Part 12

He therefore arose very early, and after dressing he gave the last touches to his packing. His aunt also arose early, to see him off, and get him something to eat besides.

But Julia paid no heed, and remained shut in her room, much to the annoyance of _la brigadiera_, who had called her to say good by to their guest.

Taking advantage of a moment when she was busy in the dining-room, Saavedra slipped off to his cousin's room, gently raised the latch, and opened the door.

Julia was in bed; her eyes flashed angrily on the intruder.

"What have you come for?" she demanded, frowning severely. "Go away, go away immediately! This is a most atrocious thing to do!"

But Don Alfonso, not heeding her protest, calmly walked into the room, and said in a humble voice:--

"I have come to say _adios_, cousin."

"_Adios!_" exclaimed the girl dryly, and dropping her eyes upon the bed-spread.

Don Alfonso came to her, and audaciously taking her face between his hands and imprinting a kiss upon it, he said at the same time:--

"In spite of all this disdain and severity, I know well that you love me...."

The girl, confused and enraged by his impudence and what he said, exclaimed:--

"No, no! I do not love you! You lie!... Go this instant!"

"You love me, and I love you," replied Don Alfonso, smoothing her face with perfect unconcern.

"Fool! dunce! impudent!" cried the girl, with more and more anger, "I do not love you; but if I did, this would be enough to make me hate you! Go!"

"I am not a dunce and I am not impudent. I confess humbly that I would die for you!"

"Die whenever you please, but go! Go this instant, or I will scream!"

"Don't trouble yourself any more; I am going," said he, with a smile: "I am going; but I leave my heart here. I will write you as soon as I reach Seville."

He left the room and shut the door; he remained a moment motionless, and then opened it again softly to look in. Julia had turned over and was sobbing, with her face hidden under the sheets.

XIII.

In point of fact, all the while that he was in Seville, he did not take pains to write her once, possibly because other beauties and other amusements used up his time; perhaps through calculation, perhaps for both reasons.

On the other hand, he frequently sent very tender epistles to his aunt, and never failed to express his regards for Julia.

These little lines of remembrance exasperated the girl beyond measure, and she used to hasten to her room as soon as she saw her mother with a letter in her hands, so as to escape the infliction.

The month of July came; _la brigadiera_ wrote to Seville announcing her departure for Santander,[32] in whose "Astillero" she rented a cottage for the two hottest months of the summer.

Saavedra replied, saying that he was going to Biarritz, and from there to Paris; he hoped that they would have a very pleasant time, and that Julia would enjoy it much.

Now it came to pass that one August afternoon as she was riding in the Alameda with a family which, like themselves, lived at the Astillero (her mother had not gone into town because she had an attack of neuralgic headache), Julia suddenly caught sight of her cousin in company with some young men. She grew terribly pale, and instantly blushed redder than a cherry. It was impossible for her nervous and ardent nature to control even the slightest impressions, still less those that touched her heart to the quick. She turned her head to avoid bowing to him, although she saw that he started to come toward her; at the next turn she did the same, and so for three or four times, putting on such a grave and frowning face that any one would willingly have foregone the pleasure of meeting her.

Even while she was acting in this way, her conscience told her that her conduct was very rude and strange, and after her emotion had grown a little calmer, she could not help saying to herself, "What a piece of folly I have just committed!"

And the next time, she faced Saavedra at a distance and bowed to him very courteously, though with marked affectation; then she grew serious again.

Either at her desire, because she was not enjoying her ride, or at the suggestion of her friends, they went home early.

Don Alfonso, who was on the lookout, noticed that they were going, and after a while he took leave of his friends and went to the wharf, where he hired a boat to take him across to the Astillero.

He reached there just at night-fall; after dismissing the oarsmen, he slowly climbed the shady hill, not caring to make inquiries of any one as to the situation of his aunt's cottage, and hoping that his good fortune would come to his aid.

It did not take him long to make the entire circuit of that charming resort, examining the recently built summer cottages, through whose windows lights were already beginning to shine, and stopping in front of the garden gates to see if he might not get sight of some one of his aunt's maids, or even herself, or his cousin in person.

