"I think you ought to go to see him, Julian," said Mariana.

"If it were necessary, of course I should go; but, so far, I see no necessity. I say, Remigio, is he too ill to come here? Is he in bed?"

"Well, Senor," said the man, turning his cap in his hands, and looking down, as conscious that his news was serious, "the fact of the matter is this--one of the mares, Primitiva, is knocked up."

Calderon turned pale.

"And she could not come home?"

"No, Senor; she seems to be pretty bad, from what the Mudela's coachman says. Of course, those youngsters know nothing about it, and they let her drink her fill."

Don Julian started up in the greatest agitation, and, without saying another word, he left the room, followed by Remigio. The young men again exchanged meaning looks. Esperancita happened to see this, and turned scarlet.

"Papa takes such things so much to heart!" said she.

"How should he do otherwise, child?--a thoroughbred which cost him three thousand dollars! It is a shame in Leandrito!" And for some minutes the old lady gave expression to her wrath, which was almost as great as her son-in-law's. Castro and Maldonado presently took leave. Mariana, who had taken the disaster with much philosophy, asked them to dinner.

"Stay and dine; it is too late now for a walk."

"I cannot," said Castro; "I dine at your brother's."

"Ah, to be sure; it is Sat.u.r.day. I had forgotten. We will look in, if I am no worse, at ten, when the cards begin."

"Do you dine with Aunt Clementina every Sat.u.r.day?" asked Esperancita in a low voice, but with a peculiar intonation. The young dandy looked at her for a moment.

"Most Sat.u.r.days, since I dine with your Uncle Tomas."

"Aunt Clementina is very pretty and very agreeable."

"She is considered so," replied Castro, a little uneasy.

"She has heaps of admirers. Are not you one of the most ardent of them?"

"Who told you so?"

"No one; I imagined it."

"You imagined rightly. Your aunt is, in my opinion, one of the loveliest and most elegant women of Madrid. Good-bye till this evening, Esperancita." And he held out his hand with a condescending air, which pained the poor child. She showed her annoyance by addressing Ramon, who was standing a little apart.

"And you, Ramon, why cannot you stay? Are you, too, going to dine at Aunt Clementina's?"

"I? Oh, no."

"Then stay with us--do. We will take care not to bore you."

"I--bored in your society!" exclaimed he, almost overcome with delight.

"Well, you will stay, then--won't you? Let Pepe go if he has other engagements."

Ramoncito was about to accept with the greatest rapture, but Castro began to make negative signs at him over the girl's head, and with such vehemence that his hapless friend could only say, in a subdued voice:

"No, I cannot either."

"But why, Ramon, why?"

"Because I have some business to attend to."

"I am sorry."

The young man was so deeply touched that he could scarcely murmur his thanks, and he left the room almost at a snail's pace. As soon as he was in the street Pepe complimented him eagerly, and a.s.sured him that his firmness must lead to the best results. But he received these congratulations with marked coldness, and preserved a stubborn silence till he reached home, where his friend and guide left him, his head full of gloomy presentiments and the blackness of night.

CHAPTER VII.

DINNER AND CARDS AT THE OSORIOS'.

On the day after her visit to Raimundo, Clementina felt even more ashamed and crestfallen at having paid it than at the moment when she came down those stairs. Proud natures feel as much remorse for an action which, in their opinion, has humiliated them, as the virtuous do when they have failed in humility. In her inmost soul she confessed that she had taken a false step. The youth's serenity and courtesy, while they raised him in her eyes, irritated her vanity. What comments must he and his sister have been making since her absurd and uninvited call! She coloured to think of them. Not to see or to be seen by Alcazar from his observatory, she ceased to go out on foot. The young man kept his word; she saw no sign of him.

But, why she knew not, his visage constantly rose before her eyes; he was perpetually in her thoughts. Was it aversion that she felt? Or resentment? Clementina could not honestly say that it was. There was nothing in his face or behaviour to make him odious to her. Was it, on the contrary, that his person had impressed her too favourably? Not at all. She met every day other men of more attractive manners and of more amusing conversation. So that it surprised as much as it provoked her to find herself thinking about him. She never ceased protesting to herself against this tendency, and reproaching herself for indulging it.

