Hardly had the duke closed the door of the saloon, when Pepe Vera came
out of the alcove, laughing.
“Will you keep quiet?” said Maria, occupied in lighting the fire with
the precious production of the duke.
“No, my dear, I cannot; I would stifle if I did not laugh. I am no
longer jealous, my Mariquita, no more than the sultan in his seraglio.
Poor woman! if you had not me to love you ardently, what could you do
with a husband, who proves to you his love by his prescriptions--with a
bashful lover, who courts you in reciting to you his verses? Now that
one of them has gone to _dream without sleeping_, and the other _wishes
to sleep_, we will go, you and I, and sup with the gay companions who
wait for us.”
“No, Pepe, I am not well. The disorder you have caused me, the cold I
felt on leaving the theatre, has injured me. I am chilly.”
“You do the princess! Come with me, a good supper will cure you sooner
than ass’s milk. Come, let us go.”
“I will not go out. We have one of those north winds, which, while it
would not extinguish a candle, kills a man.”
“It is well! if it pleases you, so let it be. Since you wish to pamper
yourself, pamper thyself, and--good-evening!”
“How! you are going to supper? You leave me? You leave me alone, and
ill, as you see, and ill because of your fault!”
“Well! what? Do you wish I put myself on diet? No, no, my beauty. They
are waiting for me, and I go; you lose some hours of pleasure.”
Maria seemed to regain courage. She rose, went out, and slammed the door
with anger. Pepe Vera laughed. An instant after she came back, dressed
all in black, her face hidden under a thick mantle, and enveloped in a
large shawl. Thus disguised she went out with Pepe Vera.
On entering his house, well advanced in the night, Stein received from
his servant a billet, which he read as soon as he was in his chamber. It
ran thus--
“SEÑOR DOCTOR,
“Do not believe that this is an anonymous letter; I act frankly,
and I tell you my name at the commencement--_Lucia del Salto_. It
seems to me it is a name sufficiently known.
“Husband of the Santalo, one must be as simple as you are, not to
have perceived that your wife is the mistress of Pepe Vera, who was
my lover; I may say so, because I am not married, and deceive no
one. If you wish that the scales fall from your eyes, go to-night
to No. 13 ---- street, and there you will do as St. Thomas did.”
“Can one be guilty of such an infamy?” cried Stein, letting the
letter fall from his hands. “My poor Maria has those who are
envious of her, and without any doubt they are the women of the
theatre. Poor Maria! she is ill! and now perhaps she is sleeping in
a sweet slumber. But let us see if she is calm. Last evening she
was not well. Her pulse was agitated and her voice was hoarse.
Affections of the chest are common now in Madrid. Let us see!”
Stein took a light, went out, and walked on tiptoe through the rooms
which led to his wife’s apartment. Arrived near to the chamber, he
redoubled his precautions; he softly approached the bed, drew aside the
curtains--the bed was empty!
* * * * *
A man as loyal, as confident as Stein, could not easily convince himself
of the possibility of such treason.
“No,” said he, after some instants of reflection, “no, it is impossible!
Her absence at such an hour is from some other cause, some unexpected
circumstance. Still, I cannot remain in the dark, with a doubt in my
heart. I must have the power to reply to that calumny, not only with
contempt, but with irrefutable proofs, with a formal contradiction
without reply.”
He went out.
Thanks to the night watchmen, he arrived easily at the place indicated
in the letter.
The house designated had no porter. The street door was open, and Stein
entered. He climbed the first flight of stairs, and, arriving at the
first landing-place, he knew no longer how to direct his steps, nor
where to go.
Recovered from his first movement, he commenced to feel ashamed of his
action. “To spy,” said he to himself, “is a base action. If Maria knew
what I am doing, she would be irritated, and she would be right to feel
so. O my God! suspect her whom I love, is it not to call down the cloud
which will obscure the heaven of our love? I a spy! This has happened
from the contemptible letter of a woman more contemptible still. Yes, I
will return home. To-morrow I will demand of Maria what I desire to
know. It is the way the most simple, and the most natural. Come--no more
suspicions, no more doubts!”
Stein sighed so deeply that it seemed to suffocate him, and he wiped the
sweat from his forehead.
“Oh, suspicion!” he cried--“suspicion, which makes the most confident
heart believe treason to be possible. Infamous suspicion, the fruit of
bad instincts and wicked insinuations! For a moment this monster had
vanquished my soul, and now I dare no more look at Maria without being
ashamed of myself.”
Stein was at last about to depart when a door, which communicated with
the landing-place where he was, opened. This door, when opened, let
forth the sound of glasses clashing, joyous songs, and bursts of
laughter.
A servant who came out from within, his hands full of empty bottles,
moved to make room for Stein to pass, whose appearance and costume
inspired him with a sort of respect.
“Enter,” he said to him, “although you come late, and they have already
supped;” and he descended without saying any thing more.
Stein found himself in a little antechamber which communicated with the
adjoining room: he approached. Hardly had his look penetrated into the
interior of this room than he stopped motionless, struck with
stupor--Maria was there!
What must he have suffered when he saw his wife, with naked shoulders,
seated at table on a stool, and having at her feet Pepe Vera, who sang,
accompanying himself on the guitar--
“Una mujer andaluza
Tiene en sus ojos el sol:
Una aurora en su sonrisa,
Y el Paraiso en su amor.”[6]
“Bravo! bravo! Pepe,” cried the company. “Now it is Mariquita’s turn to
sing. Come, sing, Mariquita! We are not the gents of yellow gloves and
varnished boots, but we have, as well as grand lords, ears to listen.
Come, Mariquita, sing; sing, and so that your countrymen can understand
you. The gold-laced, embroidered, and decorated world knows only how to
sing in French.”
Mariquita took the guitar, which Pepe presented to her on his knees, and
sang--
“Mas quiere un jaleo pobre,
Y unos pimientos asados,
Que no tener un usia
Desaborio á mi lado.”[7]
This couplet was received by a storm of vivas, bravos, and applause,
which made a concussion among the glasses.
Shame, more than indignation, caused Stein to blush.
“This Pepe was born with a caul,” said one of his companions; “he has
more happiness than he wants.”
“I would not change my condition for an empire,” said the _toreador_.
“But what will the husband say to all this?” asked a _picador_, the
oldest in the band.
“The husband!” replied Pepe, “I only know him to render him my duty.
Pepe Vera associates only with valiant bull-fighters.”
Stein had disappeared.