After they had breakfasted they found that they had no water. At the
first stop, Juana got out, and came back with a tumblerful. There is
some slight basis for the belief that during her short absence Miguel
kissed his bride elsewhere than on her hand; but we have no absolute
proof of it.
At Venta de Banos four travellers entered the same compartment,--three
ladies and a gentleman. All were upwards of forty. From what they said
it was evident that they were brother and sisters; and they spoke with a
decided Galician[3] accent.
Miguel took the seat by his wife's side, and put the maid in front of
them, and made up his mind to be very circumspect, so that the strangers
might not suspect that they were newly married. Nevertheless, one
circumstance could not escape them: the constant exchange of glances and
the mysterious conversation kept up by the young people betrayed them
beyond peradventure. The ladies laughed at first, then they whispered
together, and finally they schemed to get into conversation with their
companions; and in this they were speedily successful.
It did not take them long to find out what they wanted to know;
whereupon there sprang up, for some reason or other, a lively sympathy
for Maximina, and they made it perfectly manifest, and overwhelmed her
with attentions. The girl, who was not used to such things, appeared
confused and embarrassed, and smiled with that timid, bashful look that
was characteristic of her.
This entirely won the hearts of the Galician ladies; they openly took
her under their protection. They were all unmarried; the brother also.
None of them had been willing to get married, "because of the grief
which the mere idea of separation caused the others": they were
unanimous in this assertion. As for the rest, how many proposals they
had refused!
One of them,--Dolores,--according to the other two, had been engaged six
years to a law student in Santiago. When he finished his studies,
Dolores for some reason or other had broken their engagement, and the
young lawyer had gone home, where, in his indignation, he had
immediately married the richest belle of the village.
The second sister, Rita, had had several attachments, but her papa had
objected to them. The young man who loved her was a poet; he was poor.
Nothing could induce her papa to give up his opposition and accept him
for a son-in-law. When least they thought of such a thing, he had in
desperation disappeared from Santiago, after taking a tender farewell of
Rita,--the lady objected to having the romantic details of this
farewell related!--and nothing more was ever heard of him. Some supposed
that he had perished in the claws of a tiger while searching for a gold
mine in California.
As for the third, Carolina, she was a regular flyaway! Her brother and
sisters had never been able to tame her down. When at home they had the
greatest reason to think she was in love and that the affair was
becoming serious, _poum_! one fine evening she suddenly jilted her lover
and took a new one in his place! Carolina, who was forty-five at the
very lowest reckoning, became quite rosy when she heard this report, and
exclaimed, with a fascinating smile:--
"Don't you heed what they say, Maximina! How silly that girl is!... To
be sure I cannot deny that I like change; but who does not? Men have to
be punished from time to time, for they are very bad! very bad! Don't
you be vexed, Senor Rivera.... That is the reason why I said to myself,
'I shall not give my heart to any one whatever.'"
"That means," said Rita, "that you have never been really in love!"
"Very likely; as yet I have not been troubled with those anxieties and
worriments which lovers, they say, suffer from. No man ever pleased me
for more than a fortnight."
"How terrible!" exclaimed Dolores and Rita, laughing.
"Don't say such things, you silly girl!"
"Why shouldn't I say what I feel, Rita?"
"Because it isn't proper. Young ladies ought to be careful what they
say!"
"Come now, Carolina," urged Miguel, assuming great seriousness, "in the
name of humanity I beg you to soften your hard heart and listen to some
happy man!"
"Yes; fine rascals you men are!"
"Child!" cried Dolores.
"Let her alone! let her alone!" interrupted Miguel. "In time she will
come to feel how wrong it is! I am in hopes that it will not be long
before some one will come and avenge all of us!"
"Nonsense!"
During this banter the brother, who was a fat gentleman, with long white
mustaches, snored like a sea-calf.
Maximina listened in amazement to all these things which she could
scarcely comprehend, and she glanced at Miguel from time to time, trying
to make out whether they were speaking in earnest or in jest. The
Senoritas de Cuervo--for such was their name--were on their way to
Madrid to spend the season--this was their custom every year: the
remainder of the winter they spent at Santiago, and in the spring they
went to a very picturesque little village, where they amused themselves
in their own way, running like fawns across country, climbing trees to
get cherries and figs and apples, drinking water from their hands,
making excursions on mule-back to neighboring villages (what fun! what a
good time they did have, _madre mia_!), and taking part in farm work,
and drinking milk just brought in by the man from the milking.
"This sister Carolina of ours becomes unendurable as soon as we get
there. She sets out early in the morning, and no one knows anything
about her till dinner time; and before dinner is fairly over, she is off
again, and does not get back till night!"
"How you do talk, Lola! I go out with the other girls to hunt for nests
or wash clothes down by the river.... But you spend your mortal hours
exchanging small talk with some silly gallant who dances attendance on
you...."
