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!"