TWO TRAITORS
The party in the workroom was meanwhile still being entertained by
Pablito's conversation, which was embellished by practical
illustrations, in accordance with his versatile nature.
Venturita had not yet returned, and Gonzalo reseated himself by the side
of his betrothed and began talking to her with undisguised embarrassment
and timidity, for, being unaccustomed to hide his feelings, his
treachery weighed upon his soul. Sometimes Cecilia raised her head to
reply, and her clear, serene, innocent glance made him blush. To
overcome his confusion he thought he had better tell her his love and
devotion in more ardent terms than hitherto. Like all irresolute
natures, in a time of exigency he took the worst course to give himself
a moment's respite. Cecilia received the protestations in silence,
without evincing the delight that women generally show on hearing
expressions of affection from the one they love.
"You are very flattering to-day, Don Gonzalo. I don't like being
spoiled," she said at last with a smile.
"But it is a pleasure to tell you what I feel," he replied in a choked
voice.
"Well, it is a pleasure I do not understand," she returned sweetly. "The
deeper my affection the less I like to speak of it."
"That is because you do not really love."
"Oh!" she exclaimed, in such a genuine tone of reproach that our young
man was taken aback.
"Yes, yes; it is because you are naturally cold. The heat of feeling,
like physical heat, can not remain long concealed; there comes a time
when it rises to the surface like the lava of volcanoes. And of all
sentiments, love is the one that can best burst the strings of the
tongue. It is only really felt when one can say in every tone and in
every manner possible, 'I love you.' What you said just now is absurd,
for simultaneously with the birth of love in our hearts for anybody
there comes the desire to express it; and to satisfy this desire is the
greatest of all delights."
"It may be, it may be," she remarked in a doubtful tone. "Although I
have not experienced it, I can well imagine it from what I suffer. But,
Gonzalo," she added in a tremulous voice, "for God's sake don't measure
my affection by my words. I can not, I can never say what I feel. There
seems to be a sort of lump in my throat, and nothing comes but foolish
things, insignificant remarks, when I should like to utter words of
affection! Oh, it is a torture! It is being like a dog without a tail."
Gonzalo burst out laughing, and the girl, who had spoken more strongly
than usual, turned red and bent her head.
"But nobody has cut out your tongue."
"In this matter you must consider that they have."
"Very well; you must express yourself in writing," and at that moment he
turned his head quickly toward the door, which had been swung open.
It was Piscis. After muttering a "Good-afternoon," he took his usual
seat in the corner, followed by derisive glances of the needlewomen,
toward whom, for this and other reasons, he vowed eternal hatred.
After returning their mocking looks with one that was straight and
fierce he remained silent for some minutes, but as his soul was burdened
with solemn and profound secrets, and Pablito would not cease his
attention to Nieves, he was boiling over with rage. After having
whistled to attract his friend's attention, he ventured to disburden his
mind in public at the risk of his confidences not being understood and
appreciated by the feminine element of the party.
"What is it, Piscis?" asked Pablito, hearing the whistle.
"Do you know why Romeo is neighing?"
Then the needlewomen raised their heads in surprise, and Valentina,
trying not to laugh, said to Teresa:
"Child, what is he saying?"
"Why does a horse neigh?"
"Because--"
Although she spoke in a low tone Piscis heard her quite well, and
turning from Pablo, who had taken the question quite seriously, and
wished to hear about this peculiarity of Romeo's, he said to Valentina
in an angry tone:
"Will you be quiet, you chatterbox?"
These emphatic words were received with an explosion of laughter by the
workers.
"Don't fuss yourself, Piscis; let them be. Well, you took Romeo out? I
am glad of that."
"I harnessed him to the wagonette with Linda," returned the Centaur,
with an angry look at the listening Valentina.
"If you could have seen--shiver my shins!--how he behaved! I with the
whip, and he, thud, thud, against the dashboard. I returned to the
stable and put on the kicking strap. Then I went out again. But what did
the creature do this time? He got between the wheel and the traces, and
then he began neighing. Dash me! I very nearly broke a lamp."
"I must get to the bottom of this," returned Pablito, profoundly
interested, and leaving Nieves to go over to Piscis.
"I must think it over to-night," returned the Centaur, looking very
grave, "and we will see to-morrow what we can do."
The two friends then lowered their voices and plunged into an animated
private discussion.
Gonzalo was disturbed. He kept casting glances at the door, hoping every
minute to see Venturita return. Nevertheless, the time went on and the
girl did not appear. His abstraction so notably increased that Cecilia
had to ask him the same question three times.
