useless burden it is to man; and now -that my mother is dead, and there is no one to feel my loss——”</p> - -<p>A torrent of tears and sobs straight from the heart were Lucía’s answer. -Artegui lifted her in his arms, and, placing her on the sofa, seated -himself beside her.</p> - -<p>“Don’t cry,” he said, speaking more composedly; “don’t cry; rejoice -rather, for you have conquered. And is this to be wondered at since you -embody the illusion dearest to man, the one illusion that is worth a -hundred realities, the illusion that vanishes only with life! The most -persistent and invincible of all the illusions that nature has contrived -to attach us to life and prevent the world going back to chaos! Listen -to me! I will not tell you that you are for me happiness, for happiness -does not exist, and I will not deceive you; but what I will say is this, -that for your sake a noble spirit may worthily prefer life to death. -Among the deceptions which attach us to life, there is one that cheats -us more sweetly than all the others, with delights so blissful, so -intoxicating, that a man may well give himself up to a joy that,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_330" id="page_330"></a>{330}</span> though -it be a fictitious one, can thus embellish and gild existence. Hear me, -hear me. I have always shunned women, for knowing the mysterious doom of -sorrow pronounced on man, the irremediable suffering of life, I did not -wish to attach myself through them to this abode of misery, nor give -life to beings who should inherit as their birthright suffering, the -only inheritance which every human being has the certainty of -transmitting to his children. Yes, I regard it as a matter of conscience -to act thus and diminish by so much the sum of sorrows and evils; when I -considered how overwhelming was this sum, I cursed the sun that -engenders life and suffering on the earth; the stars that are the abodes -of misery; the world that is the prison in which our doom is fulfilled, -and finally love, love which sustains and preserves and perpetuates -unhappiness, interrupting, in order to prolong it, the sacred repose of -annihilation. Annihilation! Annihilation was the haven of repose which -my weary spirit wished to reach. Annihilation, nothingness, absorption -in the universe, dissolution for the body, peace and eternal silence for -the spirit. If I had had faith, how beautiful and attractive and sweet -would the cloister have seemed to me! Neither will, nor desire, nor -feelings, nor passions—a robe of sackcloth,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_331" id="page_331"></a>{331}</span> a walking corpse beneath. -But——” Artegui bent toward Lucía uneasily.</p> - -<p>“Do you comprehend me?” he suddenly asked.</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes,” she said, and a shiver ran through her frame.</p> - -<p>“But I saw you,” continued Artegui. “I saw you by chance; by chance, -too, and without any volition of my own, I remained for a time at your -side, I breathed the same air, and against my will—against my will—I -knew—I did not wish to acknowledge your victory to myself, nor did I -know it until I left you to the embraces of another. Ah, how I have -cursed my folly in not taking you with me then! When I received your -letter of condolence, I was on the point of going to seek you——”</p> - -<p>Artegui paused for a moment.</p> - -<p>“You were the illusion. Yes, through you, nature, inexorable and -persistent, once more entangled my soul in her snares. I was vanquished. -It was not possible now to obtain the quietude of soul, the -annihilation, the perfect and contemplative tranquillity to which I -aspired; therefore I desired to end the life that each day grew more -intolerable to me.”</p> - -<p>He paused again, and, seeing that Lucía continued silent, added:</p> - -<p>“It may be that you do not fully comprehend<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_332" id="page_332"></a>{332}</span> me. There are things which, -although true, are difficult of comprehension to those who hear them for -the first time. But you will understand me if I tell you plainly that I -will not die because I love you and you love me; and now, come what may, -I will live.”</p> - -<p>He pronounced these words with an energy that had more of violence than -of love in it, and throwing his arms around Lucía, he drew her to him -with resistless force. She felt as if she were clasped in a fiery -embrace, in which her strength was gradually melting away, and summoning -all the power of her will, by a desperate effort she tore herself from -Artegui’s arms and stood trembling, but erect, before him. Her tall -form, her gesture of supreme indignation might have made her seem like a -Greek statue, had it not been for the black merino gown, which served to -destroy the illusion.</p> - -<p>“Don Ignacio,” stammered the young Leonese, “you deceive yourself, you -deceive yourself. I do not love you—that is to say, not in that way; -no, never!”</p> - -<p>“Swear it, if you dare!” he thundered.</p> - -<p>“No, no; it is enough for me to say so,” replied Lucía, with growing -firmness. “Not that.” And she took two steps toward the door.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_333" id="page_333"></a>{333}</span></p> - -<p>“Listen to me for an instant,” he said, detaining her; “only for an -instant. I have wealth, more than I can make use of. I have made -arrangements to leave this place to-night. We are in a free country; we -will go to a country still more free. In the United States no one asks -any one where he comes from, whither he is going, who he is, or what is -his business. We will go away together. A life spent together, do you -hear? See, I know you desire it. Your heart urges you to consent. I know -with absolute certainty that you are neither happy, nor well married; -that your health is failing; that you suffer. Do not imagine that I do -not know this. No one loves you but me, and I offer you——”</p> - -<p>Lucía took two steps more, but this time toward Artegui, and with one of -those rapid, childish, joyous gestures which women sometimes employ on -the most solemn and serious occasions, she said to him:</p> - -<p>“Do you believe that? Well then, Don Ignacio, God will send me by-and-by -some one who will love me!”