CHAPTER VI.

IN SEARCH OF MENINO.

"I know it's you, Ricardo; let me go!"

Ricardo did not reply.

"Come, let me go; you see I must hurry and carry the broth to mamma."

Ricardo still blinded her eyes from behind without saying a word.

"For pity's sake let me go, Ricardo! It isn't fair, after I have told who you were."

"In punishment for your not taking the joke gracefully, I won't let you go," said Ricardo, still clasping her eyes.

"All right, then; I admit that it's perfectly fair."

"Ah, that's another thing! if you submit, I will let you go. But you must pay a forfeit."

Marta, as soon as she found herself free, ran behind him with uplifted broom, so that he could not get hold of her; thereupon she went back and again began her task of brushing up the dining-room. She had not dressed for the day. She wore a loose red gown somewhat the worse for wear, and her hair was put up in a white redicilla. But there was one very strange thing about this girl; in an old morning dress, sometimes even ripped, and with her hair in disorder, she was prettier than when she put on her fine clothes. It may have been because her peculiar style of beauty was not best brought out by rich and splendid dresses as her sister's was, or because she was not used to wearing them (for it was rare for her to put on those which were bought for her), so that she appeared awkward and constrained when she went out; but at all events, on the street and at the theatre, Marta certainly attracted little attention, and remained entirely overshadowed by her sister's proud and splendid beauty. On the other hand, at home her graces were greatly increased; her motions were easy and unembarrassed; her eyes gained brilliancy and animation, and her whole body acquired a freedom which it lost as soon as she set foot in the street.

She swept without haste, firmly and easily, like one who always expects to finish in time, and she kept humming a march[26] very softly. She had no voice for singing or any great love for music, and all the exertions of her teachers and her liking for study struggled with this lack of musical ability. The masterpieces of music, and even the _fantasías_, _réveries_, and nocturnes, which Maria played on the piano left her cold and incapable of understanding their worth. On the other hand, she confessed with shame that certain operatic airs and many popular songs delighted her. Another thing she did not confess, though it was no less true: the bands which sometimes accompany funerals, and are, as a general rule, of the very worst sort, composed almost entirely of brass instruments, moved her deeply, even to tears. She almost never sang, but she was apt to hum softly when she was doing any work as now. From time to time she stopped to take breath, leaning for a moment on her broom, and after brushing back one or two curls which fell on her forehead, she went on with her task.

Ricardo appeared again in the door.

"Martita, are you still vexed with me?"

"If I am," she replied, between a frown and smile, "you had better make your escape, señor marqués, quick, before I dust you with the broomstick."

"But are you really vexed?"

"Certainly I am."

"Very well, then; I humbly ask your pardon," said Ricardo, getting down on his knees. "Give me all the blows you want, for I have no idea of moving."

"Come, get up, and don't be foolish! See how you are soiling your trowsers!"

"Though I should soil the very collar of my shirt, I wouldn't move until you pardoned me!"

"What a boor you are, Ricardo!"

"Many thanks!"

"Will you get up, child?"

"No; not till you pardon me."

"You must be serious, Ricardo!"

"We will speak of that by and by. Do you pardon me?"

"Yes; bother[27]! yes; get up!"

Ricardo arose, went up to Marta, and taking her by the arms and shaking her violently, exclaimed,--

"How very pretty you are, little one! I don't wonder that Manolito--Of course you understand me."

"This is a great way of trying to be serious!"

"I shall be in time. Don't you worry!"

"Very well; then let me have a chance to carry mamma's broth to her."

"Do you know, I have searched the whole house and not found a soul?"

"Mamma has not left her room yet, and papa and Maria are out."

"Maria is at church as usual, isn't she?"

"She only went to mass; she will be back soon."

"Of course," replied the young man, becoming suddenly serious and silent.

Marta finished her work under her future brother's grave and not very careful inspection.

"Will you wait for me? I'm coming right back."

Ricardo nodded assent; and while the girl was gone, he went to one of the balconied windows and began to drum with his fingers on the glass, casting a vacant, absent look at the neighboring houses.

