XIX.

Nieves drew a long breath. She felt dazed. She shook her wrists,

hurt by the pressure of Segundo's fingers, and arranged her hair, wet

with the night dew, and disordered by the contact of the branches.

What had she said after all? Anything, no matter what, to escape from

so compromising a situation. She was to blame for having withdrawn

from the others and hidden herself in so retired a spot. And with

that desire to give publicity to unimportant actions which seizes

people when they have something to conceal she called out:

"Teresa! Elvira! Carmen! Carmen!"

"Nieves! where are you, Nieves?" came in answer from various

quarters.

"Here, beside the big lemon tree. Wait for me, I am coming!"

When they entered the house, Nieves, who had to some extent

recovered her composure, began to reflect on what had passed and

could not but wonder at herself. To say _yes_ to Segundo. She had

uttered the word partly under compulsion, but she had uttered it. How

daring the poet had been. It seemed impossible that the son of the

lawyer of Vilamorta should be so determined. She was a lady of

distinction, highly respected, her husband had just been Minister.

And García's family, what were they--nobodies; the father wore

collars frayed at the edges that were a sight to see; they kept no

servant; the sisters ran about barefooted half the time. Even Segundo

himself--he had an unmistakable provincial air and a strong Galician

accent. He could not indeed be called ugly; there was something

remarkable in his face and in his manner. He spoke with so much

passion! As if he commanded instead of entreating! What a masterful

air he had! And there was something flattering to one's vanity in

having a suitor of this kind, so ardent and so daring. Who had ever

fallen in love with Nieves before? There were three or four who had

made gallant speeches to her--one who had watched her through his

opera-glass. Everyone in Madrid treated her with that indifference

and consideration which respectable ladies inspire.

For the rest, this persistency of Segundo's was to a certain

extent compromising. Would people notice it? Would her husband notice

it? Bah! Her husband thought only of his ailments, of the elections.

He scarcely ever spoke to her of anything else. But what if he

should notice it? How horrible, good Heavens! And the girls who had

been playing hide and seek, might they not suspect something? Elvira

seemed more languishing and sighed more frequently than usual. Elvira

admired Segundo. He--no, he did not pay the slightest attention to

her. And Segundo's verses sounded well, they were beautiful; they

were worthy of a place in _La Ilustracion_. In short, as they would

be obliged to return to Madrid before the elections, there was hardly

any real danger. She would always preserve a pleasant recollection of

the summer. The thing was to avoid--to avoid----

Nieves did not venture to tell herself what it was necessary to

avoid, nor had she settled this point when she entered the parlor,

where the game of tresillo was already going on. Señora de Comba

seated herself at the piano and played several quick airs--polkas and

rigadoons, for the girls to dance. When she stopped they cried out

for another air.

"Nieves, the _muñeira_!"

"The _riveirana_, please!"

"Do you know the whole of it, Nieves?"

"The whole of it--why, did I not hear it in the feasts?"

"Let us have it then, come."

"Who will dance it?"

"Who knows how to dance it?"

Several voices answered immediately:

"Teresa Molende; ah! it is a pleasure to see her dance it."

"And who will be her partner?"

"Ramonciñe Limioso here, he dances it to perfection."

Teresa laughed in the deep, sonorous tones of a man, declaring

solemnly that she had forgotten the muñeira--that she never knew it

well. From the tresillo table came a protest--from the master of the

house, Mendez: Teresina danced it to perfection. Let her not try to

excuse herself; no excuse would avail her; there was not in all the

Border a girl who danced the riveirana with more grace; it was true

indeed that the taste and the skill for these old customs of the

country were fast disappearing.

Teresa yielded, not without once more affirming her incompetence.

And after fastening up her skirt with pins, so that it might not

impede her movements she stopped laughing and assumed a modest and

ingenuous air, veiling her large lustrous eyes under her thick

lashes, dropping her head on her breast, letting her arms fall by her

sides, swaying them slightly, rubbing the balls of the thumbs and the

forefingers together, and thus, moving with very short steps, her

feet close together, keeping time to the music, she made the tour of

the room, with perfect decorum, her eyes fixed on the floor, stopping

finally at the head of the room. While this was taking place,

Señorito de Limioso took off his short jacket, remaining in his

shirt-sleeves, put on his hat, and asked for an indispensable

article.

"Victorina, the castanets."

The child ran and brought two pairs of castanets. The Señorito

secured the cord between his fingers and after a haughty flourish,

began his rôle. Teresita's partner was as lean and shriveled as Don

Quixote himself, and, like the Manchego hidalgo, it was undeniable

that he had a distinguished and stately air, scrupulously as he

imitated the awkward movements of a rustic. He took his place before

Teresa and danced a quick measure, courteously but urgently wooing

her to listen to his suit. At times he touched the floor with the

sole of his foot, at others with his heel or toe only, almost

twisting his ankles out of joint with the rapidity of his movements,

while he played the castanets energetically, the castanets in

Teresa's hands responding with a faint and timid tinkle. Pushing his

hat back on his head the gallant looked boldly at his partner,

approached his face to hers; pursued her, urged his suit in a

thousand different ways, Teresa never altering her humble and

submissive attitude nor he his conquering air, his gymnastics, and

his resolute movements of attack.

It was primitive love, the wooing of the heroic ages, represented

in this expressive Cantabrian dance, warlike and rude; the woman

dominated by the strength of the man and, better than enamored,

afraid; all which was more piquant in view of the Amazon-like type of

Teresa and the habitual shyness and circumspection of the Señorito.