</p> - -<p>Ignacio bent his head, vanquished by that cry of victorious nature. -Lucía seemed to him the personification of the great Mother he had -calumniated and cursed, that, smiling, fecund, provident and indulgent, -symbolized life, indestructible<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_334" id="page_334"></a>{334}</span> and inexhaustible, saying to him: -“Foolish skeptic! see how unavailing are your efforts against me. I am -eternal.”</p> - -<p>“No matter,” he murmured, resigned and humble. “For that very reason I -will respect your sacred rights.”</p> - -<p>He caught her by the folds of her gown, and gently made her sit down -again.</p> - -<p>“Now let us talk together,” he said quietly. “Tell me why you refuse. I -cannot understand you,” he added, with renewed vehemence. “Was it not -love, was it not love you showed me on the journey and in Bayonne? Is it -not love that makes you come here to-day—alone—to see me? Oh, you -cannot deny it. You may invent a thousand sophisms, you may weave a -thousand subtleties, but—it is plain to be seen! Do you know that if -you deny it, you say what is not true? I did not know that in your -innocent nature there was room for falsehood.”</p> - -<p>Lucía raised her head.</p> - -<p>“No, Don Ignacio,” she said, “I will speak the truth—I think it is -better that I should do so now, for you are right, I came here—yes, you -must hear me. I have loved you madly ever since that day at Bayonne—no, -ever since the moment I first saw you. Now you know it. I am not to -blame; it was against my will,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_335" id="page_335"></a>{335}</span> God knows. At first I thought it could -not be possible, that all I felt for you was pity, and—well, gratitude, -for all the services you had rendered me. I believed that a married -woman could feel love for no one but her husband. If any one had told me -it was that, I should certainly have denied it indignantly. But by dint -of thinking—no, it was not I who made the discovery; I did not even -suspect it. It was another person, one who knows more than I do about -the mysteries of the heart. See, if I had known that you were happy, I -should have been cured of my love—or if any one had shown me, in my -turn, pity. Charity! Pity! I have it for every one and for me—no one, -no one has it. So that—do you remember how light-hearted I was? You -declared that my presence brought with it joy. Well—now I have fallen -into the habit of indulging in thoughts as gloomy as your own—and of -wishing for death. If it were not for the hope I have, nothing would -make me happier than to lie down in Pilar’s place. I used to be strong -and healthy—I never know now what it is to be well for a moment. This -has come upon me like a thunderbolt. It is a punishment from God. The -greatest bitterness of all is to think of you—that you must be unhappy -in this world, lost in the next.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_336" id="page_336"></a>{336}</span></p> - -<p>Artegui listened with mingled joy and pity.</p> - -<p>“So that, Lucía——” he said meaningly.</p> - -<p>“So that you who are so good, for if you were not good I should not have -cared for you in this way, will let me go now. Or if you do not, I shall -go without your leave, even if I should have to jump out of the window.”</p> - -<p>“Unhappy woman!” he murmured gloomily, relapsing into his former state -of dejection, “you have stumbled across happiness—that is to say, not -happiness, but at least its shadow, but a shadow so beautiful——”</p> - -<p>He rose to his feet suddenly, shaking himself and writhing like a lion -in his death agony.</p> - -<p>“Give me a reason!” he cried, “or I shall kill myself at your feet. Let -me at least know why you refuse. Is it for your father’s sake? your -husband’s? your child’s? the world’s? Is it——”</p> - -<p>“It is,” she murmured, bending her head, and speaking with great -sweetness, “it is for the sake of God.”</p> - -<p>“God!” groaned the skeptic. “And if there be no——”</p> - -<p>A hand was placed upon his mouth.</p> - -<p>“Can you still doubt his existence when to-day, by a miracle—you -yourself have said it—by a miracle—he preserved your life?”</p> - -<p>“But your God is angry with you,” he objected.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_337" id="page_337"></a>{337}</span> “You offended him by -loving me; you offend him by continuing to love me; by coming here you -have offended him still more deeply——”</p> - -<p>“Though I stood on the brink of perdition, though I were sinking in the -flames of hell—my God is ready to save and to pardon me if my will be -turned to Him. Now, now I will ask Him to save me.”</p> - -<p>“And He will not save you,” replied Artegui, taking both her hands in -his; “He will not save you; for wherever you may go, though you should -hide yourself from me in the very center of the earth, though you should -take refuge in the cell of a convent, you will still adore me, you will -offend Him by thinking of me. No, the sincerity of your nature will not -permit you to deny it. Ah! if one could only love or not love at will! -But your conscience tells you plainly that, do what you may, I shall -always be in your thoughts—always. And for the very reason that it -horrifies you that this should be so, so it will be. And more—the day -will come when, like to-day, you will desire to see me, although it be -but for a moment, and overcoming all the obstacles that lie in your way, -and breaking down the barriers that oppose themselves to your will, you -will come to me—to me.