Part 8

When they walked along the street, he noticed that she cast quick and anxious glances at the linen shops, where baby-caps and children's wardrobes were on exhibition. And divining that she would enjoy stopping, he would make some excuse for asking the price of shirts or handkerchiefs, and let her amuse herself looking at infant wardrobes.

"Do you know," she would say afterwards, "do you know how much baby shirts cost a dozen?"

"No," he would answer, laughing.

"I do, though!"

One day, as he was passing by the chamber door into the library, he caught sight of her looking into the wardrobe mirror; and he was surprised, because no woman was ever freer from vanity and coquetry than she; but his surprise was changed into amusement when he saw that she was looking at her profile to see whether her form had changed. But lest he should embarrass her he went out on his tiptoes.

Another day, as they were walking in the neighborhood of the Retiro, they happened to see a white hearse in which was a child's coffin. Maximina looked at it with an expression of deep pain, and watched it until it disappeared from sight; then, with a gentle sigh, she exclaimed;--

"Oh, how sorry it makes me feel for children that die!"

Miguel smiled and made no reply, reading her thoughts.

While time glided away in this sweet and delightful manner for our young couple, Marroquin, the hairy Marroquin, was trying to accomplish his own ends; the nation was over a volcano, and the former professor of the Colegio de la Merced, secretly, and in company with our friend, Merelo y Garcia, was not behindhand in stirring the flames of civil discord.

Not a night passed without both of them uttering bloody prognostications for the future in the Cafe de Levante; the number of times that institutions had been crumbled into dust on the marble tables was beyond belief; the waiters, from listening to democratic discourses, served the customers badly; more then once the secret police had visited the establishment, so said the disturbers of the public peace; but there had been no arrests, and this made Marroquin desperate. He enjoyed, beyond measure, speaking so as to be heard of all who came to the table, at the same time fastening his gaze on some peaceable customer, and making tremendous boasts, so as to rouse his curiosity.

"Don Servando," he would shout to a gentlemen sitting some distance from him, "do you expect to go out for a walk to-morrow?"

"Certainly, as always, Senor Marroquin."

"You had better not take your wife and children."

"Man alive! why not?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing! That is all I have to say."

But the revolutionary professor enjoyed most one evening when he succeeded in bringing to the cafe; his old friend and colleague Don Leandro.

Don Leandro's name was still on the faculty of the Colegio de la Merced, which was no longer under the direction of the ex-captain of artillery, but of the chaplain Don Juan Vigil. Don Leandro was the only one of the old professors left, and this was because he was unhappy and patiently endured the caprices of the chaplain, who now more than ever took delight in tormenting him, and lavishing upon him the tremendous gifts of sarcasm wherewith he was endowed by nature.

Marroquin met him one Sunday in the street, and after a hearty greeting, as his custom was, he began to say harsh things of the cure, which was also a habit of his. This flattered the worthy Don Leandro immensely, though he affected not to listen to him, for he detested backbiting, and was greatly afraid of hell, though not so much of purgatory.

So that Marroquin, in spite of his depraved ideas, served as a powerful temptation for his friend to go into El Levante and have a glass of water, for example. Don Leandro, no matter what opprobriums the heretical professor heaped upon his born enemy, acquiesced with a smile; and even, from time to time, he himself would let slip some spiteful word, promising before the tribunal of his conscience to confess it immediately.

But the trouble was, Don Leandro's confessor was the very same chaplain, who, like his glorious predecessor, Gregory VII., aspired to possess the key to the consciences of his subjects, and would not hear to any alumnus or dependent of the college confiding his load of sins to any other bosom than his.

This, according to all logic, caused poor Don Leandro great tribulation, who, as he went often to confession, found himself obliged to tell the chaplain all the evil thoughts that he had about him; but the torment that the latter inflicted was much greater and more cruel. Oftentimes, while Don Leandro was unbosoming himself, the confessor heaved deep sighs and made the confessional creak as though his chair pinched him.