At last, in a small inclosure, where two magnificent magnolias grew, casting their shade over everything, he chanced to see, under an arbor covered with a honey-suckle vine, his cousin sitting on a rustic bench, with her elbows on a marble table and her face resting in her hands, in a thoughtful attitude; she wore the same dress that she had worn while driving, and she had not even taken off her hat.

A strange light gleamed in the man's eyes. He went close to the grated gate, and made a sound just loud enough to be heard by the girl alone; she swiftly raised her head, and a sudden flame passed over her face when she saw who it was that called her; then she went to the gate and opened it, greeting her cousin with a gracious smile to repay him, doubtless, for the cool treatment of the promenade.

Don Alfonso eagerly took both hands and pressed them warmly.

"Will you allow me?"

And without awaiting her answer, he raised them to his lips and kissed them no less eagerly. The girl quickly withdrew them, but the smile that lighted her face did not fade.

"I cannot escape my fate; I come to the Astillero, and the first person whom I meet is the one who most interests me."

"Yes, yes! the idea of saying that to me!" said Julia, just as gayly as before. "I am going to tell mamma. The last thing that she expects is to see you here."

"Haven't you told her?"

"She was lying down when I came, and I did not want to disturb her," replied the girl, blushing at the lie that she was telling.

"Well then, let us not go indoors quite yet; I have something to talk with you about first."

And he went and sat down in the summer house and took off his hat. Julia hesitated a moment; but finally sat down beside him.

"Don't you know what I want to tell you?" he began, giving her a keen and loving look.

"I am not a gypsy, my dear."

"It happened to be a gypsy who told me while I was in Seville that a sly, witty little brunette was going to kill me with disdain."

"And you believed her, simpleton?"

"Why not?"

"Because the only thing that you would die of would be rascality."

"A thousand thanks, cousin."

"I do not deserve them. Go on."

"Well, then, as to what I was going to tell you.... Do you know I have so much on my mind that I don't know where to begin! I suffer from the same thing that troubles orators."

"Then rest a few minutes.... Would you like a glass of water?"

"There is no need; like the ten commandments, it all reduces itself to two truths,--loving you above all things, and blowing my brains out if you don't love me."

"Are you sure that they are true?"

"Perfectly sure."

"Stuff and nonsense! Then I have made a mistake in this too!" said the girl, sighing with graceful irony.

"Cousin, cousin! what a wretched opinion you have of me. If you realized what this heart of mine suffers, and how completely ensnared it is in your net!"

"Cousin, cousin! you are too big a fish to fall into my net!"

"Then I swear to you that I am yours, that I have no other thought than you, and were I put to death for it, I have been able this long time to have no other thought than of you.... Do you know why I did not write to you while I was in Seville?..."

"Yes; because you did not care to."

"Nothing of the sort; it was so as to see if absence would not quench the flame that is consuming me...."

"Flames! the idea! Hush! hush! don't be absurd!"

"Laugh as much as you will; but it does not prevent it from being true, that I have been passing through a cruel struggle, and that I have suffered too much to write you.... 'Why?' I asked myself. 'It is vain to have hopes, since they would be surely disappointed. Were not the rebuffs that she gave me sufficient?' ... For, cousin, you have a special talent for rebuffing a man; you not only give them once, but you delight in repeating the punishment, and then trying it another day with all the refinements of cruelty. I have set down in my note-book the rebuffs, the saucy answers, and even the insults which you gave me in one short fortnight.... It is a perfect marvel!... Look!... Under the head of hard words, you have called me _old_ seven times, _audacious_ twenty-seven times, _fool_ twenty-two times, _proud_ six times, _my son_ once, _goose_ once, _a genuine Don Juan_ once, _impolite_ once: total, sixty-six insults!... There you have it...."

"What nonsense!" exclaimed Julia, laughing heartily, and giving a slap at the note-book which sent it to the ground.