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_338" id="page_338"></a>{338}</span></p> - -<p>And he shook her violently by the wrists, as the hurricane shakes the -tender sapling.</p> - -<p>“God,” she murmured faintly, “God is more powerful than you or I or any -one. I will ask Him to protect me and He will do it; He must do it; He -will do it, He will do it.”</p> - -<p>“No,” responded Artegui energetically. “I know that you will come, that -you will fall, as the stone falls, drawn by its own weight, into this -abyss or this heaven; you will come. See, I am so certain of this, that -you need not fear now that I shall kill myself. I will not die because I -know that one day you will inevitably come to me; and on that day—which -will arrive—I wish to be still in the world that I may open my arms to -you thus.”</p> - -<p>Had not Lucía’s back been turned to the light, Artegui must have -perceived the joy that diffused itself over her countenance, and the -swift glance of gratitude she raised to heaven. He waited with -outstretched arms. Lucía bowed her form, and, swift as the swallow that -skims the crest of the waves in its flight across the seas, rushed -toward him, and rested her head for an instant on his shoulder.</p> - -<p>Then, and no less swiftly, she went toward the table, and taking from it -the candlestick handed it to him and said in a firm and tranquil voice:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_339" id="page_339"></a>{339}</span></p> - -<p>“Show me the way out.”</p> - -<p>Artegui led the way without uttering a word. His blood had suddenly -cooled, and after the terrible crisis his habitual weariness and -melancholy were greater than before. They passed through his room and -entered the corridor in silence. In the corridor Lucía turned her head -for an instant and fixed her eyes on Artegui’s countenance as if she -wished to engrave his image in indelible characters on her memory. The -light of the candle fell full upon it, bringing it out in strong relief -against the dark background of the embossed leather that covered the -walls. It was a handsome face; handsomer, even, from its expression and -character than from the regularity of its features. The blackness of the -beard contrasted with its interesting pallor, and its air of dejection -made it resemble those dead faces of John the Baptist, so vigorous in -<i>chiaroscuro</i>, produced by our national tragic school of painting. -Artegui returned Lucía’s gaze with one so full of pain and pity that she -could bear her feelings no longer, and ran to the door. At the threshold -Artegui looked down into the dark recesses of the garden.</p> - -<p>“Shall I accompany you?” he said.</p> - -<p>“Do not advance a step. Put out the light, and close the door.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_340" id="page_340"></a>{340}</span></p> - -<p>Artegui obeyed the first command; but, before executing the second, he -murmured in Lucía’s ear:</p> - -<p>“In Bayonne you once said to me, ‘Are you going to leave me alone?’ It -is my turn to ask you the same question now. Remain. There is still -time. Have pity on me and on yourself.”</p> - -<p>“Because I have pity” she replied, in a choking voice, “for that very -reason—farewell, Don Ignacio.”</p> - -<p>“Good-by,” he answered, almost inaudibly. The door closed.</p> - -<p>Lucía looked at the sky in which the stars were shining brightly, and -shivered with cold. She knelt down in the vestibule and leaned her face -against the door. At that moment she remembered a trivial -circumstance—that the door was covered on the inner side with a brocade -of a dark red color, harmonizing with the color of the leather on the -walls. She did not know why she remembered this detail; but so it often -happens in supreme moments like this, ideas come to the mind that -possess no importance in themselves, and have no bearing on any of the -momentous events which are taking place.</p> - -<p>Miranda had gone out that afternoon,—to clear his brain, as he said. On -his return to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_341" id="page_341"></a>{341}</span> the hotel, he went up to the death-chamber and found -Juanilla watching there by the dead girl, and worn out with fatigue and -terror. She said complainingly that the Señorita Lucía had asked her to -watch for a little while in the room, but that she had now been a long, -long time here, and that she could bear it no longer. Not the faintest -misgiving entered the suspicious mind of Miranda, then, and he answered -with naturalness:</p> - -<p>“The Señorita has probably gone to lie down for a while, she must be -very tired,—but you can go. I will send Sardiola to take your place.”</p> - -<p>He did so; and the dinner-bell of the hotel sounding immediately -afterward, he went down into the dining-room, having that day an -excellent appetite, a thing by no means of daily occurrence in the -present debilitated condition of his stomach. The bell was yet to ring -twice before the soup should be served, and knots of the guests were -standing about the room, conversing while they waited; the greater -number of them were talking about Pilar’s death, in low tones, through -consideration for Miranda, whom they knew to be her friend. But one -group, composed of Navarrese and Biscayans, were talking aloud, the -subject of their conversation being of a nature that called for no such -precaution. Nevertheless,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_342" id="page_342"></a>{342}</span> so strongly was Miranda’s attention attracted -by their words that he stood motionless, all his faculties concentrated -in the one faculty of hearing, and scarcely daring to breathe. After -listening for ten minutes he knew more than he desired to know: that -Artegui was in Paris, that he lived in the neighboring house, and that -his dwelling could be reached by crossing the garden, since one of the -Biscayans mentioned that he had gone that way to visit him in the -morning. The waiter, who was passing at the moment with a tray full of -plates of steaming soup, signified to Miranda that he might now take his -place at the table; but the latter, without heeding him, ran up-stairs -like a madman and rushed into the chamber of death.