From that day her attitude towards me changed materially. She showed
herself less diffident and distrustful; she did not seek so carefully to
avoid looking me in the face. When I entered she did not suddenly turn
serious as she used. Little by little her freedom of manner increased,
making her cordial, and affectionate too, within the bounds of her
reserved temperament. Her delicacy hindered her from recompensing me in
words for what I had uttered in her presence; but she used her ingenuity
to find a way to make me understand that she approved of me.
One afternoon there was talk of certain things that had been bought and
left forgotten in a shop. Marti wished to send a servant for them. She
said with apparent indifference:
"Captain Ribot, do you not go through the Calle de San Vicento? Then do
me the favor to get this parcel and bring it to me to-night."
I was overwhelmed with delight. At night when I delivered it to her she
received it with more indifference than ever.
"Thanks!" she said dryly, without looking at me.
It did not matter. I was sure she had given me a reward. I felt happy
and peaceful.
But next day, after this small bounty and grateful success, adverse fate
had prepared for me a graver alarm than I had ever experienced in my
life of peril and hazard. Neither when I ran aground in the Rio de la
Plata, nor when the sea knocked away the bridge and half our masts in
the English Channel, did I feel my heart so constricted by any sudden
encounter. The agent to furnish me with this most cruel trial was Dona
Amparo. We had been chatting in this lady's sewing-room, Cristina and I.
While they worked I had been turning over an album of portraits of all
of the family and many of their friends. I inquired, and Dona Amparo
told me, who the originals were. Cristina remained silent.
"Who is this charming child?" I asked, gazing at the likeness of a
little girl of ten or twelve years. "What beautiful eyes!"
"Don't you recognize her? It is Cristina."
"Ah!" I exclaimed, surprised. And, looking at her, I observed that she
was crimson.
"She was then in school. Wasn't she very lovely?"
"Yes, I think so," I stammered.
"Mamma, don't say such absurd things. She looks like a picked chicken!"
exclaimed the one under discussion, laughing.
"Like a picked chicken!" cried the mother indignantly; "you were plump
as possible. From that time you have done nothing but lose ground. I
would give something to see you now as you were then. And Ribot will say
the same."
"Senora," I murmured, although in confusion, "no doubt she was very
beautiful at that time, but I think that the present is better worth
while."
Cristina blushed more yet, and bent over her work serious and silent.
Her mother did not choose to drop the subject. I did not venture to
contradict her openly; I only uttered monosyllables or phrases of
doubtful interpretation. At last we gave up this conversation, so
dangerous to me. We were told that the hairdresser had come, and
Cristina went to her room.
I continued turning over the album, and Dona Amparo went on moving back
and forth the ivory needle of her lace-work. We preserved silence; but
three or four times, on lifting my eyes, I observed that she was looking
at me with irritating persistence. Finally I could see that she laid
down her work, doubtless to look at me more to her liking.
"Ribot," she uttered in a low voice.
I thought it well to seem deaf.
"Tss! Ribot."
"What did you say, senora?" I asked, pretending to come out of my great
abstraction.
"Look me in the face."
"How? I do not understand."
"Will you look me in the face?"
As I had not been doing anything else, this petition would have been
tremendously absurd if it had not been even more disquieting.
"Now, move your chair a little nearer."
This new demand appeared to me much more disquieting. I drew up, none
the less, according to orders, dragging the chair with an ill-omened
squeak. Adopting a tranquil and unembarrassed air, distinctly contrary
to what would have suited me at that instant, I waited for what it was
she had to say to me. Dona Amparo gazed at me smiling, and then, with a
deep look, she said:
"Ribot, you are in love with my daughter Cristina!"
I grew pale, then crimson; afterwards other shades of yellow, green, and
blue. Indeed, I think my face was a rainbow for the space of several
seconds.
"Senora! I! How can you suppose it? On my life, what a notion! What an
idea!"
Dona Amparo, on seeing me in such a terrible state of agitation, became
frightened, and turned pale also. She reached out immediately for her
smelling-bottle; with one hand she held up my head, and with the other
put it under my nostrils. I was given salts to smell in such a moment as
that!
I took my bitter cup as best I could, thanked her, and, with smothered
words and faltering tongue, ascribed my emotion to my natural surprise.
