FERNANDA AND THE WINE
Fernanda was not present at any of these scenes. Early in the day she
had resorted to the wood, but soon tiring of playing the part of modest
nymph with her friends, she wandered off to more solitary places. Her
head, generally so erect, was bowed under the weight of depression or
preoccupation; her flexible, supple figure moved from side to side like
the body of a bedouin; those dark African eyes, the most precious
ornament of the noble city of Lancia, were fixed upon the ground, and
the very deep line on her forehead testified to the fixed, gloomy drift
of her thoughts.
How much she had gone through these two months! The impression that her
love for the count had made in her heart, checked at first by pride and
the hope of having it returned, had full sway directly she discovered
the secret of his disaffection, and her whole being became possessed
with the passions of love and jealousy. These feelings were all the more
acute, inasmuch as she clearly saw that she had long been deceived by
Luis, who had feigned affection for her whilst his heart was given to
another.
The miserable treachery of Amalia enraged her and inspired her with
horror and exasperation. But that of the count, it must be confessed,
added poignancy to her grief and depth to her passion.
Nevertheless she knew how to maintain the same friendly relations; but
in spite of herself, and without her even being conscious of it, a
slight shade of bitterness and scorn betrayed itself at times either in
her manner, eyes, or tone, which did not escape the attention of the
sharp Valencian.
With her _ex-fiance_ she retained a circumspect demeanour; she dropped
the aggressive tone she had taken with him, and adopted a more suave and
formal manner, but to her vexation, the emotion she experienced when
speaking to him was not unfrequently revealed by a slight alteration in
her voice, and by her turning alternately red and white. Her inner life
during those six months was devoured by a feverish, anxious, uncertain
activity, veiled with difficulty under a tranquil, proud demeanour. At
times she could not bear the tension of the dumb rage which possessed
her, and it vented itself in a torrent of burning, insulting words,
which were uttered in a low voice, when she surprised any sign of
intelligence between the traitors. Her ardent, proud nature, flattered
by a father who indulged her to a fault, and by a score of adorers
prostrate at her feet, rebelled like a wild colt against this obstacle,
the first she had ever encountered in her life.
In these moments of frenzy she fostered ideas of revenge. She wrote
several anonymous letters to Don Pedro, but none arrived at their
destination, for she tore them up before posting them, because the
pride, that was one of her characteristics, revolted against such a low
proceeding; and they were destroyed with bitter tears of anger. After
tearing up the last that she wrote she had reason to be glad of her
course of action, for she casually learnt that very evening, that no
letter reached Quinones without first passing through the hands of his
wife.
Sometimes, unable to bear it any longer, she would throw herself into an
armchair where she remained for a long time with her eyes fixed, in deep
and miserable meditation. At these moments she was a prey to sudden fits
of tenderness, she confessed without shame, nay even with voluptuous
enjoyment, the love that she felt; she pardoned Luis with all her heart,
and vowed to love him all her life long in silence and never to belong
to another man. As days went by this feeling increased and took the form
of a morbid, irrational desire. The excitement of her feelings, which
took possession of her whole being, combined with the bitterness of
wounded self-love, fostered this same desire. There was little wanting
when she saw Luis at her side to make her open her heart to him and
confess the passion that consumed her.
Hardly conscious of what she was doing, Fernanda sought for her
_ex-fiance_ all over the place. Everything interested her; the wood, the
house, the servants, even the animals grazing in the meadows were
accorded a sympathetic glance. How pleasant even that tumble-down house
corroded with damp and mice seemed to her! After wandering for some time
through the most solitary parts of the wood, she absently made her way
to the meadows; there she went along until she came to a certain spot
where there were some workmen making a ditch to drain the land. She knew
without inquiring that the count after inspecting the work for some time
had gone off. She waited for a little while to divert attention, and
then she went on with a slow step dragging her parasol along the ground
like one who is uncertain where to go next. In fact she did not know,
but that was not for want of an object, but because she knew not where
the count was. A cruel idea floated in her brain without taking
form--she fancied that Luis at that moment might be alone with Amalia.