"Heavens! what a cruel thing to say. I must hope, Senor Rivera, that you
will not put any credence in such nonsense, without any foundation in
fact.... Just imagine! all the gallants in that place are farm hands!"
"That makes no difference," replied Miguel. "Farm hands also have hearts
and can love beautiful objects. I have no doubt that you have many a
suitor among them."
"As to that," replied Lola, with a blush, "if I must tell the
truth--yes, sir, they are very fond of me. Every year, as soon as it is
known that we have come, the young men make their arrangement to give me
a serenade, and they even cut down a little tree so as to get in front
of my window."
"The serenade was not for you alone," interrupted Carolina, warmly....
"It is for all of us."
"But the tree was mine," replied Lola, with some show of ill-temper.
"The tree! very good; but not the serenade," replied the other, somewhat
piqued.
Lola gave her a sharp look, and went on: "Judge for yourself, Senor
Rivera, whether it does not show that they are in love with me: when the
engineers came to build a bridge, I said that I did not like the place
where they had made their arrangements to put it, but I wanted it
farther back, ... and as soon as the young men of the village heard what
I had said, they made a formal visit to the engineers and told them that
the bridge must be put where the senorita wanted it, and that no other
site for it must be thought of, because they would put a stop to it; and
as the engineers were not willing to change their plans, the result was,
the bridge was not built till four years ago."
"All this," said Miguel, "is not so much to your honor as to that of
those intelligent young men!"
"They are such nice boys!"
"Nothing so sanctifies the soul as love and admiration," exclaimed
Rivera, sententiously.
Lola said, "Ah!" and blushed.
These three ladies were dressed in an improbable, and, if we may be
allowed the expression, an anachronistic style: their dresses were
beautiful, picturesque, and even rather fantastic, such as suited only
maidens of fifteen. Carolina wore her hair in two braids with silk
ribbons in the ends, and constricted her flabby and wrinkled neck with a
blue velvet band from which hung a little emerald crucifix: the others,
in their attempt to be a little more fashionable, had their hair done
up, but they wore just as many ribbons and other ornaments.
The evening was already at hand.
The Cuervo family proposed to have dinner, and hospitably invited their
new-made friends to partake of the luncheon that they had brought with
them; Rivera and his bride accepted, and likewise offered to share their
provisions, and with all good-fellowship and friendliness they all set
to work to make way with them, having first spread napkins over their
knees.
The brother, who had waked up just in time, fed like an elephant; during
dinner time he made few remarks, but they were to the point: one of them
was this:--
"I am a regular eagle as far as tomatoes are concerned!"
Miguel sat in silent wonder for some time, but at last he began to
appreciate the depth hidden in this hyperbolical sentence.
A close intimacy had sprang up among them all. Dolores, not satisfied
with calling Miguel by his Christian name, instead of his title,
proposed that she and Maximina should go to the extent of addressing
each other with "thou":--
"I cannot feel that a person is my friend unless I can 'thee and thou'
her.... Besides, it is customary among girls."
The bride smiled timidly at this strange proposition, and the Galician
ladies, without further excuse began to make use of the second personal
pronoun. But Maximina, though warmly urged, could not bring herself to
such a degree of intimacy, and before she knew it, she dropped into the
ordinary form,[4] whereupon the Cuervo ladies showed that they felt
affronted; the poor child found herself obliged to make use of
numberless round-about expressions to avoid addressing them directly.
Miguel, in order to take a humorous revenge upon them for the annoyance
that they caused his wife, began in turn to speak to them with great
familiarity; and, though this for a moment surprised them, they took it
in perfectly good part. Not satisfied with this, he soon took occasion
to shake the white-mustachioed gentleman rudely by the arm, saying:--
"See here, old boy, don't sleep so much! Wouldn't you like a little
gin?"
Don Nazario--for that was his name--opened his eyes in sudden terror,
drained the cup that was offered him, and immediately fell into another
doze.
It was really time for them all to do the same. So Miguel drew the shade
of the lamp, and so "that the light might not trouble their eyes," he
also doubled around it a folded newspaper. Thus the car was made dark;
only the pale starlight gleamed in through the windows.
It was a clear, cold January night, such as are peculiar to the plains
of Castille. Each passenger got into the most comfortable position
possible, snuggling down into the corners. Rivera said to his wife:--
"Lean your head on my shoulder. I cannot sleep in the train."
The girl did as she was bidden, in spite of herself; she was afraid of
incommoding him.
All was quiet. Miguel managed to get hold of one of her hands, and
gently caressed it. After a while, leaning his head over and touching
his lips to his wife's brow, he whispered very softly:--
"Maximina, I adore you," and then he repeated the words with even more
emotion, "_Te adoro, te adoro!_"
The girl did not reply; but feigned to be asleep. Miguel asked with
persuasive voice:--
"Do you love me? Do you?"
The same immobility.
"Tell me! do you love me?"
Then Maximina, without opening her eyes, made a slight sign of assent,
and added:--
"I am very sleepy."