Marta came hurrying in again.

"Come, go with me; I am going to put the linen away."

Ricardo followed the girl like a lamb into a bright room full of clothes-presses. It looked into the garden. In the centre of it was a table on which stood a great basket heaped up with white clothes just from the wash.

"Will you help me take down this basket and put it there, near that clothes-press?"

"Why didn't you put it a little further off?"

The basket was a huge one, and it was a tug to carry it to the place designated: while they were carrying it, they got into such a frolic that more than once they had to set it down. Ricardo with his efforts grew very red in the face, and this made the girl laugh until she had no strength left. She rarely laughed; but when the floodgates were opened, nobody could stop it. Ricardo, with his inclination to make fun, puffed out his cheeks and grew redder yet. All ill humor had completely disappeared. The basket made very little progress, and both stood bending over it and struggling with it, being unable to lift it an inch from the ground, the one splitting with laughter, and the other affecting a comic desperation.

"What a valiant soldier, to be vanquished by a basket of clothes!" exclaimed the girl, in the height of glee.

"I should like to see Prim or Espartero or even Napoleon himself here! This isn't a basket at all! There is linen enough here for an army!"

"Let go, then! If you didn't make me laugh, I could lift it by myself."

After much laughter, and no little bantering, the basket reached its destination. Marta opened the clothes-press, from which came the distinctive, fresh, penetrating odor of fresh linen. The girl for several moments breathed it in with delight, while she was transferring the pieces from one shelf to another in order to make room for the clean clothes that she was going to put away. Then she started to call Carmen--one of the maids--to help her, but Ricardo asked timidly,--

"Listen, child, couldn't I help to do it?"

"Oh! if you would like--"

"But it isn't for me to like. Pure gold though I were, _preciosa_, it is for you to command me, as queen and mistress."

"It won't do at all."

"It's no condescension on my part; you can put me to the test."

"Well, then, this time I command you to take the two corners of this sheet and stretch them out in that direction hard--not so hard, man, how you pull me! That's the way! that's the way! Now double it as I do--so--one corner over the other--good!--now stretch it out again--more, ever so much more--that's it! Now fold it again; pull it out once more! There, that'll do. Now come towards me,--let me have it; I can manage it now. Here's another. Take the two corners--shake it well and stretch it out. Be careful, for this one has a ruffle--don't tear it! These are mamma's and Maria's sheets."

"How it would shock Maria if she knew I were folding her sheets!" cried Ricardo, laughing.

"Why, yes; the sheets themselves are. Mamma and she like very fine ones, and have theirs made of batiste; but papa and I like them coarser. I can't bear fine sheets; I slip about in them and can't get settled. We are careful not to put any kind of ruffles on papa's, for the touch of starch tries his nerves, and the rustling keeps him awake. It's a hobby of his. Just imagine when he is travelling, and at some house they put on sheets with trimmings, he takes the trouble to pull the bed to pieces and put the ruffling under the mattress at his feet. I don't like them either, but if I find them on, I put up with them. Papa has a good many hobbies. Every night he has to go asleep with a cigar in his mouth. I walk up and down near his room until I see that he is asleep, and then I go in very gently and take the cigar from his mouth and put out the light.--Don't pull so hard, for my arms ache already. The truth is, I make you do very improper things for a military man; isn't that so?"

"Don't you believe it! At college, and even after we left, at boarding-houses we had to do much worse things. How many buttons have I sewed on in my life! And how many times I have patched my trowsers when they were worn through!"

"Really?"

"Certainly!"

