"Poor Julia!"
"Yes, poor Julia! God grant that you may have no more reason to say that
than now!"
During the two months that Don Alfonso spent in Madrid he amused himself
to the utmost of his ability; his name, his figure, his money, and his
notoriety as a fighter, which was in curious contrast to his smooth and
peaceable character, gave him entrance into the most select society; he
immediately became intimate with the most fashionable young ladies, and
the houses where he called were the most aristocratic in the court
circles.
When he was at his aunt's, instead of making parade of this, he never
said where he was going nor where he had been, nor did he ever mention
any episode that would betray it. On the contrary, he took particular
pains to avoid speaking of high society, in which they did not move, so
as to spare them the petty mortification which for some women is apt to
be really painful.
He was the same extremely respectful gentleman toward his aunt, affable
and gallant toward his cousin, although in all that he did he managed to
show a peculiar haughty coolness, which is the quality best adapted for
assuring success with the ladies.
One evening Julia, on entering the theatre, saw her cousin in the box
of a duchess famous at that time for her beauty, her discretion, as well
as her conquests.
The position which the two occupied, in the rear of the box, and bending
toward each other until their cheeks almost touched, the insinuating
smile on his face, and the flattered vanity which was expressed in hers,
all made on the young girl such an impression that, for the moment, she
was afraid of falling, and it was by mere force of will that she managed
to reach their seats. When she had recovered from that painful surprise,
she said to herself: "But what folly! Why should I feel such an
impression if I have absolutely nothing in common with him? And even if
he were my fiance, what would there be peculiar in his talking with that
lady?"
At that moment Saavedra gracefully waved them a salute with his hand.
Julia replied with a forced smile.
The duchess turned around to see whom her friend was saluting, and
levelled her opera-glass in a most impertinent fashion. Julia, being
conscious of the stare, became so serious that it was pitiful to see
her. And from the corner of her eye she noticed that the duchess, laying
down her glass, bent toward her cousin and said a few words, to which he
replied, looking toward her again. Then the lady said something more
with a half-jesting smile, which caused Saavedra to reply with a cold
smile and a gesture of displeasure.
"That woman has just been saying something about me," thought Julita;
and she trembled to see Don Alfonso's gesture. A hot gust of anger
flared up into her face, and giving them a proud and scornful glance,
she murmured: "Say whatever you please; you will see how much I care for
you!"
And during the whole evening she did not once again even accidentally
direct her eyes toward the box.
Between the second and third acts Saavedra came to speak with them, and
sat down behind them in an empty seat. A pale young man with spectacles
came along to do the same, and sat down in another seat. Julia
introduced them with perfect composure:--
"My cousin Alfonso Saavedra ... Senor Hernandez del Pulgar."
Then she showed herself unusually jolly and gracious. The conversation
turned on the drama of the evening, which was more terrible and
melancholy than usual with the romantic school. Julita, with no little
cruelty, parodied the most touching scenes.
"That man makes me nervous who gets angry and is always in a fury and
always saying that he is going to fight. I wish he would hurry up about
it, and leave us in peace; ay! how stupid! I don't envy that pedantic,
detestable young lady her lover! The only thing enviable about her is
her facility in fainting away. Tell me, Hernandez, what is the name of
that senor who is so furious and 'hopelessly given to Barabbas'?"
"Don Marcellino.... What I don't understand is this: why does Mercedes
dismiss Fernando as soon as her father dies?"
"Man alive! because the tender sweetheart does not wear full mourning.
And what is the young lady going to do without father or mother or
watch-dog? Die? I should like to see it!... Tell me; wasn't it very
improper for Dona Elvira and Don Marcellino to be alone together so
long?"
The young men laughed, and exchanged significant glances.
"Girl! what nonsense are you stringing together now?" exclaimed the _la
brigadiera_, sharply.