By degrees, as she walked through the fields, the idea gained force, and
the stronger it grew, the more her heart was filled with spite and
anger. Why? was she not perfectly aware of their criminal relations?
Yes, and the more angry the idea made her, the more determined she was
not to stand it, for she thought she had a right to prevent their being
together. Without having a clear notion of what she was about, she
quickened her step. Her nerves became more and more agitated; by the
time she arrived at the courtyard she was perfectly certain that the
adulterers were together, and alone. She entered the house, and like one
who visits it from curiosity she explored it all, even to the most
remote little rooms. But she did not find them, and the fact of not
finding Amalia anywhere confirmed her suspicions. Tired with hunting
about, and excited with nervous anxiety, she went again into the open
air. She avoided people who might detain her and repaired to the garden,
and directly she put her foot there she was imbued with fresh hope of
finding them. That verdant spot where the little trees left to their own
sweet will, were so interlaced as to form an impenetrable mass was a
perfect place for love passages. She went cautiously and noiselessly
along the paths which had almost disappeared under their carpets of
grass, intersected in many places by brambles and branches of trees.
Sometimes a little clump of irises obstructed her path and she was
obliged to jump over it, or else a rhododendron, stretching its boughs
to embrace a camellia in front, had formed a bower so low that she was
obliged to bend a good deal to get along. She thought she heard the
sound of voices a little distance off. She stood motionless and waited
for some minutes, and then she turned to listen, and directed her steps
to the spot whence it came.
It was them! Yes, it was them.
Before hearing the voice distinctly she knew it was them. They were
going down a path much narrower and more secluded than the others,
bounded on one side by the wall, and on the other by a high, quickset
hedge.
Amalia had hold of the count's arm with an air that was half imperious,
half careless, with her eyes on the ground, whilst he, smiling and
subservient, bent towards her as he whispered words into her ear.
Fernanda watched them through the foliage from a distance. Emotion glued
her to the ground for some instants. The awakening of her pride as a
woman seemed to outweigh her sense of misery and anger.
After an anxious scrutiny of Amalia's appearance, she could not forbear
murmuring:
"What can this man have fallen in love with? Yes, she is a skinny cat!"
Her next thought was:
"What are they saying?"
Seized with a strong desire to hear their words, and without thinking of
the danger that she ran, she went nearer and nearer to the hedge,
bending her body so as not to be seen. Having found the shadiest, safest
spot, she listened, although she could only hear them as they passed by,
as soon as they were a little way off not a word was audible, so the
snatches of conversation were rather incoherent.
"Her legs are very rough. You should see how fat she is getting. Neither
starch nor rose powder soothes the irritation of the skin," said the
lady.
"They are talking of the baby," thought Fernanda.
"I have never seen her in her bath. How much I would give to be present
one day!"
"It is because you do not want to."
"No, no, but I do not want to expose you to the danger that would accrue
from my doing so."
No more could be heard, but she felt she must wait for them to get to
the end of the path and then turn.
"So I hear you were at those childish, silly old ladies," she heard
Amalia say as they repassed her hiding-place.
"I assure you I was at the Casino. All the members of the club met to
discuss the question of the re-decoration of the _salon_. It was to be
over at ten, and we did not get away until twelve. You know the
argumentative, aggressive character of Don Juan, don't you? I have not
been to the de Meres for an age. Since some people set to----"
The words were here lost again to Fernanda.
That Don Juan must be her father? She would soon find out.
When they reappeared the count was tenderly caressing the hand of his
beloved, and smiling and chatting with an expression of rapturous
happiness.
"I have often thought of giving up seeing you. At night when I am alone
in bed, I am a prey to terrible remorse, and I say to myself, 'There
must be an end of this,' and I determine to leave Lancia, and I map out
a new plan of life: I imagine myself travelling over all Europe; I
forget you; I return at the end of some years, and instead of the old
love a tender friendship fills my heart in which we can indulge without
fear of Heaven's chastisement. But as the morning dawns, these
resolutions vanish; I succumb to temptation; I see you at your house,
and the more I see you, the more I hear your adored voice----"
Fernanda clutched at the trunk of a magnolia for support.