Marta was sincerely astonished. She could not understand that a man should have to descend to such duties when there are so many women in the world, and she asked particularly about his college life,--how they were treated, what they ate, at what time they went to bed, who attended to their rooms, who did their washing and ironing, were their mattresses hard or soft, did they drink wine, how many times a week they gave them clean towels, etc., etc. Ricardo answered all her questions, giving a circumstantial account of his college habits with the fulness of one who has very fresh recollections, and is not bored in recounting them. From college customs he passed to his adventures, relating those which might be told to a young girl, and amusing himself above all in painting in the darkest colors the tribulations of freshman year[28] and the cruelties practised upon them by the seniors,[29] who compelled them to spend whole nights making cigarettes of sand so as to learn to make better ones of tobacco; in the street they would make them sit down on the stone seats and not let them get up till they gave them permission; they seated them at table, even though they had dined, just for the fun of the thing; those who were weakest would vomit or faint; one fellow who ventured to rebel against a _galonista_ they kept for six months face to face with a stone wall, during all play hours, until he was taken ill with jaundice and almost died. One Sunday afternoon, while he was in the hall with five other freshmen[30] reading a novel, two seniors came in and beat them furiously with cudgels until they were tired out, and gave him a painful cut near his eye.

Marta listened with profound attention, showing in her face all the phases of indignation. She pulled with greater and greater force on the sheets, and folded them any way, without taking her eyes from the narrator's. From time to time she exclaimed, "But, good Heavens,[31] that is abominable! Those men are crazy; why didn't you tell the president about such cruelties?" Ricardo could not persuade her that it would have been useless to rebel or tell the colonel, since hazing[32] was a traditional custom in the college which the officers did not care to root out. To all his reasonings she replied, "Well, I would have gone to the colonel, and if he had not made it right for me, I would have run away from college."

"Come, don't be excited, Marta, over what I went through. The men who suffer this way do the same thing. Now I am going to tell you something that took place between me and the colonel. After I became lieutenant--"

And changing his tack, he began to tell amusing adventures and jolly incidents, which smoothed out the frowns on the girl's face, and finally made her laugh heartily. Gradually the basket was emptied, and its contents were transferred to the clothes-press, which still exhaled its fresh and somewhat pungent odor of newly washed clothes. This odor filled the whole room, and gave it a refreshing perfume of health and cleanliness pleasanter than any perfumery or pomade. It was the perfume which always clung about Marta, as her father said, and seemed especially created for her. When she went alone to open the cloth-presses, she took a great delight in putting her head into them, and burying it in the clothes, enjoying the coolness of the linen against her face, and breathing with keen pleasure its healthful aroma. The light pouring through the white tulle of the curtains, the ceaseless chatter and the merry laughter of the young people filled the room with joy and animation; it was called the "ironing-room," for all the linen of the house was ironed there. The walls not occupied by the clothes-presses were painted a plain white.

Carmen burst into the room like a hurricane, crying,--

"Señorita Marta, Señorita Marta!"

"What's the trouble?" asked Marta, in alarm.

"Menino has got out, señorita!"

Marta dropped the sheet which she had in her hands, and exclaimed in astonishment,--

"Has got out?"

"Yes, señorita; as I was just going through the gallery, I looked at the cage and found the door open and the bird gone!"

"Come along, come along!"

And all three rushed to the gallery. Indeed, Menino had flown away. By an incredible piece of carelessness Marta, when she fed him, and hung him up to enjoy the view of the garden and the singing of the other birds, had left the cage door open. For three years Menino had been under the young maiden's care, and during all this time he had showed no sign of cherishing plans of escape; on the contrary, hitherto the little hypocrite had always shown, as far as possible, that he did not care a straw for liberty, and that he had renounced it willingly for the sake of his dearly beloved mistress. For a long time he had been in the habit of coming out of his cage to eat chocolate with her; he would perch on her shoulder, peck softly at her hand to show his affection, hop about here and there over the furniture, and when it was time to retire, he would go back into the cage, meek as a lamb. By every presumption he was a happy canary, who regarded the loss of liberty as compensated by the care and attention of such a lovely girl, and by the permission to peck her rosy cheeks whenever he pleased. And aside from these more or less spiritual enjoyments, for which more than one lad in the town would have made stupendous sacrifices, and looking only at the material aspect of existence or bodily comforts, it must be laid down as a fact that Menino lived in his cage like an archbishop, with every want satisfied, supplied with hemp-seed on one side, with canary-seed on the other, at one time treated to lettuce, at others to lumps of chocolate, at others to crumbs soaked in milk; indeed, to ask more was to offend God. And as for neatness and cleanliness of habitation, he had just as little cause for envying any one; every morning Marta herself cleaned it out, leaving the cage like a mirror. But contrary to the general belief that he found himself perfectly satisfied, and would not change places even with the director of the mint, Menino was certainly waiting impatiently for a chance to escape; he had allowed himself to be overwhelmed with melancholy, his character had been soured, and his bile excited by lack of exercise. If he had not gone out to breathe the fresh air on the day least expected, he would have dashed the top of his head against the bars of his cage.

