BITTER SWEET
"Carmelita, little heart, how is it with thee?"
"Well, señora doña; many thanks. And thou?"
"As you see." Señora Valentino held up her injured wrist neatly
bandaged.
"I could not allow many days to go by without riding over to thank you
and your father, the noble Señor Administrator, for the wonderful night
of enjoyment you gave us in that grand baile. The thought of it fairly
possesses me now, as it was some beautiful dream and I was scarce awake
from sleep. A thousand thanks, señorita doña, to you and to Señor
Mendoza. I hope the señor is well."
Señora Valentino and Carmelita were standing within the reception room,
near the open doorway, of the Mendoza hacienda house. The grateful
coolness of the hall was in strong contrast to the heat of the summer
sun which lay over grounds and house.
"You are good, señora. My father has been away since yesterday. I
shall make your words known to him on his return. On my own part I
thank you for them."
Señora Valentino placed her well arm around the girl. "The beautiful
hostess of a beautiful home is the Señorita Mendoza."
"Will you not step within, señora? All that you see is yours."
Carmelita moved toward the inner room, thus disengaging the señora's
arm.
"With much pleasure, señorita."
Shortly the two were seated.
"How refreshing is this inner air," remarked the señora. "The
afternoon brings warmth and drowsiness, but this is delightful."
"Modesta," from Carmelita to her maid who appeared in response to the
tinkle of a bell, "some tea and dulces at once."
Without delay the refreshments appeared.
"Sugar, señora mia?" the young hostess holding up a delicate gold
spoon. "Yes. And dulces? Modesta, take this to Señora Valentino.
Have a care for her bandaged wrist."
"Mille gracias, little hostess mine." Then, sipping the tea and
nibbling the cakes, "These are delicious after the ride, señorita doña."
"Have you come far, señora?"
"From the hacienda house of Señor Calderon, near San José pueblo.
Merely a matter of two hours or so, but I seem to tire easily since my
arm was injured. Still, what of it? Soon it is well and then
forgotten. It is the way of unpleasant things, señorita. They slip
away and we know them no more. Well, if it were otherwise, perhaps
half of the world would be enemy to the other half."
She laughed merrily and the hostess politely joined.
"Yet, in forgetting the unfortunate incident I would not, if I could,
forget the kindly ministrations of our dear friend Captain Morando. We
were riding along in the romantic coolness of early dawn--absorbed in
other things, you know--not noting or caring"--smiling knowingly into
the other's face--"when that dreadful creature assailed me with its
beak and claws." The señora turned away with a little shudder. Then,
as if half absently: "But our soldier lad--how gently he cared for me.
When I awakened--my head pillowed against his breast as a child lying
close to its mother's heart." Starting up, "But, Carmelita mia, I must
not distress you. I am an unworthy disciple of my own creed, for one
minute I advocate forgetting troubles, then I straightway recount them;
but then, you see," looking down, "my troubles in this particular were
most sweetly intermingled." She laughed and immediately changed the
subject. "When do you expect the señor your noble father to return?"
"I do not know the time of his return, señora."
"Has he gone far?"
"When he left he did not tell me his destination, so I fancy he has not
gone to any great distance."
"Ah, well! We women wait while the men travel forth to dare and do.
It's the way of the world."
The woman and the girl sat facing each other. The closed shutters
excluded the sun, but the warm light of a California summer day glowed
in the room. Less than five years divided the ages of the matron and
the maid. At first sight it might seem that the difference was
greater. The tightly fitting riding-habit of the señora added a
maturity to her look which was not usual, while the looser afternoon
gown of the girl gave her an uncommonly youthful appearance. Carmelita
was somewhat taller than the señora and more slender.
"I hope your arm has not greatly inconvenienced you," from Carmelita,
by a strange perversity reverting to the matter so lightly dismissed by
the señora a moment ago.
