"Do not speak to me, Pepe. You have stabbed me with a word; leave me in peace. G.o.d forgive you, as I forgive you! I am like a hare wounded by the hunter, which runs to its form to die. Do not harry me any more; leave me to die in peace."

And the simile of the hare seemed to him so pathetic that he sank sobbing into an arm-chair. At the same time he had a severe fit of coughing, and Castro had to persuade him to drink a cup of lime-flower tea.

By the time the luckless Marquis had a little recovered, Pepe had achieved the adornment of his person, which he proceeded to take out walking, very correctly and exquisitely dressed in a frock-coat. He breakfasted at Lhardy's, looked in at the Club, and by three in the afternoon or thereabouts bent his steps to the house of the Marquesa de Alcudia, his aunt, in the Calle de San Mateo. This lady was, as we know, very proud of her religion, and equally so, to say the least, of her pedigree. Pepe was her favourite nephew, and, though his dissipated mode of life disgusted her not a little, she had always treated him with much affection, hoping to tempt him into the right way. In the Marquesa's opinion, quarterings of n.o.bility were as efficacious in their way as the Sacrament of Ordination. Whatever villainies a n.o.ble might commit, he was still a n.o.ble, as a priest is always a priest.

Castro had thought of this devout lady as one likely to a.s.sist him in his project. His instincts--which were more to be depended on than his intelligence--told him that if the Marquesa undertook the negotiations for his marriage with Esperancita she would undoubtedly succeed. She was a person of much influence in fashionable society, and even more with those persons who, like Calderon, had gained a place in it by wealth.

The Alcudia's mansion was a gloomy structure, built in the fashion of the last century--a ground floor with large barred windows and one floor above; nothing more. But it covered a vast extent of ground, with a neglected garden in the rear. The entrance was not decorative; the outside steps rough-hewn to begin with, and much worn. The late lamented Alcudia was proposing some repairs and improvements when death interfered with his plans. His widow abandoned them, not so much out of avarice as from intense conservatism, even in matters which most needed reform.

Within, the house was sumptuously fitted; the furniture was antique and very handsome; the walls hung with splendid tapestry; and fine pictures by the old masters graced the library and the oratory. This was indeed a marvel of splendour. It stood at one corner of the building on the ground floor, but was two storeys high, and as lofty, in fact, as a church. The windows were filled with stained gla.s.s, like those of a Gothic cathedral; the floor was richly carpeted; there was a small gallery with an organ; and the altar, in the French taste, was beautifully decorated. Over it hung an _Ecce h.o.m.o_, by Morales. It was an elegant and comfortable little chapel, warmed by a large stove in the cellar beneath.

In the drawing-room Pepe found only the girls, busy with their needlework. Their mother, they said, was in the study, writing letters.

So, after exchanging a few words with his cousins, he joined her there.

"May I come in, aunt?"

"Come in, come in. You, Pepe?" said the Marquesa, looking up at him over the spectacles she wore for writing.

"If I am interrupting you I will go away. I want to consult you," said the young man, with a smile.

He took a chair, and while his aunt went on writing with a firm, swift hand, he meditated the exordium to the speech he was about to deliver.

At last the pen dashed across the paper with a strident squeak, no doubt emphasising the writer's signature, and taking off her spectacles, she said:

"At your service, Pepe."

Pepe looked at the floor, praying no doubt for inspiration, twirled his moustache, cleared his throat and at last began with much solemnity.

"Well, aunt, I do not know whether it is that G.o.d has touched my heart, or merely that I am weary of my present mode of life; but at any rate for some time past I have been taking to heart the advice you have so often given me, and which goes hand in hand with my own wish to settle down, to give up the bad habits which I have contracted for want of a father to guide me, and yet more of a mother, like yourself. I am very nearly thirty, and it is time to think of the name I bear. I owe a duty to that, and to my calling as a Christian; for in all my excesses I have never forgotten that I belong to an old Catholic family, and that nowadays in Spain it is inc.u.mbent on our cla.s.s to protect the cause of religion and set a good example, as you do. The means I look to as an encouragement to the change I feel within me is marriage."