The accusation was so grave that really----
Dona Amparo smiled benevolently, doubtless to calm me, and would not
consent that we should say another word before I took a drop of ether to
fortify me. I swallowed it not without difficulty, for my throat was
constricted so that I was scarcely able to breathe. Then, to mollify the
just indignation of this lady, I returned to my discomfited and
incoherent protestations against such a monstrous supposition.
I in love! How could it be possible that I should have the hardihood,
the audacity? Her daughter was a model of all the virtues. Nobody would
have the rashness to offend her with other sentiments than those of
respect and admiration--I least of all, a friend of Marti, who was such
a gentleman, so loyal, who had given me so many proofs of unmerited
esteem, etc., etc.
"All this is very well, Ribot," declared Dona Amparo, emotionally
sniffing her smelling-salts, "but this does not hinder you from being on
fire, mad, lost, for my daughter."
"You deceive yourself, senora. I assure you that you----"
"Come, confess yourself," she said, putting one hand on my shoulder, and
looking at me with a smilingly mischievous face: "nobody can hear."
"Senora, for God's sake!"
"Confess, sinner! Confess yourself!" and she gave a gentle and
affectionate little pull at my beard.
I was terrified, dreading something decidedly unpleasant.
"Let us keep the secret between us two. You are in love with Cristina,
as Castell has been for some time."
"Enough of this!" I said, trying to find a way to escape.
"He is a much worse rake, and, between the two, frankly I prefer you."
I was stupefied. What was it that this senora preferred? Why was she
talking to me in this manner? Where was she going to stop?
"Isn't it true that Cristina is very lovely?" she went on with the same
flippancy. "She is such an interesting type, of such delicacy! It is not
strange that you should become enamored of her. Of course, I will not
have her talked about."
"Senora!"
"No! I know what you would say! She is the best of creatures, virtuous,
incapable of failing her husband. Further, Emilio has no equal, so much
affection, so much loyalty, so splendid! He adores his wife. I am as
proud of him as if he were my own son. I would not consent, for
anything in the world, that he should have the least trouble."
"He will not have any on my account, make yourself easy," I ventured to
say.
"That is honorable in you, Ribot," she replied, pressing my hand. "You
are very good, enough better than that rascal of a Castell," she added,
smiling sweetly. "And, truly, you could not do less than be fond of
Emilio. He is so good. I always find him so affectionate towards me. But
who can blame any poor fellow for falling in love! The wrong is in
murmuring soft nothings in the ear of Cristina when Emilio is not
looking. We will suppose that they are foolish things, that she has eyes
like this and a skin like that. But that is not right. Emilio is his
best friend, and if he suspected, he would be disturbed. You, Ribot, are
much more respectful. You would not let yourself gaze, except by
stealth. But what eyes he makes at her! Come, now, let us see, sinner,
did you fall in love at Gijon or here?"
"I beg of you, senora--I--I feel so much upset, I must ask you to allow
me to retire."
"How reserved you are, Ribot! Well, this pleases me. Men of few words
are those who best know how to care. But with me you ought not to be so
timid. I know the affection you have vowed her. Open your heart to me,
so that I can do everything possible to console it. To whom better than
me can you unbosom yourself?"
"A thousand thanks, senora. Permit me to go. At present I feel that I
should not be able to say anything in reason."
"I understand you! I understand you, dear Ribot!" declared Dona Amparo,
pressing one of my hands with emotion between both her own. "You are
like me, exceedingly sensitive, exceedingly emotional. Don't you want
another drop of ether? Neither you nor I is fit for this world. I cannot
bear to see anyone suffer. Now here you see me, me who, in spite of my
adoration for my son-in-law, for whom I would willingly give my life, am
dissolved in tears at seeing you suffering on account of my daughter. I
am weeping like mad."
And truly Dona Amparo did not in this moment malign herself.
"Frankly, Ribot," she went on rackingly, "if it were possible for
Cristina to care for you without troubling Emilio, I would myself go and
intercede for you."
"Thank you, thank you," I murmured, pressing her hand before I got mine
away.
"Believe me, you are as dear to me as a son, and I would give something
if----"
Here her voice strangled in her throat, and I improved the precious
opportunity to stride with tragic footstep from my scene of trial.