"Yes, and no, señorita. The wound is sometimes painful, but the
solicitude of those about me shows me I have a place in their hearts--a
pleasant knowledge--an anodyne, so to speak." She put her hand up to
her head in a childish way which was very becoming. Her oval face
beamed with friendliness, while her brown eyes smiled sweetly. She was
a very handsome young woman, apparently very friendly and very
genuinely interested in the girl before her. Carmelita was not
insensible to her charm.
"You have a place in the hearts of many, señora. Surely you could
never doubt it."
"Well, perhaps not. Still, one wishes outward expression of inward
regard. Otherwise, how can one be sure it exists?"
Señorita Mendoza said nothing.
"Then, too, we wish, naturally, to know just how a certain very few
stand toward us--sometimes just how a certain one person feels toward
us. Now, there are some who are very good to all. Their hearts are
kind naturally, and they give generous words and deeds to anyone who
needs them. Is it not so, señorita?"
"I believe you speak truly, señora doña."
The señora's laugh was merry as she said: "A wise puss you are. Well,
this generous, free-for-all kindness is good, but not entirely
satisfactory. Each person has an ideal, and when we see that ideal
realized in some concrete person we want that person to be good to us
alone. Do you not agree, señorita?"
"It would be presuming in me to contradict the señora."
"Ah! I said you are a wise puss, my señorita; and so you are, very
wise. Well, wisdom is the heritage of our old Castilian families.
Truly, our fathers have thought of much and have done much in the
generations that have been lived. What wonder if the rich, pure gold
of experience falls to us, the heirs of the past, from the
melting-furnace of departed years. What think you, little lady?"
"Your thoughts rise above me, Señora Valentino."
The señora laughed and bowed, as if in acceptance of some compliment.
The peona Modesta appeared in the doorway, curtseying several times.
"May I speak, señorita doña?"
"Speak, Modesta."
"The post surgeon from San José is here to see the wounded soldiers in
our infirmary. He wishes to leave some directions with you."
"What soldiers does the peona mean, señorita?"
"Some disabled men Captain Morando left with us the other day."
"O, indeed! My husband was an officer, and I am always much interested
in soldiers, especially those injured on the field of battle. In San
José yesterday I visited the improvised hospitals. I should like
greatly to see the men you have here and express my appreciation of
their good work."
"Why, certainly, señora. Will you excuse me for a few minutes now
while I speak to the doctor?"
The señora listened to the sound of voices in the corridor. A demure
look stole over her face. She arched her shoulders coquettishly.
"Yes, I'll tell the Señorita Mendoza that Captain Morando loves her
deeply and meant no harm when he proposed to her. I'll do just as the
gallant Captain asked me to do. The fool!"
A look of weariness possessed her almost immediately. "O, this life!
this life! Political intrigue! and counter intrigue! all heartless and
unfeeling as a surgeon's knife. God of my heart! why has destiny
discovered such a groove for me? And yet--and yet--what would life be
without it--without ambition? A body without a soul."
After a moment she arose, her hands clinching.
"The gallant Captain shall come to me and sue for my love, if for no
other reason than because I have humbled myself before him. I will it!
I will it! As for this puss--this wise puss--"
The señorita's steps came quickly along the corridor. She found the
señora sitting in the chair, as she had left her, to all intents musing
the time away.
"The Captain Morando still pursues Stanislaus, the elusive--so I heard
this morning in San José. My brother-in-law, the Colonel Barcelo, has
returned to Monterey in disgust, having given up the chase. You know
the old saying, señorita, 'The braver in war, the keener in love.' The
Captain is both a brave soldier and a keen lover." The señora's
full-throated, musical laugh seemed out of place.
Carmelita was very quiet as she asked: "What do you mean, señora doña?"
"Why, dear child, I mean that a braver man has never drawn sword in the
Californias, and surely no one doubts his earnestness in making love."
The girl's face flushed.
"Did you know that the Captain and I first knew each other about ten
years ago? No? The inception of our acquaintance was quite
interesting. Would you like to hear about it?"
"If the señora wishes to tell of it."
"Well, after all, not so much to tell--a schoolgirl and schoolboy
flirtation." She sighed very prettily as she spoke. "I was fourteen,
he eighteen."