As our young people stood under the cage, they deliberated briefly what to do. Marta was heart-broken. It was decided that Carmen, with the laundress and the gardener should scour the garden, for they thought that from lack of practice he would not fly very far at first; meanwhile Marta and Ricardo should make a thorough search through the house in case he had remained inside, flying through the halls as he had done once before. Marta acted as guide, and they immediately began to look through the suite of rooms next the corridor, a great square chamber with two sleeping-rooms leading from it, in which she and Maria, when they were children, had slept with their respective nurses. The paper on the room represented hunting-scenes, which used to make a great impression on Marta when she was small, especially one illustrating a dying stag, conquered by half a dozen ferocious hounds. Then they passed through several rooms designed for the guests who visited the house; they inspected the girls' rooms, they went down into the kitchen, which was in an entresol, and returned up stairs without any success. Then they visited Don Mariano's library, which was a magnificent room with two balconied windows facing the plaza, decorated in severe classic taste; great leather armchairs, rich tapestries, an ebony writing-desk, and bookcases of the same wood; on the walls hung a few family portraits, painted in oil. Marta always felt in this library a sensation of happiness and well-being which she did not enjoy in the other parts of the house; in this sensation there was a delicious union of reverence and tenderness wherein were blended all her childish recollections, which overflowed with this exclusive, eager, and absorbing love, such as cause the unreasonable anger of children when the nurse tears them from the paternal arms, and the yearning to go to them when they are held out to invite them. As soon as she had strength and skill enough to put his room in order, she never allowed any one else to do it. In the morning she always spent half an hour of delicious ease and comfort, dusting the huge chairs, which cost her a great effort to move from their places, and making Don Mariano's huge bed. She felt happy in that solemn patriarchal chamber. The colossal bookcases, the table, the chairs, the pictures, and the dignified figures of the tapestries fixed on her a silent, benevolent gaze in which she felt as it were alive, her father's great, protecting shadow.

Ricardo halted lazily before a portrait:--

"Is that your aunt? How much you resemble her! What a pity she died so young! She was a very fascinating woman."

"I should like to resemble her. She was very tall, and I am short."

"What difference does that make? You are like her, very much like her. And that is natural, after all, for you are like your father, and you are an Elorza from head to foot. What huge bookcases Don Mariano has! there's enough here to keep one busy a good while."

"Still, Maria has read the most of them."

"And you?"

"Oh, I don't read very much. I am very lazy. Papa says I don't like the black," replied the girl, with her frank smile, and looking a little ashamed; then she added: "But look, Ricardo, it isn't absolutely true, what papa says; though I don't care much for books, some of them please me; but one doesn't get time to take them up. I don't know how I manage not to have an hour for myself. Sometimes it's one thing, sometimes another."

"Confess, little one,[33] that you don't like them, and I won't say any more!"

"If you like, I will confess it; but it isn't true. I like some of them."

"How about Menino?"

"Ay! yes! come, come!"