"It is the simple truth," rejoined Don Alfonso, picking it up. "And in spite of all that, I am stupid enough to go on loving you, or, to express myself better, to love you more and more every day, as is proved by my visit to Santander. Since I left you, Julia, I have not had a moment's peace; and though I have tried every possible way of distracting my thoughts so as to forget you, still ever your graceful form would come before my eyes. In Madrid I suffered much, because I was always kept hovering between fear, hope, and despair; but in Seville, far from you, I missed those sufferings, and it seemed to me that the pleasure of seeing you, of hearing your voice, and living under the same roof were a sufficient compensation for them, and even an advantage.... I don't know what has come over me; either I am mad, or you have bewitched me. I have been all over the world, and have known many women, but I swear not one ever kept me so stirred up, so disquieted, so beside myself as you have. And I am telling you the truth, as you well know, since you have only to look into my face...."

In very truth, Don Alfonso, in saying these words, appeared moved and trembling. And as his character, though affable, was cold and impassive, with touches of scorn, this emotion which he manifested caused double effect. He had taken possession of one of Julia's hands, and pressed it between his. The girl, rosy and smiling, exclaimed with a somewhat altered voice:--

"You paint things in such a lively fashion that I cannot help believing you."

"Yes, believe me, believe me, cousin!" said Saavedra, passionately kissing the hand which he held. "For although you do not love me, it fills me with pleasure to know that you know that I adore you with all my soul. My lot is cast; on your lips now hangs my fate. I deserve that you should destroy me for the incredible stupidity of having supposed, when I went away, that you loved me, and telling you so. How that act weighed upon me afterwards! I could not find hard names enough for myself...."

"Then, see here; go on calling yourself hard names ... for having once called yourself such without reason," said Julia, glancing at him half in malice, half in earnest.

"Can it be possible?" exclaimed Saavedra, anxiously.

"Quite possible."

"So that I...."

"Do you want me to feed you the truth with a spoon, cousin?" she asked, with some show of impatience.

"Ay! lovely cousin! most fascinating cousin! divine cousin! how happy you make me!"

Don Alfonso at the same moment took her into his arms, and pressed his lips to her cheek again and again, in spite of the girl's strenuous resistance.

"That'll do! that'll do!" she said, trying hard to be angry, and only half succeeding.

At that moment a white form appeared at the grating, and said, in a shrill voice:--

"Julia! Julita!"

She tore herself out of her cousin's arms, and hastened down to the gate:--

"Esperanza! wait; I am coming."

It was one of the neighbors with whom she had been driving that afternoon, and who now came to invite her to dinner, and a dance afterwards.

Don Alfonso also arose, and went to the gate, and gave the young lady a look which, if she had been made of gun-cotton, would have caused an explosion; but quickly controlling himself, he greeted her with all courtesy....

Julia, somewhat confused, declined the invitation, under the pretext that her mamma had the neuralgia.

The neighbor, not less confused, and looking from one to the other, did not see fit to insist, and immediately withdrew to tell what she had seen, and what she had not seen.

As it was now dark, the cousins went into the house, where, after hearty greetings had been exchanged between aunt and nephew, the dinner was served.

While it lasted, Julia's cheeks were rosy as they had not been for months; her eyes shone with happy light, and in all her gestures and motions was betrayed the lively emotion that agitated her, and a joy which was not affected as at other times.

XIV.

Miguel had for some time been planning to gather a few friends at his house to celebrate, not only his marriage, but also the early prospect of an heir.

Although he did not confess it, he also flattered himself with the idea of showing them his suite, which, now entirely furnished, was like a silver cup, all bright and new and glorious to see; and there was also the boyish, though very pardonable, vanity of making his appearance before society as a hospitable housekeeper and the head of a family.

Maximina, on hearing the plan, was troubled and confused; it had never entered into her calculations to "do the honors" of a reception, especially as her husband had assured her that such a thing on their part would be presumptuous.