Julita blushed, perceiving that she had gone too far; but still she did
not cease to be gay and talkative, though it was so manifestly put on
that it escaped neither Don Alfonso nor her mother. Hernandez del Pulgar
left, perfectly carried away by her amiability and wit.
In the third act Saavedra returned to his place beside the duchess,
without Julita appearing to notice it at all. When they left the
theatre, it was raining, and Don Alfonso went down and put them into a
cab.
When he reached home half an hour later, he found Julia taking a cup of
lime juice in the dining-room.
As their eyes met, Don Alfonso smiled not very openly. Julita had a very
high color. Don Alfonso's smile seemed to say: "I know why you are
drinking that _tila_."
Julita's blushes proclaimed in a loud voice: "You have caught me in the
very act!"
At the beginning of summer Saavedra determined to go and make his mother
a visit before returning to Paris. Julia heard the news with
indifference; she even started to sing some Malaga songs at the piano,
leaving her mother and cousin to talk about the journey.
_La brigadiera_ begged him to stay a few days longer; Don Alfonso
refused gently but obstinately, declaring that he had given his mother
notice, and had named the day on which he should reach Seville.
_La brigadiera_ urged him persistently, like a woman accustomed to have
her own way, and Don Alfonso resisted no less persistently, like a man
whose determinations, though expressed politely, are irrevocably fixed.
Julia suddenly stopped singing, and half turning round, said, in a dry
and impatient tone:--
"Mamma, you are annoying him; do cease!"
"I am not going for my own pleasure, Julia," returned Don Alfonso,
blandly; "you know too well that nowhere in the world am I more
contented than I am here, and that I am perfectly satisfied to be with
Aunt Angela and you; but I have duties toward my mother that I must
fulfil, and I am obliged to be in Seville."
Julia listened to these words with her back turned, and once more began
to play and sing, without making any reply.
The day set by Don Alfonso for his departure was a Wednesday; the two or
three days preceding, Julia had been smiling and indifferent as before;
but the circle under her eyes was darker and wider, and from time to
time she would remain looking into vacancy.
Saavedra had determined to start in the morning, on an early train, with
the idea of spending the day at Aranjuez with a friend who had a country
place there.
He therefore arose very early, and after dressing he gave the last
touches to his packing. His aunt also arose early, to see him off, and
get him something to eat besides.
But Julia paid no heed, and remained shut in her room, much to the
annoyance of _la brigadiera_, who had called her to say good by to their
guest.
Taking advantage of a moment when she was busy in the dining-room,
Saavedra slipped off to his cousin's room, gently raised the latch, and
opened the door.
Julia was in bed; her eyes flashed angrily on the intruder.
"What have you come for?" she demanded, frowning severely. "Go away, go
away immediately! This is a most atrocious thing to do!"
But Don Alfonso, not heeding her protest, calmly walked into the room,
and said in a humble voice:--
"I have come to say _adios_, cousin."
"_Adios!_" exclaimed the girl dryly, and dropping her eyes upon the
bed-spread.
Don Alfonso came to her, and audaciously taking her face between his
hands and imprinting a kiss upon it, he said at the same time:--
"In spite of all this disdain and severity, I know well that you love
me...."
The girl, confused and enraged by his impudence and what he said,
exclaimed:--
"No, no! I do not love you! You lie!... Go this instant!"
"You love me, and I love you," replied Don Alfonso, smoothing her face
with perfect unconcern.
"Fool! dunce! impudent!" cried the girl, with more and more anger, "I do
not love you; but if I did, this would be enough to make me hate you!
Go!"
"I am not a dunce and I am not impudent. I confess humbly that I would
die for you!"
"Die whenever you please, but go! Go this instant, or I will scream!"
"Don't trouble yourself any more; I am going," said he, with a smile: "I
am going; but I leave my heart here. I will write you as soon as I reach
Seville."
He left the room and shut the door; he remained a moment motionless, and
then opened it again softly to look in. Julia had turned over and was
sobbing, with her face hidden under the sheets.