In point of fact, all the while that he was in Seville, he did not take
pains to write her once, possibly because other beauties and other
amusements used up his time; perhaps through calculation, perhaps for
both reasons.
On the other hand, he frequently sent very tender epistles to his aunt,
and never failed to express his regards for Julia.
These little lines of remembrance exasperated the girl beyond measure,
and she used to hasten to her room as soon as she saw her mother with a
letter in her hands, so as to escape the infliction.
The month of July came; _la brigadiera_ wrote to Seville announcing her
departure for Santander,[32] in whose "Astillero" she rented a cottage
for the two hottest months of the summer.
Saavedra replied, saying that he was going to Biarritz, and from there
to Paris; he hoped that they would have a very pleasant time, and that
Julia would enjoy it much.
Now it came to pass that one August afternoon as she was riding in the
Alameda with a family which, like themselves, lived at the Astillero
(her mother had not gone into town because she had an attack of
neuralgic headache), Julia suddenly caught sight of her cousin in
company with some young men. She grew terribly pale, and instantly
blushed redder than a cherry. It was impossible for her nervous and
ardent nature to control even the slightest impressions, still less
those that touched her heart to the quick. She turned her head to avoid
bowing to him, although she saw that he started to come toward her; at
the next turn she did the same, and so for three or four times, putting
on such a grave and frowning face that any one would willingly have
foregone the pleasure of meeting her.
Even while she was acting in this way, her conscience told her that her
conduct was very rude and strange, and after her emotion had grown a
little calmer, she could not help saying to herself, "What a piece of
folly I have just committed!"
And the next time, she faced Saavedra at a distance and bowed to him
very courteously, though with marked affectation; then she grew serious
again.
Either at her desire, because she was not enjoying her ride, or at the
suggestion of her friends, they went home early.
Don Alfonso, who was on the lookout, noticed that they were going, and
after a while he took leave of his friends and went to the wharf, where
he hired a boat to take him across to the Astillero.
He reached there just at night-fall; after dismissing the oarsmen, he
slowly climbed the shady hill, not caring to make inquiries of any one
as to the situation of his aunt's cottage, and hoping that his good
fortune would come to his aid.
It did not take him long to make the entire circuit of that charming
resort, examining the recently built summer cottages, through whose
windows lights were already beginning to shine, and stopping in front of
the garden gates to see if he might not get sight of some one of his
aunt's maids, or even herself, or his cousin in person.
At last, in a small inclosure, where two magnificent magnolias grew,
casting their shade over everything, he chanced to see, under an arbor
covered with a honey-suckle vine, his cousin sitting on a rustic bench,
with her elbows on a marble table and her face resting in her hands, in
a thoughtful attitude; she wore the same dress that she had worn while
driving, and she had not even taken off her hat.
A strange light gleamed in the man's eyes. He went close to the grated
gate, and made a sound just loud enough to be heard by the girl alone;
she swiftly raised her head, and a sudden flame passed over her face
when she saw who it was that called her; then she went to the gate and
opened it, greeting her cousin with a gracious smile to repay him,
doubtless, for the cool treatment of the promenade.
Don Alfonso eagerly took both hands and pressed them warmly.
"Will you allow me?"
And without awaiting her answer, he raised them to his lips and kissed
them no less eagerly. The girl quickly withdrew them, but the smile that
lighted her face did not fade.
"I cannot escape my fate; I come to the Astillero, and the first person
whom I meet is the one who most interests me."
"Yes, yes! the idea of saying that to me!" said Julia, just as gayly as
before. "I am going to tell mamma. The last thing that she expects is to
see you here."
"Haven't you told her?"
"She was lying down when I came, and I did not want to disturb her,"
replied the girl, blushing at the lie that she was telling.
"Well then, let us not go indoors quite yet; I have something to talk
with you about first."
And he went and sat down in the summer house and took off his hat. Julia
hesitated a moment; but finally sat down beside him.
"Don't you know what I want to tell you?" he began, giving her a keen
and loving look.
"I am not a gypsy, my dear."
"It happened to be a gypsy who told me while I was in Seville that a
sly, witty little brunette was going to kill me with disdain."
"And you believed her, simpleton?"
"Why not?"
"Because the only thing that you would die of would be rascality."
"A thousand thanks, cousin."
"I do not deserve them. Go on."
"Well, then, as to what I was going to tell you.... Do you know I have
so much on my mind that I don't know where to begin! I suffer from the
same thing that troubles orators."
"Then rest a few minutes.... Would you like a glass of water?"
"There is no need; like the ten commandments, it all reduces itself to
two truths,--loving you above all things, and blowing my brains out if
you don't love me."
"Are you sure that they are true?"
"Perfectly sure."
"Stuff and nonsense! Then I have made a mistake in this too!" said the
girl, sighing with graceful irony.
"Cousin, cousin! what a wretched opinion you have of me. If you realized
what this heart of mine suffers, and how completely ensnared it is in
your net!"