As they turned, it was Amalia who was speaking:
"This is not true. I have told you that I am always haunted by a black
shadow. However much I pretend to imagine that I am the first----"
"The first and the last! I shall never love another woman but you."
"You don't know how jealous I am of the past. Every day more so. Tell
the truth. Did you love her or not?"
"No."
"Then how could you----?"
Fernanda could hear no more, but she had heard enough to make the tears
rush to her eyes. She was about to withdraw, when she saw the traitors
come to a standstill at the end of the path.
Amalia threw her arms around her lover's neck, pressed her lips upon his
mouth, and gave him a kiss that was prolonged, prolonged for an
eternity. Fernanda closed her eyes; when she opened them they were going
away hand in hand.
She lets them leave the garden, and then follows them immediately. Where
are they going? Once in the courtyard, she notices that they stop and
turn in the direction of the house. She enters on their track, but they
have disappeared, and she does not know to which room they have
repaired. She imprudently explores them all, overwhelmed with emotion
she cannot control, whilst given over to a strong burning desire to find
them out.
"Where are you going, Fernanda?" asks a young man.
"I am going to find the bride."
"Then you are going wrong, for she is at the other end of the house in
one of the rooms looking north."
She turned back to avoid suspicion, and then explored the building
again. At last she arrived at a certain little room which was locked,
and which was no other than the celebrated Countess's Chamber. She was
about to turn the handle of the door as she had done to the others when
a slight sound rooted her to the spot. She put her ear to the door. "It
is them!"
She left the place and ran like mad to the wood, where, arrived at a
solitary spot, she sits at the foot of a tree and leans her head against
the trunk. With her eyes fixed on space, her face changed and sad, and
her hands crossed upon her knee, her whole attitude was expressive of
dumb, despairing agony.
The hour for dinner arrived. Two parallel tables had been arranged in
the large _salon_ on the ground floor.
The dispersed party reassembled at the magic word of dinner shouted to
the four winds by the rough voice of Manin and the silvery one of Manuel
Antonio.
When poetic sentiments have their course in the open air in the middle
of woods they greatly facilitate the secretion of the gastric juices. So
the nymphs as well as the fauns did full justice to the olives, the
cucumbers, and the slices of sausage before sitting down to the tables.
By the unanimous voice of the military and clergy, worthily represented
by Fray Diego, the task of giving each guest his seat was to be
undertaken by the bride.
The merry, wayward Emilita, transformed suddenly into a very grave
matron, filled the office with a tact and amiability that won her the
approbation of the assembly; every girl was given the youth she liked
best as a partner, and to every older person, was accorded the companion
who was most congenial in character and tastes.
But mad was the applause when she put Lieutenant Rubio between the two
Senoritas de Mere. She left this facetious act to the last, which
cleverness saved the officer from thinking it was intentional.
Finding himself the victim of such a trick the military man was put out,
and was even on the point of protesting against this arrangement of
Emilita, but he controlled himself against this outrage of all the laws
of gallantry; and as he was taking his place it occurred to him to
parody the words of Napoleon as he looked at his two neighbours: "From
the height of these two seats forty centuries contemplate me."
This remark won the applause of the company, and put the injured
creature into a good humour, and he got on so well with his little old
friends that he was that evening voted a capital sort of fellow.
Moro was seated by the side of the count, and during the dinner he
impressed on him the advantage of having a billiard-table in the palace
of the Grange. He knew every make, but the best was indisputably that of
Tutau of Barcelona, and he praised up the article as if he were a
traveller for the house. Luis' face showed his disappointment and
vexation at not being by Amalia, but Emilita neither dared to put him
there, nor by Fernanda. The first would have been a scandal, the second
a vexation to both.
They feasted like at a banquet in the "Iliad." But the Achilles of this
extensive repast was Manin, the rough Manin who, according to those
that were next to him, consumed no less than eleven calabashes of wine.
Certainly Manin deserved being called, if not a Sueve, as that would
offend Saleta, at least a Lombard. He talked and halloed as if he were
in the street.