One afternoon, some days after the scene just narrated, she decided on taking a walk. Not to do so seemed to her cowardly; she was doing this boy too much honour. As she pa.s.sed the house where he lived she glanced up at his window and saw him sitting there, as usual, with a book in his hand. She immediately looked down, and crossed the road with stately gravity; but after going a few steps, she felt a vague sense of dissatisfaction with herself. In fact, not to bow to the young man, not even to return his bow, was unmannerly, after his frank explanation and the politeness with which he had shown her his fine collection of b.u.t.terflies.

Next day she again went out on foot, and repaired her injustice of the day before by looking steadily up at the window. Raimundo made her so respectful a bow, with so candid a smile, that the beauty felt flattered, and could not deny that the young fellow had singularly soft eyes, which made him very attractive, and that his conversation, if not remarkably elegant, showed a solid understanding and cultivated mind.

She ought to have seen all this at first, no doubt, but for some unknown reason she had not. From this day forward she went out walking as before. As she pa.s.sed the house in the Calle de Serrano she never failed to send a friendly nod to the upper window, or he to reply with eager courtesy; and as the days went on these greetings became more and more expressive. Without exchanging a word they were on quite intimate terms.

Clementina made an attempt to a.n.a.lyse her feelings towards young Alcazar. She was not in the habit of introspection. She vaguely thought that it was an act of charity to show him some kindness. "Poor boy," she said to herself, "how fond he was of his mother! What happiness to have had so good and loving a son!"

One afternoon when these greetings had been going on for more than a month, Pepe Castro asked her:

"I say, is it long since that red-haired boy left off following you about?"

Clementina was conscious of an unwonted shock, and coloured a little without knowing why.

"Yes; I have not seen him for at least a month."

Why did she tell an untruth? Castro was so far from imagining that there could be any acquaintance between this unknown devotee and his mistress that he did not notice her blush, and changed the subject with complete indifference. But to the lady herself, this strange shock and rising flush were a vague revelation of what was taking place within her. The first definite result of this revelation was that on quitting her lover's house, instead of thinking of him, she reflected that Alcazar kept his promise not to follow her with singular fidelity; the second was, that as she stopped to look into a jeweller's window and saw a b.u.t.terfly brooch of diamonds, she said to herself that some of those she had seen in her friend's collection were far more beautiful and brilliant. The third effect came over her suddenly: on going into a book-seller's to buy some French novels, it struck her, as she saw the rows of books, that Pepe had certainly not read and would probably never read, one of them. Hitherto she had admired his ignorance, now it seemed ridiculous.

Time went on and Senora de Osorio, tired of her fashionable existence, and having tasted every emotion which comes in the way of a beautiful and wealthy woman, began to find a quite peculiar pleasure in the innocent greetings she exchanged almost every day with the youth at the corner window. One afternoon, having dismissed her carriage to take a turn in the Retiro Gardens, she met Alcazar and his sister in one of the avenues.

She bowed expressively; Raimundo saluted her with his usual respectful eagerness; but Clementina observed that the girl bowed with marked coolness. This occupied her thoughts and made her cross for the rest of the day, since she was forced to confess more than ever that this was at the bottom of her _malaise_ and melancholy. By degrees, and owing chiefly to her fractious and capricious nature, this love-affair, which might have died still-born, occupied her mind and became the germ of a wish. Now in this lady, a wish was always a violent desire, above all if there were any obstacle in her way.

On a certain morning, after greeting Raimundo with the gesture peculiar to Spanish ladies, of opening and shutting her hand several times and going on her way, an involuntary impulse prompted her to look back once more at the corner window.

Raimundo was following her movements with a pair of opera gla.s.ses. She blushed scarlet and hurried on, ashamed at the discovery. What had made her guilty of such folly? What would the young naturalist think of her?

At the very least he would fancy that she was in love with him. But in spite of the ferment in her brain, while she walked on as fast as she could to turn down the next street and escape from his gaze, she was less vexed with herself than she had been on other occasions. She was ashamed, no doubt, but when she presently slackened her pace, a pleasant emotion came over her, a light flutter at her heart such as she had not felt for a long time.