Whenever Miguel took her out for the evening to the house of any of their friends, she always felt constrained and awkward, without knowing what to say or do, and not taking her eyes from him, so that she might get courage. What would it be now when she would be obliged to greet everybody, to say to each some pleasant word, and to foresee and anticipate their every desire?

"Oh, Miguel! I should die of mortification."

He laughed at her timidity, and even found an additional incentive for his plan at the thought of seeing his wife, so girl-like, so innocent, and so timid, "officiating as senora."

At first he thought of having a breakfast, but soon gave that up because their dining-room was only large enough to seat a dozen guests.

Then it occurred to him to give an afternoon tea, which was a form of entertainment very fashionable at the time; but even this seemed too small to Miguel.

After many hesitations he made up his mind that it should be a 'reunion' or 'soiree,' with a lunch of preserved oranges. The excuse for it should be to hear the reading of a drama which one of the _Independencia_ staff, Gomez de la Floresta, had written, and which had not yet been put upon the stage on account of the cabals of Ayala, Garcia Gutierrez, and other small fry, who ruled the theatres with a high hand, and "monopolized them."

"But didn't you say that this play was very dull, and that you had been bored to death when you heard it?" asked Maximina.

"That is the very reason. At this kind of 'reunion' it is absolutely indispensable that the thing read should be bad, so that all that follows after the reading may seem excellent to the guests. With this drama you can bring on champagne that cost only thirty reals, and it will be drunk like nectar."

Maximina did not understand very well this logic of her husband's, and she looked at him with very wide eyes; but seeing that he added nothing to make it clearer, she went to another subject,--that of the invitations.

"Whom would you invite?"

"Provisionally, mamma and Julia."

"Good; and then?"

"Cousin Serafina."

"Who would escort her?"

"Let Enrique accompany her."

"Shall we invite Eulalia?"

"Certainly; but I warn you that she will not come: her husband cannot abide me."

"And the De Rimirez family?"

"There is nothing against it."

"Asuncion?"

"Certainly."

Maximina hesitated a moment, then grew more serious, and said hastily:--

"And those ladies up stairs, for example?"

A slight smile hovered on Miguel's lips, and he replied:--

"As you please."

"Aunt Anita,[33] of course."

"Yes; I should be glad to see your Uncle Manolo here."

"And what gentlemen shall we have?"

"That will be my part."

"Shall you invite the men on the paper?"

"We will see; according as the cloth holds out."

"And Carlitos?"

"Yes; it will be his duty to illuminate the 'reunion on all disputed points."

"And Mendoza?"

"Could we think of leaving out the most precious ornament?... But then, he is very much engaged just at present with his marriage and politics."

This business of the invitations having been settled, and it having been decided that certain letters should be written and certain calls made, Maximina remained for some time pensive and melancholy.

At last, taking her husband's hand and looking at him lovingly and sadly, she said:--

"I am sure that I am going to disgrace you, Miguel.... I am not used to these things. _Virgen Maria!_ how much I would give to be like one of those elegant and lovely ladies that you bow to in the theatres. I don't see how you ever came to marry me, when I am neither beautiful nor able to be compared with the ladies whom you know."

"Hush! hush!" said he, laying his fingers on her mouth. "I am prouder of having married you than if you had been a princess of the blood."

"I know this," she replied, her eyes overflowing with love and happiness; "I know that I am proud because I am your wife, and because you preferred me to any handsome, elegant, and rich woman; me, a poor, good-for-nothing...."

"Hush! hush! or I will bite you," he repeated, kissing her passionately.

During the days that followed, as had been decided, they began their preparations and got out their cards. Miguel went in person to invite his Uncle Manolo.

He lived in a magnificent mansion in the Calle del Pez. Since his marriage he had changed few of his habits. It would be a great mistake to imagine that he had in the least abandoned the solicitous cares which he had always bestowed upon his elegant person: not at all! tinctures and cosmetics followed in harmony with the latest advances of chemistry; all bands and braces and the latest improvements in the science of orthopedics; the best shoemaker in Madrid; the most skilful dentist, the most fashionable tailor and perfumer in the city.