The three Fates of the Pensioner, who from the time Fray Diego gave his
blessing to their sister, had gained so much childish grace, threw
pellets of bread at the officers, who cast glances at the bride, and
winked at their friend Nunez, as they murmured remarks which sent them
off into fits of laughter.
Paco Gomez was having a battle royal with Maria Josefa. It was difficult
to say which of the two had the worst of it, and which launched the
sharpest, most envenomed darts. Saleta being some way off from his
friend and censor, Don Enrique Valero, was enjoying himself to his
heart's content, relating to Don Juan Estrada-Rosa and two other
gentlemen how he made the conquest of a certain English lady, wife of a
consul he had known at Hong-Kong, on his way out to the Philippines. The
ship only stopped there twenty-four hours. In this short time he won her
heart and made her go off with him. But he had to separate from her at
once, for the event was made the subject of a diplomatic reclamation on
the part of Great Britain.
Manuel Antonio being suddenly seized with a great interest in a scarlet
subaltern by his side overwhelmed him with delicate attentions.
"Federico--a little olive--don't take so much mustard, it will spoil it.
Keep yourself for the partridges. I know they are most excellent. Do you
like Bordeaux? Stop a moment, I will get you some."
And rising from the table in his eagerness to serve, he fetched a couple
of bottles and placed them before the youth.
"So Lancia seems to agree with you. When you came six months ago you
looked thin and pale. I said, 'What a sad sight, and a young man so
bright and pleasant.' Because I thought you were suffering from the
chest. I know you had a hard time of it in Barcelona. Eh? and see now,
whoever would have thought it? I recollect that when you arrived you
wore a gabardine of the colour of flies' wings, very well made, and a
scarf of a very pretty sky blue. I recollect that the civil costume
suited you very well, but I like you better in uniform. It may be fancy,
but I can't help it. I say that with the uniform and with the moustache
you are, to my mind, just perfect."
Sundry significant coughs from the officers facing them paralysed him
suddenly. But it did not affect him long, for he was incapable of being
put to shame by anybody.
The one who was the most put out and cross was the ensign himself.
As the banquet drew to its close some of the gentlemen, favoured by the
Muses, rose to propose toasts in verse or something approaching it. And
those who had not a poetic vein congratulated the bridal pair in prose,
but the result in either case was the same--to wish the bride and
bridegroom an eternal honeymoon; and the periodical which announced the
marriage the following day, also expressed the same wish. The toast of
the father of the bride was the most original and interesting of all.
Was it not strange to hear the bitter enemy of the armed force sing its
praises, and declare himself a sworn partisan of the increase of the
contingent, and the pay of the officers? He was so moved at his own
words that the tears coursed down his cheeks. Of course some said he
wept the wine he had drunk, but we are far from believing this
malevolent insinuation, first, because it is absurd to talk of weeping
wine, and secondly, because his tone was so sincere and his manner so
pathetic that nobody could doubt that his words came from the bottom of
his heart.
"It is a comfort," he said--"yes, it is a comfort that God has let me
see my daughter marry an honourable soldier--for to speak of a soldier
in Spain is to speak of honour. To keep up the army, to honour the army,
is to keep up and honour the honour of the nation. To keep up the army
is to keep up the power and prosperity of the country. To keep up the
army is to keep up our prestige with the greatest nations of Europe. To
keep up the army is to live respected by the world. To keep up the army
is to keep up ourselves. To keep up the army----"
"Let the army be kept up, but let Don Cristobal sit down," called out
somebody.
The Pensioner held his position, cast a look of sad reproach to the
place whence the voice had come, raised his pocket handkerchief to his
eyes to dry his tears, calmly drank the wine that remained in his glass,
and gravely took his seat amid the applause and laughter of the company.
Fernanda did not open her lips during the dinner. All the efforts of
Garnet, who, through the kindness of Emilita had been placed near to his
much-desired lady love, were without effect. Neither by talking of
saffron and describing how tobacco is gathered, making exact
calculations on each load of sugar, and what would be the profit if duty
were lowered, nor going over the hundred and one interesting details of
the importation of salted meats from the Argentine Republic and the
codfish from Newfoundland, could Romeo extract more than dry
monosyllables from his Juliet. All she did was to hand him her glass
from time to time, and say in an imperious tone: "Some more wine."