They went to the next room, which was Doña Gertrudis's, and this alone was proof positive that no sign of Menino was there, though occasionally she had in her head such a singing, as of a whole nest of birds, that it prevented her from resting. Therefore they went to the next room, which was Marta's. It was a room which seemed lined with mirrors, since everything in it was polished, from the wooden floors to the railing of the balconies; whatever was not varnished by the cabinet-maker was rubbed bright with cloths. Marta's great hobby which gave her the most joy and the most trouble was keeping things bright. Her exaggerated love for cleanliness had quickly brought her to the point of trying to put a shine on all the articles of furniture in the house, and more especially those in her own room. Every day, aided by the maid, she rubbed them with a dry flannel, polishing them with unwearied zeal, until you could see your face in them. Then, all out of breath, sometimes dripping with perspiration, her hair in disorder, and her cheeks ablaze, she lifted the flannel and stood awhile contemplating her work, the lovely scintillations made by the light in the polished surface, with a genuine inward satisfaction, with almost mystic enthusiasm. The household made much fun of her, which caused her to hide herself while performing this task, and induced her to lock her room to everybody. Ricardo had never been in it. And so without any thought of Menino he began to inspect it with bold, inquisitive attention; he gazed at the pictures, halted in front of the toilet-table, opened the bottles, felt of the curtains, and even went into the bedroom to see the bed, uttering exclamations of astonishment at the perfect order which he found everywhere, and especially at the wonderful polish of all the furniture.

"What a pretty room you have, child. It's like a silver cup! What a lovely white little bed!"

"Ricardo, don't be inquisitive. Go away; come, Menino isn't here!"

The girl felt annoyed by the young man's curiosity. Every woman of gentle birth feels a certain modesty, if we may say so, in regard to her room, for the reason that there clings about it something like the essence of her very self which she hesitates to let a man approach; but in Marta's case, in addition to this modesty, there was a sense of shame in having her stubborn, childish fancies brought to light, like that of keeping things bright, that of placing the bottles of her dressing-table in a sort of symmetry worthy of an altar, and other such things which served her family as subjects for merriment at dinner time. Consequently she tried to push him out by main force.

"Come Ricardo; there's nothing to see here. Come along, come along!"

"Do let me, niña, do let me have a look at this charming room! How exquisite!" And putting his nose to the bed, he said with great seriousness, "It smells like Marta!"

"Will you be quiet, you foolish fellow!"[34]

"It may not give you any trouble to keep your room in this way, but let me tell you, child, I couldn't keep it so if my life depended on it. If you were to see my room, Martita!"

"Yes, yes, it must be fine! You always were a disorderly fellow.[35] But come, dear, come; let us go!"

"We'll go whenever you please. My room is a stable compared with this; but just consider that it's open to dogs and cats, the gardener, with his dirty feet, the coachman, with the smell of the stable, and, in fact, to every living creature. It is not my fault."

From Marta's room they passed through various other apartments, the dining-room, the parlor, the gallery of the court, another private room, and a few others, without finding Menino anywhere. As they were standing in the midst of a passage-way without knowing whither to turn, an idea suddenly struck Marta, and she said,--

"Let's go to the terrace; we haven't been there yet."

The terrace was now only a large hall tiled with marble and covered over with stained glass. It was called the terrace because it had been one in former times; but Don Mariano had had it closed in with glass a few years before, transforming it into a handsome, fantastic room in Moorish style, where he went to drink coffee on summer evenings with his daughters and friends. It was for the most part unfurnished, having only in one corner three or four small marquetry tables and a few rockingchairs. When our young people reached this hall, they found it flooded with light: the sun, that morning leaving his long seclusion, came forth bright and warm, resolved on visiting all the corners of the city; and when he found the thousand crystals of the Elorza terrace, not caring to see anything better, he passed through them and revelled inside with a lively, eager pandiculation which occupied the whole circuit of the room. It was a magical sight. Thousands of rose, green, yellow, purple, gray, and blue lights burned within it, pouring over the floor, the ceiling, and the walls, and dissolving into an infinity of tints, delighting and dazzling the eyes. Over the mosaic pavement fell a shower of blinding rays, reflecting up in a delicate, many-colored vapor; and these rays were crossed and interwoven in the air, making a flame-bearing web, subtile and beautiful, through the interstices of which passed the intangible scintillations of other rays more diaphanous, from which arose a vapor still more aerial. And these veils of dust, of rays, of scintillations, and of colors, stretching one behind the other, in spite of their transparency scarcely allowed you to see with vague indefiniteness, as through a mist, the crystals and arabesques of the windows. The sun squandered his treasures of light and color like a Turkish pasha within the walls of some chamber in the East, proving once more that when he endeavors to make a brilliant and fanciful decoration with them, there is no stage director with all his spangles, _Bengalas_, and curtains who can equal him.

