This domestic conspiracy was kept a profound secret. Doña Aurora was
silent, for women know how to keep a secret when they resolve to do so,
especially if their affections are concerned, and Don Gaspar did not
open his lips because he dreaded more than the cholera the jokes and
insinuations of the Crown Solicitor, and no less--if we must betray the
secrets of his household--the anger of his daughter Felisa. The latter,
suspicious as a wife, distrusting the sociable and gallant disposition
of the old man, had made it her business to provide him with the
ugliest, most ignorant, and worst-tempered Maritornes to be found, for
she always saw in the distance the menacing shadow of a stepmother.
Until Felisa should have started on her voyage to the fifth division of
the globe, the old man did not dare even to hint at his desire of taking
into his service the gentle and pretty Esclavita. It was with the
greatest difficulty that he was able to control his impatience and wait
for this event, for his old age was a second childhood. Capricious and
impatient as a child, if he yielded to his impulses, he would stamp upon
the floor whenever anything interfered with the gratification of his
desires. The outlet he sought for his impatience was a _tête-à-tête_
with Doña Aurora before the arrival of the other visitors, when he would
talk to her ramblingly, as old people are wont to talk, of his plans for
the future, of the comfort he should enjoy with Esclavita to wait upon
him, of the favors he would heap upon her, of how easy it would be to
wait on an old man like him, without any family, and many other things
of the same kind. And when the good man, owing to the presence of
others, was unable to dilate on his favorite theme, he gave his
excellent friend glances and winks of intelligence. He smiled at her
without any cause, and, in short, sought to give vent to his exuberant
and boyish gayety. “Heaven grant he may keep his reason,” said Señora de
Pardiñas to herself. “I don’t know why we should wonder at the craziness
of youth, when old men can act in this way. No boy could be more deeply
smitten. I declare, if he is not wild for his daughter to take herself
off, so that he may get Esclavita at once. If I did not know that he is
a really excellent man and that the girl, on her part, is incapable of
laying a trap for him, I should be a little uneasy, for no one can tell
where these things will end, and if he should take it into his head to
marry!--” The idea of Don Gaspar marrying a girl of twenty-five was so
absurd that Señora de Pardiñas laughed to herself, and the monologue
ended by the good lady scratching her head with her knitting-needle, and
saying, as a corollary of her reflections: “It won’t be my fault if
anything extraordinary should happen. To find a good situation for a
good servant is not a crime. All I am sorry for is that that tiresome
Felisa Febrero keeps forever putting off her departure for the
Philippines.”
It was true, indeed, that Don Gaspar’s daughter delayed her journey in a
way to make the blood boil in the veins of a more patient person than
Doña Aurora. What made the latter wild was that the time for the
examinations to take place was now drawing near, after which she had
resolved to take a trip to Galicia, and to leave Esclavita behind or to
take her with her seemed equally impracticable. Don Gaspar kept her
informed of the news regarding his daughter’s departure, looking more
and more joyful as the time drew nearer. “They are packing the trunks.”
“They have made inquiries concerning the dates of sailing of the
steamers.” “On Thursday, or at furthest on Saturday, they will be on
their way to Cadiz.” At last he came one day with a face looking more
radiant, more Olympic than usual, under the aureole of his beautiful
white curls. “Friend Aurora,” he said, “they are to leave us this
afternoon.” It was agreed that for appearance’s sake a few days should
be allowed to pass before giving warning to the ignorant and slatternly
Estremaduran who waited on Don Gaspar, and informing Esclavita of her
change of situation. “Friend Aurora, do you take charge of that,” said
the octogenarian. But although he thus laid all the responsibility on
the shoulders of Doña Aurora, he could not resist the temptation, as he
was passing the
[Illustration: “As he was passing the confectionary of La Pajarita.”]
confectionary of La Pajarita when he was taking his constitutional on
the following day in the Puerta del Sol, to enter the shop and buy half
a pound of caramels and bonbons. He hid his purchase in an inside pocket
of his coat and when, stopping at the house of Señora de Pardiñas,
Esclavita opened the door for him, he glanced around furtively, put his
hand into his pocket, and drawing out the cartridge slipped it into her
palm as if it were a _billet doux_. “Fresh,” was the only word his
pleasing agitation allowed him to utter, as he put the gift into her
hand.
Very reluctantly, and with much hemming and hawing, Doña Aurora set
about performing her disagreeable task of getting rid of Esclavita. She
would have felt less embarrassed if she had been called upon to break to
her the news of some great misfortune, such as the death of some one
dear to her, or some pecuniary loss, for, after all, in such a case she
would have none of the responsibility nor would she be in any way to
blame, while in merely announcing to her the impending change of abode
and of employers, she felt, with her natural sense of right, to which
nothing but her maternal affection could blind her, that there was
something of harshness and cruelty in her conduct, although this was
dictated by motives such as no prudent mother could disregard. “It is
even a matter of conscience with me,” she said to herself, to fortify
her courage. “I was thoughtless in bringing temptation within Rogelio’s
reach. Felisa Febrero has shown more knowledge of the world than I, for,
old as her father is, she would not put him in danger’s way. The boy has
more sense than could have been expected, not to have lost his head
completely. No, no, it is better to blush once than to turn pale a
hundred times. To-day I will get rid of her. As soon as Rogelio goes to
college----”
There are in the tones of the human voice mysterious notes of warning
which in certain situations reveal our inmost thoughts before we have
put them into words. The simple words, “Come here, Esclavita,” words
such as a servant hears innumerable times in the course of a day, echoed
on this occasion with an ominous sound in the soul of the young
Galician. All the blood in her body rushed to her heart, and when she
entered the room where her mistress was awaiting her she already knew by
intuition the purport of what she was about to hear.