I went out in indescribable confusion. I felt angry, wrathful at such a
woman, who with so much frivolity and folly lifted the veil of the most
delicate secrets, the deepest intimacies of her family life. Between my
teeth I called her coarse, imbecile, a bad mother. My anger carried me
so far as to accuse her of an inclination to trade upon her child's
attractions, of having been born for the part of a _Celestina_. Yet
little by little I calmed myself, and with calmness arrived at last at
justice. Dona Amparo was absolutely idiotic, of this there was no doubt;
but she was not a bad woman. Hers was a heart that spread itself like
butter over the first comer. It was necessary to her to be looked after
and petted like a child or a dog, and like them she knew no difference
between the hands that bestowed caresses. Reflecting thus, my spirit was
little by little inspired with less wrathful sentiments; but I could not
help thinking, all the same, that if the foregoing conversation should
become known to Cristina, she would fall dead of shame.
I encountered her in the office with her husband and Castell. Emilio,
who was beginning to organize and get under way his famous project for
putting canals through the province of Almeria, was in an excellent
humor. I suspected that Castell had finally facilitated the matter with
the needful. Emilio was babbling away, chaffing his friend
affectionately about his scepticism and theories, and his apathy towards
business. If he had Castell's means at his disposal, he would undertake
to become the richest man in Spain, at the same time giving bread away
to many families and furthering the progress of the nation. When I
entered, the torrent of his chaffing was diverted to me, and he
threatened to marry me off within a period of not more than two months.
Then he began talking to me about his project. As soon as the great
family event we were all hoping for had come off, he would go to Almeria
to hasten the preparation for the canal. He drew from the desk a lot of
portfolios and showed me the plans, explaining details, and trying to
stir up in me the same enthusiasm that animated him. I gave him a
religious attention, but only in appearance. I really lost not one
movement of Castell's while I looked over the papers, for I suspected
him. I saw him manage skilfully to get near Cristina, who with one foot
on the balcony sill was turning over a book. When he got near her, under
pretext of examining the book she held, I observed that he brought his
cheek near hers until it almost touched; and although his back was
towards me and I, of course, could not see his lips move, I knew that he
was whispering something to her. The lady moved her head abruptly away
and tried to withdraw; but--oh, what a surprise!--Castell detained her,
taking hold of her wrist. At the same time with his other hand he tried
to put a letter between her fingers. Cristina refused to take it. There
was a struggle in silence. My heart beat in my breast. I was afraid that
Marti would turn his head and see what was going on. Not for sake of the
villain Castell, it may be readily understood, but to save my friends
from the scandal and from cruel trouble, I did everything possible to
keep him occupied. Cristina's frightened eyes were several times turned
towards us; then not getting free otherwise, and fearing that which was
surely going to happen, if this struggle were prolonged a few seconds
more, she decided to take the letter, which she crumpled and hid in her
hand. Then, pale, yet smiling, she came over to us and busied herself
also in looking over the plans, forcing herself to seem at ease. But her
face did not lose its intense pallor and her whole body was trembling.
As for Castell, I never saw anybody cooler, serener, or showing less
emotion of any sort. He remained a little while quiet, his hands in his
pockets, looking out over the balcony into the street. Then he walked
about the room. Now and then he would give Cristina a quick,
scrutinizing glance. In spite of the profound aversion with which he
inspired me, I could not help admiring the man's incredible audacity and
at the same time his perfect self-control and unquenchable confidence
in himself. I have never known anyone to whom other created beings
represented less.
I did not lose sight of the hand in which Cristina had crumpled the
letter. Emilio went on through the portfolios without ceasing his long
prolix explanations. Then rising from his chair and taking Castell's
arm, he halted him in his walk.
"Do you--don't you want to go into such a business?" he said in the
chaffing tone.
"You know already, Emilio, that I can't serve you," replied the other,
with his placid and patronizing smile.
"In work, no--I know that. But as a figure-head you can do me a great
service. As you are rich and are known as a scientific man (you know
that, although you don't care much about it), it is necessary that you
should take the most important position, and be president of the council
of administration. No work will be demanded of you. You shall be given a
comfortable arm-chair, and you can, from time to time, drop off to
sleep, scattering benedictions."
Cristina had remained near the table. Standing up, she, with a lofty
expression, cast one full glance at Castell. Then unfolding that which
she held, she tranquilly tore it up and flung the tiny bits into the
waste-paper basket.