The Indian quickly complied with the request, and the young lady emptied
the glass at one gulp, put it on the table, then cast her contemptuous
eyes over the guests, and fixed them persistently upon Amalia. By
degrees those eyes became heavier, the eyelids drooped, they became
inflamed and turned from one side to the other with more difficulty.
Don Santos, who was astonished at this manner of drinking, ventured to
say:
"Fernanda, you drink like a fish. Stupid! I am afraid I have offended
you."
"Give me wine," returned Fernanda, giving him such a strange look that
it quite upset him.
All the toasts having been now given, drunk, and responded to, the
cheerful company again dispersed. The Pensioner and the officers averse
to love-making were the only ones who remained at table. They entered
into discussions on the best way of increasing, without much affecting
the Treasury, captains' pay by eight dollars, lieutenants' by five, and
ensigns' by three a month. Without this reform, the interested parties
explicitly stated that there would very soon be a complete dissolution
of the army, and it would cease to be the pivot of the honour of the
country, and we should never rise to the dignity of other nations, nor
have prosperity, power and honour in our lives.
Jaime Moro went in search of Fray Diego and Don Juan Estrada-Rosa and
dragged them to the _tresillo_ table. Don Juan had lost and so was
reluctant, but the plausible fellow managed to convince him that the
reason he had not won in the morning was because he, Moro, never lost at
that time, but his luck always turned in the afternoon, so he had a good
chance of winning now.
Seated at the end of the table was Manin, who, without interfering with
the officers' conversation, employed himself in lazily cutting slices of
bread with his clasp-knife, and putting large pieces in his mouth, which
he washed down with long draughts of Burgundy left in the bottles. He
did not approve of the dinner that Maranon, the master of the cafe of
Altavilla, had supplied them. After stuffing like a savage, he said that
all the dishes were just as if they came from the perfumers, and that
where there was plenty of beans with black pudding, sausage and marrow
bones, no macaroni was wanted. It must be observed that to Manin every
dish he did not know was macaroni, which was a source of much amusement
to the Grandee.
Whilst concluding the meal so indecorously, he kept up a stream of
complaints against it, and Don Cristobal, at whom he cast sundry angry
glances, seemed to be held in some degree responsible for it.
Suddenly the door was opened with a great clamour, and four girls rushed
into the room in such a state of excitement that the little party was
quite taken aback. Without paying any attention to the others, they all
turned to Quinones' majordomo:
"Manin, a bear! Manin, a bear!"
"Where?" he asked, without moving.
"In the wood."
"Who put it there?"
The four stood astounded at this strange question. At last one of them
ventured timidly to remark:
"He came by himself."
"Bah! bah! bah!" returned the majordomo rudely.
And he returned to his lumps of bread with more ardour than ever, which
perhaps justified malicious people of the town saying that they did not
want to hear of the bears he had killed, for he was nothing but a rustic
clown.
"But, child, say how you saw it," said the sympathetic Consuelo, who now
put in her word, whereupon one who was paler than the others advanced
and said with some difficulty:
"How fearful! _Madre mia_, how fearful! I thought I should have
died--because you see the bear--the bear was horrible."
She was in such a state of panic, that she could only utter these
incoherent words.
Then the resolute Consuelo came forward, and said in a firm voice:
"You see, Manin, this child was with us in the thickest part of the wood
a long way off. She heard a bird sing, a mavis I believe--was it not a
mavis? Very well, then she heard a thrush, and she turned in the
direction whence the sound came. She went some distance, but could not
come across it. When she turned back, the bear came out of the bushes,
it attacked her, pulled her to the ground, and without doing her any
harm, we do not know why, it went off and disappeared."
The famous bear-hunter then quietly rose from his seat, and said in the
quiet, firm tone pertaining to heroes:
"Let us go and see what it is."