Uncle Manolo was a monument so admirably preserved that the Spanish government might have taken him for a pattern for theirs.

Nevertheless, merciless Time had been making some ravages in that proud edifice, and already some of his marks could be clearly seen on its facade; crow's-feet and wrinkles of every sort each day grew deeper and deeper; in spite of his shoulder-braces he bent a little more forward; his step, also, was not half as light and firm as before. There was no question that the least carelessness or omission in the process of his self-preservation would bring him in ruins to the ground.

Miguel found his Aunt Ana, for variety's sake, by the chimney-corner; and this, although it was rather early in the season for fires. In her, as well as in her lord and master, the ravages of time were also manifest, so much so, that it was more easy to believe that the good lady, once married, had entirely forgotten the care and adornment of her person, since, in so short a period, such terrible decay had occurred.

For _la intendenta_ had now quite the appearance of a septegenarian; her hair was thin and white, her face pale and withered, her waist like a barrel, and her hands dark and wrinkled and repulsive to look upon.

"Good day, aunt! How are you?"

"As usual, my son; and you?" she replied, indolently, in a plaintive voice.

"I am well; and uncle?"

"How should I know how your uncle is?" she replied bitterly. "It makes very little difference either. And your wife? Does her condition trouble her any?"

"Not at all; she is perfectly well."

Miguel noticed that the depreciative tone in which _la intendenta_ always spoke of her husband had increased to an alarming degree; in the inflection of her voice could be perceived not only scorn, but even hatred. He therefore decided to avoid that subject, and to direct the subject to other themes.

But in spite of all his efforts _la intendenta_ constantly found occasion to bring him in, as it were, "by the hair," and make some remark derogatory to her husband; and, naturally enough, this was not at all pleasing to Miguel. Consequently, after announcing the object of his call, he broke off the conversation and went to his uncle's room.

He found him wrapped up in a magnificent dressing-gown, and seated reading his newspaper, while the barber was giving the last touches to the curl of his mustache.

He was not a little rejoiced to see his nephew, with whom he always kept up relations that were more like that of a comrade than an uncle; he forthwith accepted, with the greatest delight, his invitation, and concerning his proposed supper gave him some very wise advice from his own long experience.

"See here! Tell Lhardy to cook you some truffled quails, such as he sent a few days ago to the house of the Swedish minister, and some stuffed river pike, with a gravy of cream of soft-shelled crabs such as I ate at the De Velez ball. Beside this, have anything that you like. I will advise you that you ought to get your wines at Pardo's, on the Calle del Carmen. Ask for _Margot_ ten years old, and tell Pardo that you are my nephew, so that he won't take advantage of you.... I give you the hint that you ought to warm it a little before inviting your guests into the dining-room. Tell him that you want such champagne as I always order. Don't buy any sherry: I will send you a couple of dozen bottles from a cask which I had as a present! it is the best I ever drank.... But, however, I will come round to your house on the day of your supper, to see that everything is going all right."

After the barber had been dismissed, Miguel was anxious to hear from his uncle something about his domestic life, since _la intendenta's_ aggressive words did not pass from his memory. He began by circumlocutions so as to bring the conversation to the point desired; but when he reached it, his Uncle Manolo restrained him with a gesture full of dignity.

"Not a word about my wife, Miguel!"

He majestically extended his arm, scowled terribly, and his perfumed locks waved above his immortal head.

Miguel understood well by signs that the relations between his uncle and aunt could not be very cordial, and he made up his mind to watch them in silence.

"Come to breakfast," said Senor Don Manolo de Rivera, looking at his watch. "You will breakfast with us, will you not?"

"I have just had breakfast, uncle."

"Very well; then come and see us eat, and we will go out together."

They went to the dining-room, where the senora was waiting them, and husband and wife sat down at opposite sides of the table, while the nephew ensconced himself in a chair not far from them.

But one thing instantly threw him into a state of stupefaction, and that was to see beside his uncle's plate, on the cloth, a large and magnificent six-shooter.