"What is the matter? Your thoughts seem to be wandering."
"It is so," he said, slightly coloring; "I recollect that I ought to
write to London to-day on an important matter of business, and it is now
about six o'clock."
Whereupon he took leave of his betrothed, of Dona Paula, and the rest of
the party, and left the house.
Once in the passage he slackened his steps, and began looking round on
all sides without seeing what he wished. Then, with bent head, he slowly
and sadly descended the staircase and was about to raise the latch of
the door when he thought the string by which it was pulled from upstairs
shook. He stood a moment motionless. He again raised his hand to the
latch, and again noticed the vibration of the cord. Then he turned back,
looked up the staircase, and there above a pretty little face was
smiling at him.
"Is it you?" he asked in a falsetto voice, his countenance suffused with
joy.
"Yes, it is I," replied Venturita in the same tone.
"Do you want me to come up?"
"No," returned the girl, as much as to say, "Why do you ask, sir?"
Gonzalo mounted the staircase on the tips of his toes.
"We must not stay here; we shall be seen," said Venturita, taking his
hand and leading him along the passage to the dining-room.
There Gonzalo took a seat without leaving hold of her hand.
"I thought I was not going to see you again to-day. What a temper you
have, child!" he said, smiling.
Venturita's face clouded.
"If they did not irritate me every minute, I should not have one."
"But recollect, it was your mother who reprimanded you," he replied with
a smile.
"What?" she exclaimed passionately. "Why is my mother to annoy me every
hour and every minute? If she thinks I am going to stand it she is
greatly mistaken. She does not mind what that boor does; she will do
anything for him. There is nothing but spoiling for him! Look here,
Gonzalo, if you want us to be friends, don't interfere with me." And at
these words, uttered in an angry tone, her eyes flamed with rage, and
she gave a violent pull at her hand to release it. But this Gonzalo did
not allow, and kissing it passionately several times, he said, laughing:
"But, my girl, don't be angry with me, who have done nothing. If I
admire you, it is just because you are so hot-tempered. I don't like
women who are milk-and-watery."
"Because you are so yourself," she replied, now calm and smiling.
"Don't believe it. I am not so milk-and-watery as you think. When I am
angry, I am so indeed."
"Bah! Once a year!"
"Well, as I am so, I ought to like quiet, sweet-tempered women."
"You make a mistake; one always likes one's contrast. Fair people like
dark people, thin people fat, tall people short. Don't I suit you
because you are so tall and I so small?"
"Not only for that," he said, laughing and drawing her toward him.
"Why, then?" she asked, giving him a mocking glance.
"Don't you know? Shall I whisper it to you?"
"Why?" she insisted, keeping her eyes upon him.
"Because you are so very ugly."
"Thank you," she returned, with her face bright with gratified vanity.
"There is no one uglier than you in Sarrio; not in the whole world."
"You have seen uglier in the countries where you have been."
"I assure you, no."
"Holy Mother of Amparo! Then I must be a monster," she cried, accepting
the flattering hyperbole of the words.
"Somebody is coming!" said Gonzalo, suddenly turning grave.
Venturita went to the door.
"It is only the cook passing," she said, turning back into the room.
"I think we are in danger here. Suppose your mother or one of the girls
came in--or Cecilia" (he added in a low voice)--"what excuse could we
give?"
"Something or other; that's a slight matter. But if you are nervous, we
can go elsewhere."
"Let us go to the drawing-room."
"No, no; wait a moment. I will go first."
Then stopping at the door, and turning back, she said:
"If you give me your word to be good, I will take you to my room."
"On my word of honor," replied the young man with delight.
"No caresses?"
"None."
"Swear it."
"I swear."
"Very well; stop here a minute, and then come on tiptoe. Till we meet
again!"
"Till we meet again!" said Gonzalo, taking one of her hands and kissing
it.
"I see what it is," she said, pretending to be angry; "before you come
you begin to break your word."
"I did not think that your hands were included in the promise."
"Above all things," she said, with severity in her tone and a smile in
her eyes.
At the end of two minutes the youth followed her, found the door ajar,
and entered. Venturita's room was like its mistress, small, pretty, and
seductive.
There was a sandalwood bedstead hung with brocaded silk hangings and
covered with a blue silk coverlet; an ebony cabinet inlaid with ivory,
which formed a desk when opened; a comfortable blue velvet armchair; a
toilet table and looking-glass, also hung with silk; a mirrored wardrobe
of sandalwood, like the bedstead; and a few gilt chairs completed the
furniture; and the room was as redolent of sweet perfume as the sanctum
of an odalisque.
