"God gave me light."
Marriage had not caused him to lose any of his independence, nor any of
those bachelor habits which are so hard to overcome at a certain age.
Maximina never demanded, or even asked, any sacrifice of him. She felt
herself absolutely happy to be the wife of the man whom she adored; and
the daily and commonplace actions of life were to her a source of
unspeakable delight.
When breakfast time came, she would lightly lift the latch of the
library door, step noiselessly up to her husband, and say:--
"It is half-past twelve now."
While they were breakfasting, the conversation which they kept up was
full of affectionate trifles; when their eyes met, they expressed mute
caresses; and many times Miguel reached across the table to get his
wife's hand and kiss it, much to the young woman's terror and
apprehension; she would instantly snatch it away by main force, glancing
at the door as though there were danger of some dragon making its
appearance.
The dragon was Juana, who was likely to appear with the waiter in her
hands.
After breakfast came the happiest hour of the day for Maximina: she
would go with her husband to the library, and he, settling himself
comfortably in an easy-chair, would take her on his knees, fold her to
him, and whisper in her ears the sweetest things she ever heard.
Sometimes it happened that he would fall into a doze, and Maximina would
not lift a finger for fear of waking him; and even though her position
were uncomfortable, she would endure it until Miguel opened his eyes.
"There now, I must be going!" he would say, getting up. "What! so soon?"
she would exclaim sadly.
Miguel would fondle her, and smile, and take leave of her at the door.
It seemed as though these leave-takings would never end.
"They might see us from the opposite side," Maximina would say, tearing
herself out of his arms.
"But the door is closed!"
"That makes no difference; they might see us through the
_ventanilla_.[20]"
Sometimes, as a little joke on his wife, he would start to go without
saying good by; but as soon as she heard him raise the latch, she would
drop whatever she was engaged in doing, whether in the dining-room, the
kitchen, or in her own room, and fly to the door. When she did not hear
the latch, he would do his best to make her hear it.
Maximina spent her afternoons with the servants. Besides Juana, they had
hired two others,--a cook, and another maid, who had a better idea of
laundry work than the maid from Pasajes.
When Miguel came in at dusk, and rang the bell, the young woman's heart
would give a leap, and she herself would run to open the door for him.
Sometimes she would let the maid open it; but then she would hide behind
the door or in the next room. The maid's smiling face would betray the
secret to the young man, that his wife was somewhere near, and he would
say, sniffing in a comical way:--
"I smell Maximina here."
And then he would go straight to where she was hiding, and catch her by
the arm.
"I don't see how you found me so quick," she would say, with simulated
disappointment. At other times she would open the _ventanilla_, and
ask:--
"What is it you want?"
"Does Don Miguel Rivera live here?" he would ask.
"Yes, senor; but he is not at home."
"Is the senora in?"
"The senora is in, but she cannot receive you."
"Tell her that there is a gentleman here who wants to give her a hug and
a kiss."
They laughed and amused themselves with these trifles, and the young
wife never thought of asking her husband to give her an account of his
time. She would go with him to the library. Miguel would take a book and
sit down, saying:--
"There now, leave me alone a few minutes; I want to read."
"You naughty, naughty boy!" she would retort with innocent vexation.
"You are very naughty to send me away!"
Miguel would relent, and pull her back by the hand.
After dinner they used to spend another little while together, and then
he would go to the cafe, and from there to his editorial rooms,
returning at twelve or one. His wife used to try to wait for him, either
by reading a book or by taking a nap. Saturdays they always went to the
theatre, for _La Independencia_ was not published on Sundays, and so
there was one day in the seven when he was not driven with work.
One evening, as she was coming down stairs, Maximina, who was occupied
in putting on her gloves, tripped and fell, rolling down several steps.
"Oh! my wife!" cried Miguel, hastening to her aid.
The young woman got up with a smile, though she, was flushed with alarm.
She had not suffered any harm, but the heart-rending cry uttered by
Miguel had gone to the very depths of her soul.
Then, also for the first time, Miguel realized how this gentle creature
had taken possession of his heart.
She had been greatly troubled at a slight ailment from which her husband
suffered during the early months of their marriage: severe rheumatic
pains kept him housed for several days; he grew pale and thin, and,
worse than all, was in a very unhappy frame of mind, for he was not a
man to endure adversities patiently.
Maximina was deeply troubled, and do the best she could, it was
impossible for her to hide her grief. She sat all day long beside the
bed, and did not take her eyes from her husband; from time to time,
almost overcome with grief, and making great efforts to control herself,
she would say:--
"You feel better, you _do_ feel better, don't you? Yes, yes, you must
feel better!"
"Since you say so, you must be very sure of it," he would say slyly,
with an ironical smile.
And then seeing her great, timid, innocent eyes fill with tears, he
would repent of his unseasonable words, and add, caressing her hand:--
"Don't mind about me. I am doing well. To-morrow I shall be all right;
truly I shall."
And the young wife was happy for a few moments, until she would be
alarmed again by some new complaint from the sick man.
How delightful when he got well again! It was the first time that her
husband ever heard her sing at the top of her voice. She ran and jumped,
jested with the maids, and was even quite successful in mimicking the
Madrid accent which Juana had been recently acquiring. This sudden
attack of obstreperous joy formed a lovely contrast with the usual
seriousness of her character. Miguel, who knew the reason of it, looked
at her with delight.
When he was entirely recovered, it was incumbent upon them to attend
mass at San Sebastian. Maximina suggested it, and asked him with so much
humility that he hadn't the heart to object.
The former _colegiala_ of the convent of Vergara could not help mixing
religion with all the acts of her life. Miguel, in spite of his own lack
of faith, found his wife's piety so poetical, so innocent, that it never
once passed through his mind to disaffect her of it. "If ever it became
hypocritical, it would be quite another thing," he said to himself.
Consequently he was not at all averse to going with her every Sunday to
mass; besides, Maximina for many months could not bring herself to set
foot in the street alone.
After a while, however, the brigadier's son began to forget his duty,
and under the pretext that San Sebastian was near at hand, he would stay
at home Sunday mornings, while Maximina, with heroic courage, would
assume the terrible risk of going to church all by herself.
Still she suffered greatly; she imagined that everybody despised her,
that they were going to say impudent things to her; the unfriendly
glances so much in fashion among the natives of Madrid filled her with
terror; she could have wished to be invisible!
But she did not venture to tell her fears to Miguel, lest she should vex
him, and cause him to go to mass with her against his inclinations.
One morning, a little while after she had started out for church, Miguel
heard the bell ring violently; then the library door was flung open, and
Maximina came in, pale as a sheet.
"What has happened?" he demanded, rising.
Maximina dropped into a chair, hid her face in her hands, and began to
weep.