He was tempted to dismiss him from the college, but he felt that such a thing would be an attack on the sacred character of the confessional, since Don Leandro did his duty conscientiously, and to turn him off required that he should make use of his knowledge acquired in the tribunal of penance.

Afterwards it occurred to him to send him to some one else to make his confession; but the demon of curiosity had firm possession of him, and, though every day he promised himself to give him notice, he never reached the point of doing so, and continued to hear his own deeds criticised without the power to defend himself.

"_Barajoles!_ what a penance God has put upon me," he would say afterwards, as he strode up and down his room. "How I should like to give this idiot a couple of raps!"

Don Leandro, when he entered El Levante, had no idea that he was going to meet so many gentlemen, and still less that there were among them a number of impious revolutionists, enemies of "all religious restraint." Accordingly, when he began to hear them speak of the government in the terms which they were wont to use, he flushed deeply and began to cast surreptitious glances in all directions, and especially at Marroquin.

"See here, Senor Marroquin!" he said in an undertone, "let us talk about something else."

Marroquin, smiling in a superior manner, replied:--

"Don't have any fears, my friend Don Leandro; the police have come in here already several times; but they did not see fit to lay their hands on any one: if they should, the affair is now so well matured it would be the signal for the eruption to break out."

"What eruption?"

"The revolution, man alive!"

"_Santo Cristo!_ Do you know, Senor Marroquin, these things are very serious, very serious! If you will not take it in bad part, I should like to be going.... Anyway, I have something that I must be doing...."

Marroquin took him by the arm, and compelled him to sit down again.

"Don't you have any apprehension, my dear friend! Nothing can happen to you, at any rate, because you do not, like me, figure in all the lists which the police have been sending to the authorities."

"No matter; if it does not make any difference to you, we will change the subject."

The subject was changed, indeed, but the topic which followed was still more terrible and demoniacal.

They talked of nothing else than the queen, and any one can imagine what could have been said of that august lady,--that she was going to lose her crown and go into exile.

The moment the professor heard these atrocious remarks, he grew livid, and it was impossible to keep him longer; he left without saying good by, and directed his steps toward his college, which he reached in a breathless condition....

The poor man had the innocence to relate this episode to the mayordomo, who lost no time in reporting it to the director.

Unlucky Don Leandro! For many days he had to endure the chaplain's grievous and coarse mockery.... What troubled him most was, that before the scholars he called him conspirator, in that sarcastic tone affected by the cure in such cases. At other times he nicknamed him the "Venetian conspirator," which made the boys laugh, and as Don Leandro said, very truly, "The dignity of the professorship was undermined."

The labors of our friend Mendoza, otherwise Brutandor, in behalf of the revolutionary cause, were employed in a higher circle than those of Marroquin, Merelo, and the other small fry of the liberal school. He had disappeared for the time being, as we already know, and in Spain the fact of a person disappearing is something that gives infinite importance, and often imperishable glory. For, indeed, when a man disappears, the public rightly presume that it must be for working out in secret great and noteworthy undertakings. Those of Mendoza, although we know not what they were, must have been portentous, if what was said was true, since they obliged him to remain concealed in Madrid more than three months, changing his concealment and his disguise any number of times. Miguel had known something of his life and perils, but at last he lost track of him.

This was the state of affairs, when one evening, after dinner, while Rivera was sitting in the library with Maximina on his knee, there was a tremendous ring at the door-bell.

The young woman was on her feet in a second.

"Who can that be at this time o' day?" queried Miguel. "Has either of the girls gone out?"

"I think not."

Just then Juana came in.

"Senorito, it is a waiter from the cafe wants to speak with you."

"A waiter from the cafe? I don't remember that I have any account anywhere.... Tell him to come in."

"Wait! wait!" exclaimed Maximina; "let me get out by this door!"

And she ran out by the parlor door, as was always her custom, when any of Rivera's visitors came.