Our young people, entirely forgetting Menino, stopped an instant in surprise at the whimsical, magical work of the light; and without saying a word they entered the hall and went to the centre with the slow, uncertain step of one who goes into a bath. In point of fact they stood submerged and inundated in a luminous vapor wherein all possible colors were floating.

"How beautiful the terrace is to-day!" said Marta at last.

"It seems like a room in an enchanted palace. It would be more appropriate if, instead of us, a Moor in a white turban stood here, and an odalisque covered with brocade and precious stones. How many capricious effects of light! Wait a moment, Martita; step into this ray of rosy light. If you could see what a peculiar expression it gives your face now! You look like a gypsy,--a daughter of the desert."

Indeed, that light turned the girl's fair complexion to brown, kindled it with a sunset tinge, and animated it with the ardent, cruel expression of southern natures. All the innocence of her eyes, all the purity of her maidenly form were lost under the power of that perverse, luxuriant flame, which transformed her into another being, fiery, and at the same time voluptuous, and certainly far from her own true nature. Ricardo understood this, and said,--

"No! that color does not suit you. Come into this one!"

And he drew her under a ray of greenish light:--

"Heavens! you look like a dead person! No, no; that's just as bad! Here, try the yellow color; that goes well, but it makes you ruddy, and brunettes ought to stay brunettes,--I mean dark-haired people,--for of course we know that your complexion is light; come, try the blue. Oh, superb! wonderful! How beautiful you are, child!"

The young marquis was right. Blue, which is the most spiritual, the purest, and the sublimest of colors, was admirably adapted for Marta's bright face. The sun-ray fell on it like a caress from heaven, bathing it sweetly in a diaphanous light. Her long black hair assumed a purplish tint, while the adorable oval of her face and her firm, mellow neck were softly tinged with a heavenly blue. The delicate line of her regular features acquired an ideal perfection, and her whole countenance was transfigured with an angelic expression of beatitude.

Nevertheless, there was a certain exaggeration not in good taste in that rapturous, celestial expression given by the blue light. It was not the true Marta, ingenuous and modest in her looks as in her features, but a different Marta, affected, theatrical, and fantastic. Ricardo finally declared that no light was so becoming to her as the natural.

The girl suddenly exclaimed,--

"And Menino!"

"It's true; we had forgotten him. But where shall we go now? we have looked everywhere."

"Let us go to Maria's room; perhaps it has flown up there."

"It does not seem to me likely; however, let's go there."

They mounted to the tower, but without any better success; neither in Maria's room nor in Genoveva's did they find any sign of the canary-bird. Ricardo felt a peculiar emotion in entering his lady-love's room, and Marta did not fail to notice it. He became graver and more silent, and began to examine with interest everything there, moving the articles, opening the scent-bottles, and even pulling out the drawers, so that the girl felt obliged to interfere.

"Don't meddle with her things. When Maria comes and sees her things tumbled up, she will be angry."

"And what if she is?" replied the young man, with a touch of asperity.

"The blame will be thrown on me."

"All right; then tell her that it was mine, and that'll settle the matter."

He stepped into the bedroom, lifted the bed-curtains, took up the books from the dressing-table, laid them down again, and finally pulled out the table drawer. In it were a number of articles laid away, but he thrust in his hand, pulling out one more extraordinary than the rest. It was a large leather cross, full of brass brads on one side, and with a cord to attach it to the neck.

"What is this?" he asked, turning it over and over in his hand, with amazement.

Marta guessed what it was.

"Put it back, put it back! for God's sake, Ricardo! Maria will be very angry."

"Horrors! What an abominable thing! This must be a cilicium."

"It may be; but put it back, put it back for Heaven's sake!"

The young man threw it violently into the drawer again, with a gesture of scorn and disgust,--

"Maria has become crazy. It is an abomination, and there's no good in it."