There was an instant, however, in which the gallant peeped through

the barbarous conqueror, and in the midst of a most complicated and

rapid measure he bent his knee before the beauty, describing the

figure known as _punto del sacramento_. It was only for a moment

however; springing to his feet he gave his partner a tender push and

they stood back to back, touching each other, caressing each other,

and amorously rubbing shoulder against shoulder and spine against

spine. In two minutes they suddenly drew apart and with a few

complicated movements of the ankles and a few rapid turns, during

which Teresa's skirts whirled around her, the riveirana came to an

end and a storm of applause burst from the spectators.

While the Señorito wiped the perspiration from his brow and

Teresa unpinned her skirt, Nieves, who had risen from the piano,

looked around and noticed Segundo's absence. Elvira made the same

observation but aloud. Agonde gave them the clew to the mystery.

"No doubt he is at this moment in the pine grove or on the

river-bank. There is scarcely a night in which he does not make

eccentric expeditions of the kind; in Vilamorta he does the same

thing."

"And how is the door to be closed if he does not come? That boy

is crazy," declared Primo Genday. "We are not all going to do without

our sleep, we who have to get up early to our work, for that

featherhead. Hey, do you understand me? I will shut up the house and

let him manage in the best way he can. Ave Maria!"

Mendez and Don Victoriano protested in the name of courtesy and

hospitality, and until midnight the door of Las Vides remained open,

awaiting Segundo's return. As he had not come by that time, however,

Genday went himself to bar the door muttering between his teeth:

"Ave Mar-- Let him sleep out of doors if he has a fancy for doing

so."

Segundo, in fact, was at this time on his way to the pine grove.

He was in a state of intense excitement, and he felt that it would be

impossible for him in his present mood to meet anyone or to take part

in any conversation. Nieves, so reserved, so beautiful, had said yes

to him. The dreams of an ideal love which had tormented his spirit

were not, then, destined never to be realized, nor would fame be

unattainable when love was already within his ardent and eager grasp.

With these thoughts passing through his mind he ascended the steep

path and walked enraptured through the pine grove. At times he would

lean against the dark trunk of some pine, his brow bared to the

breeze, drinking in the cool night air, and listening, as in a dream,

to the mysterious voices of the trees and the murmur of the river

that ran below. Ah, what moments of happiness, what supreme joys,

were promised him by this love, which flattered his pride, excited

his imagination and satisfied his egotism, the delicate egotism of a

poet, avid of love, of enjoyments which the imagination idealizes and

the muse may sing without degradation! All that he had pictured in

his verses was to be realized in his life; and his song would ring

forth more clearly and inspiration would flow more freely, and he

would write, in blood, verses that would cause his readers' hearts to

thrill with emotion.

In defiance of duty and reason Nieves loved him--she had told him

so. The poet smiled scornfully when he thought of Don Victoriano,

with the profound contempt of the idealist for the practical man

inept in spiritual things. Then he looked around him. The pine grove

had a gloomy air at this hour. And it was cold. Besides it must be

late. They would be wondering at his absence in Las Vides. Had Nieves

retired? With these thoughts passing through his mind he descended

the rugged path and reached the door ten minutes after the careful

hand of Genday had secured the bolt. The _contretemps_ did not alarm

Segundo; he would have to scale some wall; and the romance of the

incident almost pleased him. How should he effect an entrance?

Undoubtedly the easiest way would be by the garden, into which he

could lower himself from the brow of the hill--a question of a few

scratches, but he would be in his own room in ten minutes' time,

without encountering the dogs that were keeping watch in the yard, or

any member of the household, as that side of the house, the side

where the dining-room was situated, was uninhabited. And upon this

course he decided. He turned back and ascended the top of the hill,

not without some difficulty. From thence he could command a view of

the gallery and a good part of the garden. He studied the nature of

the declivity, so as to avoid falling on the wall and perhaps

breaking his leg. The hill was bare and without vegetation and the

figure of the Swan stood out boldly against the background of the

sky.

When Segundo fixed his eyes on the gallery for the purpose of

deciding on the safest place for a descent, he saw something that

troubled his senses with a sweet intoxication, something that gave

him one of those delightful surprises which make the blood rush to

the heart to send it coursing back joyful and ardent through the

veins. In the semi-obscurity of the gallery, standing among the

flower-pots, his keen gaze descried, without the possibility of a

doubt as to the reality of the vision, a white figure, the silhouette

of a woman, whose attitude seemed to indicate that she too had seen

him, had observed him, that she was waiting for him.

Fancy swiftly sketched out and filled in the details of the

scene--a colloquy, a divine colloquy of love with Nieves, among the

carnations and the vines, alone, without any other witnesses than the

moon, already setting, and the flowers, envious of so much happiness.

And with a swift movement he rolled down the steep declivity, landing

on the hard wall. The fruit trees hid the path from him, and two or

three times he lost his way; at last he found himself at the foot of

the staircase leading to the gallery, and he raised his eyes to

satisfy himself as to the reality of the lovely apparition. A woman

dressed in white was indeed waiting there, leaning over the wooden

balustrade of the balcony; but the distance did not now admit of any

optical illusion; it was Elvira Molende, in a percale wrapper, her

hair hanging loose about her shoulders, as if she were an actress

rehearsing the rôle of _Sonnambula_. How eagerly the poor girl was

leaning over the balustrade! The poet would swear that she even

called his name softly, with a tender lisp.

And he passed on. He made the tour of the garden, entered the

courtyard by the inner door, which was not closed at night, and

knocked loudly at the door of the kitchen. The servant opened it for

him, cursing to himself the young gentlemen who stayed up late at

night because they were not obliged to rise early in the morning to

open the cellar for the grape-tramplers.