He asked for a gun, and followed from afar by the pallid damsels, he
beat the wood. The only thing forthcoming was a German pig, one of a
pair that the count had to improve the breed. The female had died, and
the male wandered about sad and alone in the depths of the wood whilst
his companion was metamorphosed into black puddings and chops. There
were strong suspicions that the author of the attack was this widowed
hog, but the young lady of the adventure swore and maintained that it
had been a bear that had attacked her, and that they were not to tell
her it was that animal, because she had often seen a bear in the
zoological museum of the university.
Fernanda had gone off some time before with Garnet. They repaired to the
garden. There the young lady took his arm and went several times up and
down the same path, where she had seen the count and Amalia.
"You are very much in love with me. Is it not so?" she asked, suddenly.
The Indian surprised, murmured: "Oh! yes; they say that I am an ass, and
it is true."
"And what do you feel. Come let us see. What do you feel? Explain
yourself."
"I, what?" he exclaimed in surprise.
"Yes, what do you feel when you see me? What do you feel when another
man comes near me? Take the count for instance. What do you feel at this
instant with my arm in yours? Describe me your sensations; what passes
in your mind."
"I, senorita.... I don't know how to describe it.....Your word is my
law as much as if I were one of your family ... and it is the same with
Don Juan your father, although he may be a bit cantankerous.... What
does it signify to me if he be cantankerous or not? If I married you, I
have a house thank God.... Yes, and it is not because I say it, but my
house is worth more than his, as you know. But we would travel first, in
France, Italy, England, whereever you like.... And if it cost us five
thousand dollars, what would that matter?"
Garnet held forth for some time in this strain, and Fernanda turned a
deaf ear to him. At last the boasting tone bored her, and she said, with
a touch of anger:
"Will you be quiet, sir?"
Poor Don Santos was quite crushed, and they went on in silence for some
time.
"How ugly all this is!"
"What?"
"Everything! The house, the wood, the meadows, the garden. See how
hideous this magnolia is!"
"The house is very ugly, and very old; I have often said so. Still, they
might give it a coat of whitewash and paint the balconies. The wood is
worth nothing, it is no use, and it takes up space that would be
valuable for garden produce, or wall fruit or such like."
Fernanda burst out laughing.
"Don't you suffer sometimes from sadness, Don Santos?"
"Sadness? never. I am always cheerful. Only once when I was robbed of
eight thousand dollars by a knave I had an angry fit which lasted for
two days."
"How ugly the sun is, now seen through the branches of the trees!"
"Would you like to return to the house?"
"No, take me to the river. I have a burning face, and I should like to
refresh it with a little water."
They went down by the meadows to the river, and there the heiress of
Estrada-Rosa, in spite of Don Santos' advice, bathed her face for some
time. After she had dried it, they slowly ascended the path to the
house.
"How am I now? All right, eh? You can't think how everything bores me
here! I can't do any more; all this wearies me. I was not born to walk
about the meadows like the cows. I like cities, salons, luxury. I should
like to travel as you say and see Paris, London, Vienna. How stupid
Lancia is! Is it not so? These eternal walks on the Bombe! That San
Francisco Park! That tower of the Cathedral so black and so sad! Then
always the same faces. The only amusing person in Lancia is yourself.
Whenever I see you I cannot help smiling. Why do they call you Garnet? I
think your colour is more like a turquoise. You had slaves there in
America. Oh! how I should like to have slaves! It is so tiresome to ask
for things as a favour! But, no, in America they have yellow fever. I
should prefer to go to China."
The more she went on talking, the more excited she became, contradicting
her own words, as her thoughts became more and more incoherent. Don
Santos tried to make a remark, but she stopped him by putting her hand
on his mouth.
"Let me talk, sir! I want to tell you all."
The Indian began to be anxious as the excitement of the girl went on
increasing. She chattered away in a familiar, rude sort of way.
"Give me a cigar."
"Fernanda! A cigar! You will be ill."
"Silence! what are you saying fool? I sick! You are trying to annoy me!
Give me a cigar or I will leave you here."
The Indian took out his case, and the pretty heiress took one, bit off
the top with her sharp teeth, and asked for a match. Garnet gave her a
lighted one, at the same time shaking his head in disapproval. When she
had taken two or three whiffs, she made a gesture of disgust and
exclaimed:
"What infamous cigars! Look, smoke it yourself."