"Don't say that; it's wrong. Maria is very religious,--"

"Religious! religious!" muttered the young fellow, angrily. "So are you, and you don't have to perform these penances--"

"Don't compare me with Maria!"

Ricardo began to pace up and down the room excitedly and without speaking. Then he returned to the chamber, and pulled out the leather cross once more, examining it with more care.

"It seems to me that these nails form letters. Look! Can you make out what they say?"

"No; I don't see anything; it's your imagination."

"Yes, yes; there is an inscription on it. But, however, I don't care to bother with deciphering it. All these things are only absurdities. Come, child, come along! Let every fool have his folly!"

And shutting the drawer angrily he left the chamber, followed by Marta. As they were passing by one of the windows of the boudoir, the girl uttered a cry of surprise and joy,--

"Look, look! Ricardo! Look! there's Menino!"

The young man hurried to the window, and saw, on the roof of the house, not very far away, Menino himself, hopping about with delight, and full of pride and stateliness.

"What a rascal! And so that's where he's gone! We must catch him. Where do you get out on the roof?"

"Not here; we must go down to the house first, and climb up through the skylight."

"Come on, then!"

They left the tower, and after crossing several rooms, they mounted the garret stairs leading from one of them. It was extremely dark, and the young man met with much difficulty. On the second step he received a tremendous knock.

"Oh, of course you aren't used to it. You'll hurt yourself; give me your hand and I'll guide you."

He took the girl's hand, which was small but firm and solid like an Amazon's; it was not so satiny as Maria's, for her work about the house had hardened it somewhat; in compensation it had the lovely smoothness which testifies to health and good blood. It was not feverish either like Maria's, but was always cool and moist and ready for any emergency, like those of a daughter of the people.

The young marquis did not think of making these observations, for he was going along, intent only on not falling. They reached the garret,--feebly lighted here and there by a few very tenuous rays of sunlight which filtered through the cracks in the tiles. After they had gone quite a distance, Marta dropped his hand, saying,--

"Wait here; I am going to open the window."

And nimbly hurrying ahead, she ran up a half-dozen steps which led to the skylight, and threw open the door. A burst of intense, bright, comforting sunshine suddenly invaded the whole garret, dazzling our young hero.

"Here is Menino! Here's Menino!" cried Marta, enthusiastically, as she stood on the top step. "He's very near! Menino! Menino! Come, _tonto_, here! here! Don't you know me?"

Menino, who was only six or eight steps away when he heard his mistress's voice, bent his head gracefully, as if to listen. The sunlight, falling full on him, bathed his yellow plumage, making him contrast so vividly with the red-colored roof that he seemed like a bit of living gold. He hopped thrice or four times, as though he were going to Marta, and said, _Pii_, _pii_.

"Do you want me to try to get him?" asked Ricardo.

"No; hold still a moment; he seems to be coming of his own accord. Menino, Menino! come here, pretty one; come here, come!"

Menino came two or three hops nearer, and seemed to be cocking his head to listen. I don't know what then passed through his brain; something low, and base, and shameful, it must have been, according to the morality of his species, for, forgetting his mistress's tender attentions, her ceaseless caresses, the many bits of chocolate shared with her, the feasts of biscuits, and his overflowing dishes of canary-seed, he cleaned his feathers in her presence with perfect indifference, several times repeated his pii, pii, with affected laziness, and spreading his wings, he launched into space, flying out of sight amid the foliage of the neighboring gardens.

Marta uttered a cry of grief.

"My stars, he has gone!"

"Has gone?"

"Yes!"

"Very far?"

"Out of sight."

"Then, sir, he's gone for good!"

Ricardo mounted to the window, and following the direction indicated by the girl's finger, he looked and looked again, until his eyes pained him, without seeing the slightest sign of anything resembling a canary bird. When he looked at Marta again, he saw a tear rolling down her cheeks.

"Aren't you ashamed to cry for a bird, tonta!"

"You are right!" replied the girl, trying to laugh, and wiping away the tear with her handkerchief.

"But I felt as much affection for him as for a person; yes indeed, for three years I have been taking care of him!"