At that instant the waiter appeared, and Miguel could scarcely recognize under his disguise his friend Mendoza.

"Perico!"

"Shhhhhhhhh!" exclaimed Mendoza, putting on an expression of terrible fear.

And he hastened to bolt the door.

"What is up?" asked Miguel, affecting great anxiety.

Mendoza sat down, heaved a sigh, and answered frankly:--

"Nothing."

"I thought so."

Brutandor, without heeding the irony of those words, began to whisper, bringing his mouth close to his friend's ear:--

"I have been for the last fortnight at La Florida, hiding in the house of the laundrymen...."

"Man! if I had known it, I should have made you a visit."

"Don't say anything about visits! They might follow you, and get their hands on me."

"And how have you enjoyed your visit in the country?"

"I had a pretty fair sort of time. There was only one bed in the house; in the night while the laundrymen were asleep, I would go out, and take a walk along the river bank, and at sunrise, when the men were up, I used to go to bed."

"How cool and delightful it must have been!"

"Well, sometimes it would nauseate me a little; do you wonder? The Countess de Rios used to send me my meals with great precautions, changing the servant every time.... But day before yesterday the laundryman did not sleep in the house, and this, as you can easily imagine, worried me...."

"That's clear; when laundrymen don't sleep at home, it's a very bad sign."

"This morning I saw him with two bad-looking men ... suspicious characters, and so, fearing that they might hand me over to the police, I decided to leave the place. The waiter in a wretched cafe there sold me this disguise, and after it got to be dark, I made my escape without saying a word. I thought of going to Las Ventas del Espiritu Santo, but the police keep track of all such places. Then a brilliant idea struck me,--that of coming to your house. How the deuce would they ever think of my being here! A lady-love of mine years ago used to hide her letters among her father's papers, and he would go hunting for them all over the house."

"So that you stole the idea from your sweetheart? You ought to be original even at the cost of arrest!... However, I am delighted that you came. I cannot help being flattered greatly to have in my house a conspirator of so much importance.... For you do not realize the prestige that you enjoy, nor what is said about you on this account...."

"Really?" exclaimed Mendoza, flushing with pleasure.

"I assure you. You are called one of the heroes of the revolution.... But, my dear sir, what is worth much costs much; the greater the name you win among the revolutionists, the more exposed you will find yourself to whatever noose the government may tie for you. If they catch you now, I am inclined to think that you won't get off without being shot."

"Do you think so?" asked Brutandor, growing frightfully pale.

"I do, indeed.... But don't be alarmed; they won't think of coming here after you."

"See here, I beg of you, keep the servants from knowing anything about it, because you see some little word might get out through them ... and I should be lost!"

"It is rather a hard matter to deceive them," replied Miguel, laughing at the tone in which his friend spoke those last words.

Mendoza took up his abode in the house; but first it was necessary to have a trunk brought from his lodging, and for him to change his clothes in Miguel's bedroom; when this was accomplished he went out cautiously, and soon returned like an ordinary visitor.

By these manoeuvres he deceived himself, and was convinced that he had deceived the servants....

Maximina did not fancy having the guest. She was so happy living alone with her husband! Nevertheless, with her usual docility to his wishes, she said not a word, nor showed in her face any sign of dissatisfaction.

While Miguel was away from home, Mendoza spent his time with her, but whole hours passed without their exchanging a dozen words. The young girl of Pasajes was not a very deep thinker. And Mendoza, as we know, was in the habit of keeping to himself the good things that came to his mind. Still she watched him closely out of the corner of her eyes, and afterwards gave her husband the benefit of her impressions. Though she tried to make the best of them, it was evident that they were not very flattering.

"It seems to me that Mendoza hasn't pleased you very well."

Maximina smiled, and said nothing.

"Well, he is an unfortunate."

"I imagine that he is not as fond of you as you are of him; that nothing in the world is quite as important as himself."

"Perhaps you are right, but it can't be denied that he is _simpatico_. His egotism amuses me; it is like a child's."