"I knew that you and Captain Morando had met in Spain, but I did not
think it so long ago as that."
"Yes, ten years, ten long years," opening her eyes in mock seriousness.
"For three years this went on--three whole years, then--"
"Excuse me, please, but some of the physician's orders are to be
carried out at once. I must send a peona to see about it. May I leave
you alone again for a few moments?"
"Certainly, querida, certainly. The story will keep. I also have
another story of love to tell you. We shall be quite sentimental."
The girl stepped into the corridor and gave some orders to a servant.
The young peona wondered that her mistress's face was stern and her
tone sharp.
"Now, señorita mia, time is going, and we will pass over my own little
romance, and I will begin with the other tale of love." This from the
señora when Carmelita had returned. "Are you ready to listen?"
The girl so signified.
"From speaking of our--our youthful flirtation--the good Captain came
to tell me of the grand passion of his heart."
"Señora Valentino, I mean no discourtesy to a guest, but why do you
tell me this?"
"Because, my dear, it concerns you most especially. The other day, in
Monterey, Captain Morando and I were speaking most intimately, as
becomes old friends. What harm? The Captain confided in me; nay more.
He gave me a message to bring to you. 'I now love the Señorita
Carmelita Mendoza,' he said. 'I pressed my suit the night of the
baile. At first she listened to me. I had heart. I had courage.
Then she changed. She flouted me. Something had offended her, I know
not what. Will you not see her, the beautiful Carmelita, and explain
to her I meant no harm. I--'"
The señorita sprang to her feet, her breast heaving.
"Señora Valentino, I cannot listen to you. Even though you are a guest
of this house, I cannot--"
"Nay, nay, little child. Don't be so hasty. I am commissioned to set
matters right between you two. Be seated now, my señorita, and hear me
to the end. Please be seated. I am bungling in my mode of expression,
I know. Pray be seated."
Carmelita took her chair once more.
The señora leaned toward her confidingly, her brown eyes looking
straight at the girl, and her voice low and sweet.
"Now, I'll try again, little one. The Captain said to me, in effect,
that at first the señorita listened to him the night of the baile; she
allowed him to hold her hand; her eyes dropped. She--"
"Señora Valentino, I request that this conversation cease, and that you
do not again mention to me the name of Captain Morando."
"But, my dear señorita--"
"I request that you do as I ask, señora."
"I can, of course, but do as you wish. I assure you, it is not a
pleasant task for me to speak of these matters. It is only from an
urgent desire to serve my friend who asked this of me. The other day
some one, in speaking of Captain Morando, said that it is easy for
young men to fall in love; and, indeed, to fall out of it--but, away!
those threadbare sayings! The heart of Don Alfredo is loving and warm.
Do I not know it? Had it not been for the dashing Colonel Valentino--"
Then suddenly, "O, señorita, a man cannot forgive everything even in a
woman he loves. If you do not listen to his suit it may be too late,
and you will live to regret, even as I--" She stopped, apparently
absorbed in thought of the past.
The girl arose. "Señora Valentino--" she began.
The señora extended her unbandaged hand. "I have tried to perform a
difficult and a distasteful task. I trust some good will come of it.
I will say but one thing more: Do not trifle too far with Captain
Morando."
"Captain Morando is nothing to me; nor can he ever be. I would not
wish it otherwise."
"Well, señorita, I have fulfilled my promise. I have done my duty.
Shall we now visit the wounded soldiers?"
"If you so desire, Señora Valentino."
The two passed out of the house, and across the courtyard to the
hospital department of the Mendoza hacienda.
Five of Captain Morando's men lay on cots in a large, well-lighted
ward. Señora Valentino went from one to another making inquiries and
speaking words of encouragement. One of the men had been in Morando's
company in the North Africa campaigns, and had taken service again
under him in California.
"I regret, señora and señorita, that I am disabled, and cannot be with
my Captain in this present fighting," he said.
"No doubt, good man," replied Señora Valentino.