And she put it in his mouth. There was no gesture of disgust with Garnet
as he smoked it.
"I should think I will smoke it!" he said with a smile of beatitude.
"They cost me two hundred dollars the thousand, but now you have tried
one, they are worth a million."
"Come on and don't make impertinent speeches. Take me to the house. This
glare sickens me."
They reached the courtyard arm in arm. There a young fellow called out
to them:
"Where are you off to? The people are in the wood."
"Tell the people that I scorn them all," returned Fernanda, with an
angry gesture that provoked a smile from the youth.
"You don't know the house?" she added, lowering her voice and turning to
Don Santos. "Then I will be your guide, you shall see it."
They mounted the mouldy, shabby staircase, and Fernanda, chattering
continuously, did the honours of all the rooms to the Indian.
"Here is the celebrated Countess's Chamber!" she exclaimed with a
peculiar intonation when they reached it. "I am tired."
They went in and the girl shut the door.
"It is pretty, eh? It is the most beautiful and the brightest room in
the house. If this furniture could only tell amusing secrets, it never
would have done. Look, tell me something to make me laugh or you will
see me cry like a very schoolgirl. See now, I am crying. Sit down here
you silly. What a pretty waistcoat you have on! How well it shows the
line of the figure! Look at this couch. It is large, eh? It is wide, it
is beautiful, it is artistic. Look, then, I should like to burn it. To
avoid sitting on it I am going to sit on your knees."
And she suited the action to the words. Garnet lost his head when he
found himself with such a sweet burden, and with incredible audacity he
put an arm round her waist.
The girl jumped up as if she had been pinched.
"What are you doing, you brute? Do you think that we are in the
plantation and that I am some black wild creature?"
After looking at him for some time with angry eyes, her face cleared and
her lips expanded in a sweet smile.
"Do you love me very much?"
"Of course not," said the Indian, in a teasing tone.
"Then you shall have one minute's happiness. See, I will let you give me
a kiss, mind only one, and you must swear that nobody shall know about
it."
The Indian made a solemn promise.
"Good! now give me the kiss here on the temple. The first and the last
you will ever give me in your life. Wait a bit," she added once more
jumping up. "For this kiss I am to give you fifty buffets on your purple
cheeks. Do you agree to the compact?"
Garnet immediately consented. The young girl then reseated herself on
his knees, and bent her head to receive the kiss.
"Good! now it is my turn!" she exclaimed with childish merriment.
"Prepare to receive your buffets. What cheeks! _Dios mio_, how
magnificent! Do you see how blue they are? Well, I am going to turn them
green. Attention! One! the first. Two! the second. Three! the third.
Four! Five!"
The strong, small hand of the beautiful vixen struck into the red cheeks
of the Indian with no slight effect. His eyes began to get as red and
angry as those of a wolf, his blood suddenly became inflamed, and with a
sudden movement, he seized her roughly by the waist.
Fernanda uttered a terrified cry.
"What is the matter? Why are you angry?"
"Leave me, leave me, you brute!"
She struggled in desperation but she could not release herself.
Once more free, she was perfectly sober. She cast a vague, strange look
at the Indian, and this look, suddenly assuming an expression of horror,
was fixed upon him as upon some wild animal that had just attacked her.
"What are you doing here? Ah, yes!" she exclaimed raising her hand to
her forehead. "My God! What has come to me? Am I dreaming?"
Then once more fixing her angry, menacing eyes upon him, she cried in a
rage:
"What are you doing standing there? Leave the room immediately! Leave
the room! leave the room!" she repeated with a voice which grew louder
each time.
But when the Indian got as far as the door, she rushed before him, flew
along the passages, and when she reached the staircase she fell down in
a swoon.
She was lifted up and every care was bestowed upon her. When she
recovered consciousness a torrent of tears streamed from her eyes, and
continued all the afternoon. And when the party started for home she was
still weeping.
"Did you see that this girl of Estrada-Rosa cried from the effects of
wine?" said Captain Nunez, laughing.