Maximina, as her habit was, sat silently trying to evolve through her mental consciousness the meaning of _simpatico_[21]; but her efforts remained unsuccessful.

Five days after his arrival, Mendoza received a letter from the Countess de Rios, inclosing another from her husband. Both reached their destination by passing through various hands. The general said that the party who furnished the money for publishing _La Independencia_ gave him to understand that he would not give another quarter unless he were guaranteed the thirty thousand duros which he had already spent. As he could not address himself to any of his friends, and judged that his wife was not a suitable person for the transaction, he charged him at all hazards to have an interview with the "white horse," and try to get a subscription that would be effective in pacifying him, because the paper had been a constant loss to them in these critical times.

Mendoza handed the letter to Rivera.

Although he had no connection with the financial administration of _La Independencia_, Rivera had for some time been conversant with the monetary difficulties with which the journal was struggling. After reading the letter carefully, he said, looking up:--

"Well, what now?"

"Well, as you can imagine, I cannot undertake this commission, because I do not go out of doors...."

"And so you want me to fill the gap, do you?"

Mendoza was silent, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground.

"Well then, my friend," said the brigadier's son in a determined voice, "I am sorry to tell you that I will not undertake to ask money or guarantees of money from any one."

Both were silent for some time after these words. At last Mendoza, without lifting his eyes from the floor, and evidently disturbed, began to speak:--

"I believe that if you were willing, the matter might be arranged without asking money of any one.... Eguiburu will be satisfied if only your name is endorsed, and he will furnish all that is necessary each month...."

Miguel looked at him keenly, while the other stood still with downcast eyes; then he said, with a laugh:--

"You are indeed a man of happy ideas! If you die before I do, I shall be able to take your skull, and say more complimentary things than Hamlet said about Yorick's."

Then he suddenly grew serious, and began to pace up and down the room with the letter in his hands. After a while he stopped in front of his friend, who was still standing in the position of a whipped schoolboy, and said:--

"And who is going to guarantee _me_ the general paying those thirty thousand duros?"

"The general is a man of honor."

"Eguiburu, as you well know, will not be satisfied with such money; he wants either gold or silver."

"Besides, the count has many wealthy friends; some of them, as you well know, are compromised in this movement, and if the whole debt of the paper were put upon any one of them it would be paid."

The matter was discussed for a long time between them; Miguel in his ordinary jesting tone, Mendoza with his imperturbable gravity, and showing no impatience, but holding firmly to his reasons.

Rivera was over-persuaded. He finally yielded, and consented to endorse the paper. Over and above his friend's entreaties there was the interest which he felt in the success of the journal, and the affection which he felt for it; and these influenced him to take the step. On the other hand, although he jested at the general's honor, he did not doubt it, and was certain that he would not be "left on the bull's horns."

When, on the next day, he told Maximina what he had done, she said nothing, and went on working at the edging which she had in her hands.

"What do you think about it? Did I make a mistake?"

Maximina lifted her sweet, smiling eyes.

"Do you ask me? I know nothing of business. Besides, for me, whatever you do is always right."

Miguel kissed her, and was convinced--that he had committed a great piece of folly.

A few days later, when Mendoza and Miguel were alone in the library, the prescript told his friend a secret that filled him with astonishment.

"I have something to tell you, Miguel...."

"What is it?"

"I am going to be married."

"How glad I am! Let us know who the unfortunate being is who has had such bad taste!"

"I am to marry Lucia Poblacion, General Bembo's widow."[22]

We ought to remark, if we have not already done so, that the gigantic Don Pablo had died seven months before in Porto Rico.

Miguel was dumfounded, and could not forbear a gesture of disgust. This man knew what sort of a woman _la generala_ Bembo was; he was perfectly aware of the relations which he himself had maintained with her. And he had the heart to make her his wife! For several minutes he remained without having a word to say, a thing that had not often happened to him in his life before; then he murmured:--

"Very good, very good, I congratulate you."