Doña Aurora was seated, not in the dining-room, but in her son’s study,
where she was in the habit of going, in his absence, to write a note, to
make up her accounts, or the like, and perhaps also to satisfy that
instinctive and restless curiosity characteristic of an absorbing
affection when it reaches the height of a passion. She made Esclavita
sit down in a chair beside her and began to speak, without looking at
her, occupying herself in taking the pens, one by one, from a little
pen-box and placing them symmetrically, side by side, upon the table--On
account of the trip to Galicia, there was nothing else to be done--To
travel with three people was not the same as to travel with only two,
that required no explanation--A situation in the house of Señor de
Febrero was the best thing a girl like her could possibly desire; it was
a great piece of good fortune. She would be, not a servant, but the
housekeeper. She would be treated with every kind of consideration. The
labor of waiting on one person only would not kill her; by taking a
little trouble to please that excellent gentleman she would be in
heaven--almost as if she were in her own house. Finally, Don Gaspar,
too, was from Galicia. There would be no cause for her to feel lonesome
there, as she had felt in the house of the Señoritas Romera.
When she had brought forward all these arguments she felt her mind
relieved and, still apparently intent on the symmetrical arrangement of
the rows of pens, gave a side glance at the girl. Esclavita remained
motionless in her seat, her hands folded in her lap, her feet side by
side, her eyes cast down; she, too, was little prone to throw open
those windows of the soul to prying eyes.
“Well, what do you say?” asked Señora de Pardiñas at last, beginning to
grow impatient, as she always did when she was met by a passive
resistance.
“What should I say?” asked Esclavita in husky tones, but with apparent
calmness.
“Say yes or no; say whether you like the situation I propose to you, or
whether you would prefer to look for another, which should be more to
your taste.”
There was an interval of silence, and then the girl answered in a voice
deprived of all expression by her effort to render it calm:
“If there is no great hurry, I will give you my answer to-morrow or the
day after.”
“I understand you,” said Señora de Pardiñas, in her own mind. “You want
to have a talk with the boy first. Very good. I am prepared for whatever
may happen. Here I am on guard and here I mean to remain. The first
thing I shall do is to see that you don’t take him by surprise. I shall
be on the alert, never fear!”
That afternoon, however, she was obliged to leave the house, contrary to
her habit, to go to the railway station to see Felisa Febrero off, in
compliance with one of those irksome social duties which cannot be
evaded and which always seem to come at the most inopportune moment.
Rogelio, too, had gone out riding, but owing to the necessity of
attending to his studies now that the examinations were close at hand,
he shortened his ride, and it was just as he was entering the house,
flushed with exercise, fanning himself with his gray hat and cracking
his whip, that Esclavita caught him by the sleeve and drew him, almost
by force, into the study, bringing him to a stand-still beside the very
table on which Doña Aurora had that morning drawn up her army of pens.
“Has anything happened, Suriña?” he asked. “What is the matter with
you?”
“Didn’t I tell you--that I wasn’t going to Galicia,” she cried, “either
this year or any other year? Your mamma has dismissed me. She is going
to leave me at Señor Febrero’s.”
“What are you saying? What do you mean? Tell me, tell me all about it.”
The girl told him all she herself knew. Her eyes were dry, but her mouth
and chin quivered. Her bosom heaved, and in her manner of telling what
had occurred, in that despairing cry for help, like the cry of a
drowning man when he is about to sink beneath the waves, there was a
vehemence and disorder which formed a contrast to her habitual
composure, and which might well have moved one with more years and
experience than Rogelio. While he stammered, “No, it cannot be possible,
you won’t leave us, what nonsense,” he clasped his arms involuntarily
around the girl’s slender form, and the thrill of passion he had felt
four or five months before awoke within him again, more ardent than
ever, inspiring him with courage to rebel, to protest, and to defend
Esclavita as we defend what belongs to us and is a part of our life.
“Some one must have been telling her stories,” he said; “but who and
why? What motive have we given for talk, Suriña? Why, since mamma’s
illness we have scarcely spoken a word together. You never put your foot
here. This is very strange; this must not be. I will arrange the matter.
The idea of your leaving us! No, my pretty one.”
Cheered and revived by these promises, Esclavita nestled close to
Rogelio’s bosom, as if she sought there a refuge whence no one could
tear her, and Rogelio, with youthful and irresistible transport, covered
her with kisses and tried to lift up her head, seeking her lips. The
bell rang, unheard by either. It rang again, this time energetically and
impatiently, and with an abrupt and simultaneous movement they drew
apart. The girl smoothed her hair, and arranged her neckerchief with
trembling fingers, saying:
“I am going to open the door; it is the Señora.”