The penitent could not have chosen his words better in addressing his aunt Eugenia. They made so good an impression that she rose from her place and came to lay a hand on his shoulder, exclaiming:

"You delight me, Pepito. You cannot imagine what pleasure you give me.

And you say you do not know whether G.o.d has touched your heart! How could you have undergone this sudden change, if He had not inspired it?

It is the touch of G.o.d, indeed, my boy, the finger of G.o.d--and the n.o.ble blood which runs in your veins. Have you chosen a wife?"

The young man smiled and nodded.

"Who is she?"

"I had thought of Esperanza Calderon. What do you think of her?"

"Nothing could be better. She is very well brought up, attractive, and I love her as a child of my own. She has always been my Pacita's bosom friend, as you know. Your choice is a most happy one."

Castro smiled again with a gleam of mischief, as he went on:

"You see, aunt, I would rather have married a girl of our own rank, But, as you know, I am utterly ruined, and the daughters of good families are not apt to have fortunes in these days. Those who have, would not have anything to say to me, as I have nothing to offer but what they already possess--a n.o.ble name. It is for this reason that I have chosen one of no birth, but with a good fortune."

"Very wise. And though we are compromising our dignity a little, we must save the name from disgrace. And Esperanza is a thoroughly good girl.

She has been brought up among ourselves. She will always be a perfect lady, and do you credit."

The young man's face still wore that strange sarcastic smile. For a minute or two he remained silent; then he said:

"Do you know what we young fellows call a marriage of this kind?"

"No--what?"

"Eating dirt."

The Marquesa smiled frigidly, but then, looking grave again, she replied:

"No, that cannot be said in this case, Pepe. I can answer for this girl that she is worthy of a brilliant marriage. You will be a gainer. Are you engaged? Have you spoken to her? I have had no communication----"

"I have not said anything as yet I know that she does not dislike me; we look kindly on each other, but nothing more. Before taking any definite steps I decided that I would speak to you as the person of most weight of our family in Madrid."

"Very proper; you have behaved admirably. When marriage is in question it is well to proceed with due caution and formality, for, after all, it is a sacrament of the Church.[E] In better times than these no alliance was ever contracted in the higher circles without consulting the opinion of the heads of both houses. I thank you for your confidence in me, and you may count on my approval."

"And on your a.s.sistance? You see I am afraid of meeting with some difficulties on her father's part. He loves hard cash. And to be frank, I should not relish a refusal."

The Marquesa sat meditating for a while.

"Leave him to me. I will do my best to bring him to reason. But you must promise to do nothing without consulting me. It is a delicate negotiation, and will need prudence and skill."

"I give you my word, aunt."

"Above all be very careful with the little girl. Do not startle her."

"I will do exactly what you bid me."

They presently went together into the drawing-room, where some visitors had arrived.

On Friday afternoons during Lent, the Marquesa received those of her friends who, like herself, would devote an hour or two to prayer and religious exercises. There were the Marquesa de Ujo and her daughter, still with her skirts far above her ankles, General Patino, Lola Madariaga and her husband, Clementina Osorio, with her faithful companion Pascuala, and several others; and, above all, Padre Ortega.

As, in fact, the honours of the occasion were his, and he was director of the entertainment, every one had gathered about him in the middle of the room. Everyone talked louder than he did; the ill.u.s.trious priest's voice was always soft and subdued, as though he were in a sick room. But as soon as he began to speak, silence instantly reigned--every one listened with respectful attention.

The Marquesa, on entering, kissed his hand with an air of submission, and inquired affectionately after a cold from which he had been suffering.

"Oh! have you a cold, Father?" inquired several ladies at once.

"A little, a mere trifle," replied the priest, with a smile of suave resignation.

"By no means a trifle," said the Marquesa. "Yesterday in church you coughed incessantly."

And she proceeded to give the minutest details of the reverend Father's sufferings, omitting nothing which could make her account more graphic.

The priest sat smiling, with his eyes on the ground, saying:

"Do not let it disturb you, the Marquesa is always over anxious. You might think that I was in the last stage of consumption."