</p> - -<p>“Where is the Señorita Lucía?” he abruptly asked Sardiola, who was -watching by the body.</p> - -<p>“I do not know.” The Biscayan looked up and by a swift intuition he read -in the distorted features of the husband a hundred things at once. -Miranda rushed out like a rocket, and went through the rooms calling -Lucía’s name. There was no answer. Then he went quickly out on the -balcony and ran down into the garden.</p> - -<p>A dark form at the same moment descended the stairs leading from the -vestibule of Artegui’s home. By the light of the stars and of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_343" id="page_343"></a>{343}</span> the -distant street lamps could be perceived the unsteadiness of the gait, -the frequent pressing of the hands over the face. Miranda waited, like -the hunter lying in wait for his prey. The figure drew nearer. Suddenly -from a clump of bushes emerged the form of a man, and the silence was -broken by a vulgar exclamation, which in polite language might be -rendered:</p> - -<p>“Shameless woman!”</p> - -<p>Sounds of violence followed, and a body fell to the ground. At this -moment another figure came running down the staircase of the hotel, and -rushing between the two, bent down to raise Lucía from the ground. -Miranda gesticulated wildly, and in a hoarse, choking voice, stuttering -with rage, and throwing every vestige of good-breeding to the winds, -cried:</p> - -<p>“Out of this, boor, intermeddler! What business is this—is this of -yours? I struck—struck her, because I had—had—had the right to do so, -and because I wished to do it. I am her husband. If you don’t take -yourself off without delay I will cut—cut you in two. I will let -daylight through you.”</p> - -<p>If Sardiola had been a stone wall he could not have paid less heed to -the words of Miranda than he did. With supreme indifference to his -threats, and with Herculean force, he took the unconscious form in his -arms, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_344" id="page_344"></a>{344}</span> thrusting the husband aside with a vigorous movement, carried -his lovely burden up the stairs, not stopping till he had placed it on a -sofa in the chamber of death. The madman followed close behind, but he -controlled himself somewhat, seeing the warlike attitude and the -flashing eyes of the Carlist ex-volunteer, who formed a rampart with his -body for the defense of the insensible woman.</p> - -<p>“If you do not take yourself off——” yelled Miranda, shaking his -clenched fists.</p> - -<p>“Take myself off!” repeated Sardiola quietly. “In order that you may -strangle her at your ease. You ought to be ashamed of yourself to touch -even so much as a thread of the Señorita’s garments.”</p> - -<p>“But you—by what authority do you come here? Who has sent for you?” and -Miranda’s countenance was convulsed with senile rage. “Begone!” he -cried, with renewed anger, “or I shall find a weapon.” The bloodshot -eyes of the husband glanced around the room until they fell upon the -corpse, which preserved in the midst of all this violence its vague -funereal smile. Sardiola, meantime, putting his hand into his waistcoat -pocket, drew from it a medium-sized knife, probably used for cutting -tobacco, and threw it at his adversary’s feet.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_345" id="page_345"></a>{345}</span></p> - -<p>“There is one!” he cried, with the proud and chivalric air so frequently -seen among the Spanish populace. “God has given me good hands with which -to defend myself.”</p> - -<p>Miranda stood for a moment, hesitating, then his rage boiled over again -and he yelled out:</p> - -<p>“I warn you that I will use it! I will use it! Go away, then, before I -lose my patience.”</p> - -<p>“Use it,” replied Sardiola, smiling disdainfully, “let us see how much -courage there is behind those bold words—for, as for my leaving the -room—unless the Señorita herself commands me to do so——”</p> - -<p>“Go, Sardiola,” said a faint voice from the sofa, and Lucía, opening her -eyes, fixed them with a look of mingled gratitude and authority on the -waiter.</p> - -<p>“But Señorita, to go away and——”</p> - -<p>“Go, I say.” And Lucía sat erect, apparently quite calm. Miranda held -the knife in his right hand. Sardiola, throwing himself upon him, -snatched the weapon from his grasp, and taking a sudden resolution ran -out into the corridor shouting, “Help! help! the Señorita has been taken -ill.” At his cries, two persons who had just come up the stairs hurried -forward into the chamber of death. They were Father Arrigoitia and -Duhamel, the physician. A strange scene met their view; at the foot of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_346" id="page_346"></a>{346}</span> -the bed, on which lay the dead girl, a woman stood with outstretched -hands trying to protect her sides and her bosom from the blows which a -man was showering down upon her with his clenched fists. With a vigor -not to be looked for in one of his frail physique, Father Arrigoitia -rushed between the pair, receiving as he did so, if report speak truly, -a blow or two on his venerable tonsured crown, and Duhamel, emulating, -in the honor of science, the courage of the Jesuit, seized the furious -man by the arm, and succeeded in preventing further violence. Pity it is -that no stenographer could have been present at the time to take down -the eloquent discourse, in broken French-Lusitanian-Brazilian, addressed -by the doctor to Miranda for the purpose of demonstrating to him the -cruelty and barbarity of striking in this way a <i>menina</i>, in Lucía’s -condition. Miranda listened with a countenance that grew darker and -darker every moment, while Father Arrigoitia lavished cares and -affectionate attentions on the maltreated woman. Suddenly the husband -confronted the doctor and asked something in a hoarse voice.