"My Captain was the handsomest and the best man in General Guerrero's
division," the soldier went on.
"You are loyal," commented the señora.
"With good reason. I have followed him into the thick of battle. I
have followed him through the enemy's camp; and," laughing, "I have
followed him when he galloped across country to tinkle his guitar
beneath the window of the beautiful one--"
"In Spain, or North Africa?" interrupted the señora jokingly.
"I tell no tales out of school," rejoined the man, continuing the
banter.
"You interest me, as all soldiers do," from the señora. "Are you not
one of the picked fighting men whom your Captain keeps near him for
emergencies?"
"Yes, señora. The morning Captain Morando was called from his visit to
Colonel Barcelo, in Monterey, he had made me first sergeant. Thus I
held his horse, Señora Valentino, while he was within speaking with
you. You see, I know, kind lady. Benito, the porter, told me--"
"Hush, man; remember you are wounded."
"Benito told me," the soldier insisted. "Benito told me--" he laughed.
"Ah! wounded men have strange dreams. I doubt not, you have been
dreaming."
"I think you have talked already as much as the physician's orders will
allow," interposed Carmelita.
"Of that I am sure," agreed the señora. "Come, señorita doña, let us
be going. Now," shaking her finger at the soldier, "see that your
dreams follow a more orderly fashion."
"But," Benito said, "soon the San José Captain leads our beautiful
señora to the padre. The Captain rides much beside her--"
"Not another word, Sergeant. Now, I bid you good afternoon."
She walked toward the door.
"Forgive me, señora," called the sergeant, anxiously. "Benito spoke as
if everyone knew already. Maybe I wouldn't have presumed to say
anything--leastwise to yourself--if that blow on the head the other day
hadn't loosened my tongue as well as my teeth--"
"Not another word," from Carmelita, firmly.
"Señorita," spoke Señora Valentino, when once more they were in the
courtyard, "fate seems to keep Captain Morando's name before us."
Carmelita did not reply. The woman and the girl walked slowly along
the broad gravel walk toward the entrance of the hacienda house.
"Our gay and handsome Captain may have lost his heart and found it a
score of times. Quién sabe? What would you? It is the way of men.
But what need have I to tell a beautiful señorita the way of the
cavalier?" The señora smiled bewitchingly.
Carmelita bit her lip. Color rose to her face, and her eyes glowed.
She made no reply.
"Suppose a cavalier boasts of his conquests when, at some general
meeting of the departmental officers, each one, made merry by the
occasion, has taken a glass or two of wine above his custom. What of
it? Was not my husband, Colonel Valentino, an officer? A brave heart
he had, and a loving one. Yet--" The señora laughed.
Still no word came from Carmelita.
"Allow me to say that Captain Morando now loves you, and you only.
What of the past? You have his heart now; and I know he has yours.
Why not?" Another bewitching smile.
Carmelita continued walking by the señora's side, not speaking.
"If, then, you do not intend to allow the Captain to continue further
his courtship, take his word, passed by him through me, that he meant
no harm."
From the walk to the house the girl had adroitly turned their steps
toward the courtyard gate. Filipo, the porter, pressed a lever. The
gate swung ajar. Fifty paces away, comfortably waiting under some
shade trees, were the señora's attendant peons. At a word from Filipo
they sprang to horse and rode to the gate in jiglike trot.
"Now, Señora Valentino," the girl said, "I shall leave word with my
servants that, if you call again, they are to announce to you that I am
not at home."
A peon had brought the señora's horse. Kneeling he held the stirrup
for her. Nimbly she found her seat. The animal pranced gracefully
from side to side. She swung him toward the gate.
"Adios!" she called to Carmelita.
The señorita's trim, straight figure was disappearing behind the slowly
closing gate.
"A thousand thanks, my courteous hostess."
Señora Valentino made her way along the San José road. For several
hundred yards she rode in deep thought, a storm of counter currents
rushing over her.
"Anyway," she reflected, "Morando's course of true love has not been
made more smooth by my visit this day." The accompanying laugh was not
a mirthful one.