"Oh, this is better than Cecilia's room!" said Gonzalo.
"When did you see that?" asked Venturita.
"A few days ago she showed it to me; bare walls, with a few second-rate
pictures, a curtainless bed, a common wardrobe."
"Well, if she doesn't have it as I do, it is because she doesn't care
to. I certainly had to get around papa at first. But my sister is
so--well, she is as God made her. It is all alike to her. Everything
pleases a commonplace person, doesn't it?"
"In this room there is so much taste and so much coquetry, and that
there always is about you."
"Why do you accuse me of coquetry, you silly?" she asked, in her old
mocking tone.
"Because it is true, and quite right so. Coquetry, when not excessive,
adds attraction to beauty as spice adds flavor to food."
"And so I suit your taste! Well, look here; although coquetry may give
attraction, or flavor, or what you like, I am not coquettish. You at
least have no right to say so. I say--it seems to me--"
"It is true; you are right; you are quite right. I can not call you
coquettish, because the coquetry I was speaking of is quite different."
"Do me the favor to sit down, for I think you have grown enough--and let
us leave abstract questions."
Gonzalo dropped into the chair the girl offered him, still under the
spell of her brilliant, mischievous eyes. From the minute he entered the
room he experienced a delight, half physical, half spiritual, which
dominated his senses and his spirit. The perfume that he inhaled mounted
to his brain, and the magnetic glance of Venturita hypnotized him.
"You did wrong in bringing me to your room," he said, as he passed his
handkerchief over his forehead.
"Why?" she asked, opening and shutting her eyes several times, which
were like stars at the close of a hot day in summer.
"Because I don't feel well," he returned, with the same smile.
"You really feel ill?" replied the girl, opening her eyes wide with an
innocent expression.
"A little."
"Shall I call some one?"
"No; it is your eyes that hurt me."
"Oh, come!" she exclaimed, with a laugh, as if that were of no
consequence; "then I will shut them."
"Oh, no; don't shut them, or I shall be much worse."
"Then I will go," she said, rising from her chair.
"That would kill me, my girl! Do you know why I am ill? It is because
it kills me not to be able to kiss your eyes."
"Goodness!" exclaimed Venturita, with a burst of laughter. "How bad it
must be! I am sorry not to be able to cure you."
"Will you let me die?"
"Yes."
"Thank you. Let me kiss your hair, then."
"No."
"Your hands."
"No."
"Let me kiss something of yours. See, you are doing me a lot of harm."
"Kiss this glove," said the girl, laughing, and taking one from the
toilet table. Gonzalo seized it, and kissed it passionately several
times.
The reader, who may have denounced Gonzalo in his heart as a disloyal,
perfidious fellow, or at least weak, and maybe deserving the appellation
of "a disagreeable character," as the critics say when the people in
novels are not all as heroic and as clever as might be wished, must
imagine himself in that little nest, as full of perfume as the chalice
of a magnolia, with the youngest daughter of the Belinchons, dressed in
a blue-ribboned peignoir, revealing a good part of her neck, like roses
and milk, with her shining blue eyes on him, and a soft, melodious voice
that moved his very soul, and if the girl gave him a glove, saying
"kiss it," he must think whether he could refrain from doing so.
"You must calm yourself, Gonzalo," she said, with a smile that would
have bewitched St. Anthony.
"Yes, yes."
"Very well. Now we must talk seriously and review the situation."
Gonzalo became grave.
"After what you said to me three days ago I did think that before now
you would have said something to mama, or papa, or that you would have
written. But no; you not only let the time slip by, so that things get
worse every day, but I see that you are more affectionate and attentive
to Cecilia than ever."
Gonzalo made a negative gesture.
"Yes; I saw you a moment ago through the keyhole of the room. Nothing
escapes me. Now this is very bad if you don't love her; and if you do
love her, it is treating me badly."
"Are you not yet sure that you alone possess my heart?" said the young
man, raising his eyes toward her.
"No."
"Then yes, yes; a thousand times yes. But I can not treat Cecilia in a
cold, indifferent manner. That would be very ugly. I prefer to tell her
plainly and end the matter once for all."
"Then tell her."
"I do not dare."
"Then don't tell her, and you and I will have done with each other.
Better so," returned the girl with impatience.