"As soon as her year of mourning is over, which will be within five months, we shall be married. She is a very agreeable woman.... Now that I have become intimately acquainted with her, I am persuaded that all the gossip about her is pure fiction; the poor lady is the victim of a few fools who, out of disappointed jealousy, have given her a bad name."

Miguel's eyes flashed angrily; he imagined that these words were directed against him, and he had a ferocious sarcasm on the tip of his tongue; but he succeeded in suppressing it, feeling that the situation in which his friend was putting himself was some excuse for him.

"And if you did not think so you would do very wrong to marry her.... I have heard it said that Lucia has a snug little fortune; is that so?" he added, allowing it to be clearly seen what were, in his opinion, the motives of such a marriage.

Mendoza, though rather obtuse, perceived it, and replied angrily:--

"I don't know, I'm sure.... I met Lucia at Borell's, and from the very first I was delighted with her. She is so refined and so full of noble sentiments. The poor woman was obliged to marry a man old enough to be her father; it would not have been strange if she had gone astray; nevertheless, she succeeded in preserving her...."

"Don Pablo must have had a pretty good thing in America, besides a high rent for his house," said Miguel, not heeding Mendoza's boasts.

"La Senora de Borell can say that it was she who made this match. You can't imagine how much she loves Lucia, and what a high opinion she has of her."

"It is said that Don Pablo's fortune has been greatly diminished in these last few years; but as more came in from America than was spent in Spain there ought to be a good income, and half of it belongs to Lucia in her own right. On the other hand, her children are young, and the income of the whole estate must suffice for them for many years."

Miguel kept insisting on this point, as he saw that it annoyed his friend, and he wanted to retaliate on him for what he had said just before. He showed so much annoyance at this ill-assorted marriage, when in the evening he told Maximina about it, that she could not refrain from saying:--

"Why are you so put out about it? Even though Perico marries for money he is not the first one who ever did such a thing. The only thing that surprises me is, that this lady consents to marry seven months after her husband's death."

As Miguel could not well tell his wife the reasons why he was indignant, since he was trying to keep from her the knowledge of certain social evils, and on the other hand he was afraid that the jealousy which she had once shown at Pasajes might be renewed, he suddenly calmed down and turned it into a laugh.

Still he could not divest himself of the feeling of disgust which the news had caused. Hitherto he had forgiven all his friend's outbreaks of egotism, but what he was now going to do was too low for him to overlook it. And thus it was that he could not help feeling a secret relief when, owing to a certain event that followed, Mendoza decided to leave his house.

He was talking one day with one of the maids, and his solemnly benevolent face made it evident that he was not at all insensible to the girl's black and roguish eyes; and she, on her part, was not less attracted by the guest's healthy physique and fresh, ruddy face. While she was arranging his room and constantly turning round to reply to his remarks, he was sitting in an easy-chair with his feet stretched out and with a newspaper in his hand.

"How glad I should be, senorito, to have you gentlemen succeed!" said the girl, after a long interval of silence.

"Succeed in what, Placida?"

"In getting control of the government ... go along!... and rule."

"I don't concern myself with such things," rejoined Mendoza, becoming suddenly serious.

"Come, come, senorito," said the maid, "don't you suppose that we know all about it? Then why don't you ever go out-doors? You are afraid of the peelers[23]!... The devil take 'em!... Ever since one wanted to carry me off to the lockup for shaking a carpet, I can't bear to see them even in a picture."

"Who told you that I didn't go out of doors for fear of the peelers?" demanded Mendoza, growing pale.

"Why, the shopkeeper down stairs. He told Juana and I that we had a very important gentleman hiding in our house, but that it would not be much longer 'cause everything was all ready for the revolution.... Don't let it worry you, senorito," she added, noticing how pale Mendoza had become, "the shopkeeper won't say nothing 'cause he's more liberal than Riego.... He wouldn't, he wouldn't, for mighty little good it would do him to have a war!"