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” answered Duhamel, nodding his head affirmatively, with the quick -and energetic movement of a pasteboard doll moved by a string.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_347" id="page_347"></a>{347}</span></p> - -<p>Miranda looked around the room, he fixed his eyes in turn on his wife, -on the Jesuit, on the doctor. Then he took a hand of each of the two -latter, and begged them, with much stuttering, to grant him an interview -of a few minutes. They went into the adjoining room and Lucía remained -alone with the corpse. She might almost have fancied all that had passed -a terrible nightmare. Through the open window could be seen the dark -masses of the trees of the garden; the stars shone brightly, inviting to -sweet meditation; the tapers burned beside Pilar, and in Artegui’s -dwelling the light could be seen shining behind the curtains. To descend -ten steps and find herself in the garden, to cross the garden and find -herself clasped to a loving heart, for her soft as wax, but hard as -steel for her enemies—horrible temptation! Lucía pressed her hands with -all her force to her heart, she dug her nails into her breast. One of -the blows which she had received caused her intense pain; it was on the -shoulder blade, and it seemed as if a screw were twisting the muscles -until they must snap asunder. If Artegui were to present himself now! To -weep, to weep, with her head resting on his shoulder! At last she -remembered a prayer which Father Urtazu had taught her, and said: “My -God, by your cross grant<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_348" id="page_348"></a>{348}</span> me patience, patience.” She remained for a -long time repeating between her moans—“patience.”</p> - -<p>Father Arrigoitia at last made his appearance. His sallow forehead was -contracted in a frown, and clouded with gloom. He and Lucía stood for a -long time conversing together on the balcony without either of them -feeling the cold, which was sharp. Lucía at last gave free rein to her -grief.</p> - -<p>“You may judge if I would speak falsely—with that corpse lying there -before me. This very moment I might go away with him, father—and if God -were not above in the heavens——”</p> - -<p>“But he is, he is, and he is looking at us now,” said the Jesuit, gently -stroking her cold hands. “Enough of madness. Do you not see how your -punishment has already begun? You are innocent of what Don Aurelio -charges you with and yet his atrocious suspicion is not without some -appearance of foundation—you yourself have given it by going to that -man’s house to-day. God has punished you in that which is dearest to -you—in the little angel that has not yet come into the world.”</p> - -<p>Lucía sobbed bitterly.</p> - -<p>“Come, courage daughter; courage, my poor child,” continued the -spiritual father, in accents<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_349" id="page_349"></a>{349}</span> that every moment grew more tender and -consoling. “And in the name of God and of His Holy Mother, to Spain! To -Spain, to-morrow!”</p> - -<p>“With him?” asked Lucía, terrified.</p> - -<p>“He is packing his trunks to leave Paris to-night. He is going to -Madrid. He is leaving you. If you would throw yourself at his feet and -humbly and repentantly——”</p> - -<p>“Not that, Father,” cried the proud Castilian. “He would think I was -what he has called me; no, no.” And more gently she added: “Father, I -have done what is right to-day, but I am exhausted. Ask nothing more -from me to-day. I have no strength left. Pity, Señor; pity!”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I will ask you for the love of Jesus Christ to set out to-morrow -for Spain. I shall not leave you until I put you on board the train. Go, -my dear daughter, to your father. Can you not see that I am right in -advising you as I do? What would your husband think of you if you were -to remain here?—with only a wall between you. You are too good and -prudent even to think of such a thing. In the name of your child! That -its father may be convinced—for in time, witnessing your conduct, he -will be convinced. Ah, let man not divide those whom God has joined -together.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_350" id="page_350"></a>{350}</span> He will return, he will return to his wife. Do not doubt it. -To-day he has allowed himself to be carried away by his anger—but -later——”</p> - -<p>Sobs deeper and more piteous than before were Lucía’s only answer.</p> - -<p>Father Arrigoitia pressed the hands of the weeping woman tenderly in -his.</p> - -<p>“Will you give me your promise?” he murmured, with earnest entreaty, but -also with the authority of one accustomed to exact spiritual obedience.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” answered Lucía, “I will go to-morrow; but let me give way to my -misery now—I can bear it no longer.