"For God's sake, don't speak like that, Ventura! I shall think you don't
love me. You must understand that my position is awkward, strange, and
terrible. To be on the eve of marrying an excellent girl; then without
any quarrel whatever, without any warning of any kind, to suddenly say
to her: 'It is all over. I can not marry you because I do not love you,
and I never have loved you,' is the most brutal and hateful thing that
has ever been known. Besides, I don't know how your parents will take my
behavior. It is most probable that, justly indignant on her behalf, they
will load me with reproaches and forbid me the house."
"Very well; marry her--and go in peace!" said Venturita, turning
somewhat pale.
"That I'll never do. I marry you, or nobody."
"Then what are we to do?"
"I don't know," returned the youth, hanging his head in distress.
Both remained silent for some seconds. Then Venturita, placing her hand
on his head, said:
"Think it over, man; think it over."
"I do, but with no result."
"You can't manage it. Come, then; go along, and leave it to me. I will
speak to mama; but you must write a letter to Cecilia."
"Oh, my God! Ventura!" he exclaimed, full of anguish.
"Then what do you want--say?" asked the girl, now in a rage. "Do you
think I am going to be made a plaything of?"
"If we could only manage without this letter," returned Gonzalo humbly.
"You can't imagine the effort it will be for me. Would it not do if I
left off coming to the house for some days?"
"Yes, yes; be off and don't come back!" she replied, taking a step to
the door.
But the youth caught her by the tresses of her hair.
"Come, don't be cross, beautiful one; you well know that you have
completely conquered and fascinated me, and that I will obey your every
command, even to casting myself into the sea. I only told you my
opinion--if you don't like it, I have nothing more to say. I only want
to avoid hurting Cecilia."
"It is like your conceit!" exclaimed the girl, without turning round.
"Do you think Cecilia is going to die of grief?"
"If she is not hurt, so much the better, and I shall be saved remorse."
"Cecilia is cold; she can not love or hate much. She is very good, and
does not know what selfishness is; but you will always find her the
same, neither happy nor sad. She is incapable of either giving or taking
offense; at least, if she does take it, nobody knows it. What are you
doing?" she added, turning round quickly.
"I am untying the ribbons of your tresses. I want to see your hair loose
again. No sight gives me more pleasure."
"If that is your fancy, I will undo them. Stop," said the girl, who had
reason to be proud of her hair.
"Oh, how beautiful! It is a marvel of nature!" exclaimed Gonzalo,
putting his fingers in it. "Let me bury my face in it; let me bathe in
this river of gold."
And so saying, he hid his face in the fair locks of the girl.
But it happened that a few minutes earlier, as the clock struck seven,
the seamstress and the embroideresses had left off their work and
prepared to leave. Before doing so Valentina was commissioned by Dona
Paula to go to Venturita's room to fetch thence some patterns on the
wardrobe. So she pushed open the door at the critical moment in which
Gonzalo was bathing his face in that original manner. On hearing the
sound he rose suddenly and stood, paler than wax. Valentina blushed up
to her eyes, and said stammeringly:
"Your mother wants the patterns, those of the other day; they ought to
be on the wardrobe."
"They are not on the wardrobe, but inside it," returned Venturita,
without any confusion whatsoever.
And turning to the wardrobe, the girl opened a drawer and drew out a
paper parcel, which she gave her.
"Stop a moment, Valentina," said Venturita before she left the room; "be
so kind as to tie my hair, for I can not do it with this bad finger."
Then she showed that her finger was bleeding, for she had managed to
scratch it when getting the patterns out. Valentina, still quite taken
aback, proceeded to tie the ribbon.
"Yes, my hair hurt me, and on untying the ribbon I scratched it with the
pin which fastened the bow. Poor Gonzalo could not manage to do it very
well, eh?" she added, with a laugh.
"Oh, no!" said the youth with a forced smile, amazed at her calmness.
The excuse, well conceived as it was, did not deceive Valentina, who was
quite certain of what she had seen.
"Do you think she was taken in by that story of the scratch?" anxiously
asked Gonzalo when the girl had left the room.
"Perhaps not, but I don't mind her; she is the most stupid of the lot."
Valentina took the patterns to her mistress, and then started to go
home until the following day.
On crossing the hall she distinctly heard the sound of a kiss, and on
looking in its direction, toward the dark room, she caught sight of the
black and white checks of Nieves's dress.
"So this is the way the wind blows, is it?" she murmured, with that
particular little frown that characterized her. Then she descended the
staircase and passed into the street, where Cosme was waiting to escort
her home.