"Cousin, cousin! you are too big a fish to fall into my net!"
"Then I swear to you that I am yours, that I have no other thought than
you, and were I put to death for it, I have been able this long time to
have no other thought than of you.... Do you know why I did not write to
you while I was in Seville?..."
"Yes; because you did not care to."
"Nothing of the sort; it was so as to see if absence would not quench
the flame that is consuming me...."
"Flames! the idea! Hush! hush! don't be absurd!"
"Laugh as much as you will; but it does not prevent it from being true,
that I have been passing through a cruel struggle, and that I have
suffered too much to write you.... 'Why?' I asked myself. 'It is vain to
have hopes, since they would be surely disappointed. Were not the
rebuffs that she gave me sufficient?' ... For, cousin, you have a
special talent for rebuffing a man; you not only give them once, but you
delight in repeating the punishment, and then trying it another day with
all the refinements of cruelty. I have set down in my note-book the
rebuffs, the saucy answers, and even the insults which you gave me in
one short fortnight.... It is a perfect marvel!... Look!... Under the
head of hard words, you have called me _old_ seven times, _audacious_
twenty-seven times, _fool_ twenty-two times, _proud_ six times, _my son_
once, _goose_ once, _a genuine Don Juan_ once, _impolite_ once: total,
sixty-six insults!... There you have it...."
"What nonsense!" exclaimed Julia, laughing heartily, and giving a slap
at the note-book which sent it to the ground.
"It is the simple truth," rejoined Don Alfonso, picking it up. "And in
spite of all that, I am stupid enough to go on loving you, or, to
express myself better, to love you more and more every day, as is proved
by my visit to Santander. Since I left you, Julia, I have not had a
moment's peace; and though I have tried every possible way of
distracting my thoughts so as to forget you, still ever your graceful
form would come before my eyes. In Madrid I suffered much, because I was
always kept hovering between fear, hope, and despair; but in Seville,
far from you, I missed those sufferings, and it seemed to me that the
pleasure of seeing you, of hearing your voice, and living under the same
roof were a sufficient compensation for them, and even an advantage....
I don't know what has come over me; either I am mad, or you have
bewitched me. I have been all over the world, and have known many women,
but I swear not one ever kept me so stirred up, so disquieted, so beside
myself as you have. And I am telling you the truth, as you well know,
since you have only to look into my face...."
In very truth, Don Alfonso, in saying these words, appeared moved and
trembling. And as his character, though affable, was cold and impassive,
with touches of scorn, this emotion which he manifested caused double
effect. He had taken possession of one of Julia's hands, and pressed it
between his. The girl, rosy and smiling, exclaimed with a somewhat
altered voice:--
"You paint things in such a lively fashion that I cannot help believing
you."
"Yes, believe me, believe me, cousin!" said Saavedra, passionately
kissing the hand which he held. "For although you do not love me, it
fills me with pleasure to know that you know that I adore you with all
my soul. My lot is cast; on your lips now hangs my fate. I deserve that
you should destroy me for the incredible stupidity of having supposed,
when I went away, that you loved me, and telling you so. How that act
weighed upon me afterwards! I could not find hard names enough for
myself...."
"Then, see here; go on calling yourself hard names ... for having once
called yourself such without reason," said Julia, glancing at him half
in malice, half in earnest.
"Can it be possible?" exclaimed Saavedra, anxiously.
"Quite possible."
"So that I...."
"Do you want me to feed you the truth with a spoon, cousin?" she asked,
with some show of impatience.
"Ay! lovely cousin! most fascinating cousin! divine cousin! how happy
you make me!"
Don Alfonso at the same moment took her into his arms, and pressed his
lips to her cheek again and again, in spite of the girl's strenuous
resistance.
"That'll do! that'll do!" she said, trying hard to be angry, and only
half succeeding.
At that moment a white form appeared at the grating, and said, in a
shrill voice:--
"Julia! Julita!"
She tore herself out of her cousin's arms, and hastened down to the
gate:--
"Esperanza! wait; I am coming."
It was one of the neighbors with whom she had been driving that
afternoon, and who now came to invite her to dinner, and a dance
afterwards.
Don Alfonso also arose, and went to the gate, and gave the young lady a
look which, if she had been made of gun-cotton, would have caused an
explosion; but quickly controlling himself, he greeted her with all
courtesy....
Julia, somewhat confused, declined the invitation, under the pretext
that her mamma had the neuralgia.
The neighbor, not less confused, and looking from one to the other, did
not see fit to insist, and immediately withdrew to tell what she had
seen, and what she had not seen.
As it was now dark, the cousins went into the house, where, after hearty
greetings had been exchanged between aunt and nephew, the dinner was
served.
While it lasted, Julia's cheeks were rosy as they had not been for
months; her eyes shone with happy light, and in all her gestures and
motions was betrayed the lively emotion that agitated her, and a joy
which was not affected as at other times.