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, weep,” answered the Jesuit. “Relieve your sorrow-laden heart. -Meanwhile, I will pray.”</p> - -<p>And returning to the bedroom he knelt down beside the bed of death, and -taking out his breviary began in grave and composed accents to read by -the flickering light of the tapers the solemn service for the dead.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>For more than a fortnight the idle tongues of Leon found food for gossip -in the strange circumstance of Lucía Gonzalez’s arrival alone, sad and -deteriorated in looks, at her father’s home. The wildest stories were -invented to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_351" id="page_351"></a>{351}</span> explain the mystery of her return, the seclusion in which -she chose to live, the heavy cloud of gloom that rested constantly on -the countenance of Uncle Joaquin Gonzalez, the disappearance of the -husband, and the innumerable other things which hinted at scandal or -domestic infelicity. As usually happens in similar cases, a few grains -of truth were mixed up with a great deal of fiction, and some of what -was said was not without a semblance of reason; but for want of the -necessary data wherewith to complete and elucidate the known facts of -the story, public opinion groped about blindly for a time and at last -went altogether astray. As may be inferred, however, the scandalmongers -performed their part with diligence and zeal, some criticising the -mature dandy who had wanted to marry a young wife; some the vain and -foolish father who had sacrificed his daughter’s happiness to his wish -to make her a lady; some the crazy girl who—— In short, they tacked on -so many morals to Lucía’s story, that I may well be excused from adding -another. What was most severely criticized, however, was the modern -fashion of the <i>wedding trip</i>, a foreign and reprehensible innovation, -calculated only to give rise to disgusts and annoyances of all kinds. I -suspect that, warned by Lucía’s sad example, handed<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_352" id="page_352"></a>{352}</span> down by tradition, -and repeated in turn to all the marriageable girls of the place, that -for a century to come not a Leonese bride will be found willing to stir -an inch from the domestic hearth, at least during the first ten years of -her married life.</p> - -<p class="c">THE END.</p> - -<hr class="full" /> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Wedding Trip, by Emilia Pardo Bazán - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A WEDDING TRIP *** - -***** This file should be named 54577-h.htm or 54577-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/4/5/7/54577/ - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at Google Books) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, -set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to -copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to -protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project -Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you -charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you -do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the -rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose -such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and -research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do -practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is -subject to the trademark license, especially commercial -redistribution. - - - -*** START: FULL LICENSE *** - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project -Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at -http://gutenberg.org/license). - - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy -all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. -If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the -terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or -entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement -and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" -or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the -collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an -individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are -located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from -copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative -works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg -are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project -Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by -freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of -this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with -the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by -keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project -Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in -a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check -the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement -before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or -creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project -Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning -the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United -States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate -access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently -whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, -copied or distributed: - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived -from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is -posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied -and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees -or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work -with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the -work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 -through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the -Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or -1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional -terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked -to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the -permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any -word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or -distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than -"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version -posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), -you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a -copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon -request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other -form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided -that - -- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is - owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he - has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the - Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments - must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you - prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax - returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and - sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the - address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to - the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." - -- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or - destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium - and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of - Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any - money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days - of receipt of the work. - -- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set -forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from -both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael -Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the -Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm -collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain -"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or -corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual -property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a -computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by -your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with -your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with -the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a -refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity -providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to -receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy -is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further -opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER -WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO -WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. -If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the -law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be -interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by -the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any -provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance -with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, -promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, -harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, -that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do -or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm -work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any -Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. - - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers -including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists -because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from -people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. -To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 -and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. - - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive -Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at -http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent -permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. -Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered -throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at -809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email -business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact -information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official -page at http://pglaf.org - -For additional contact information: - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To -SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any -particular state visit http://pglaf.org - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. -To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate - - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm -concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared -with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project -Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. - - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. -unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily -keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. - - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: - - http://www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - - -</pre> - -</body> -</html> diff --git a/old/54577-h/images/cover.jpg b/old/54577-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index cc0a566..0000000 --- a/old/54577-h/images/cover.jpg +++ /dev/null |
