The staff of servants had been increased at her suggestion and under her directions, and the menservants were put into livery.

When Gonzalo saw Pachin, an old retainer, in his uniform, he burst out laughing, which greatly excited the ire of his wife. She also inst.i.tuted a new, aristocratic arrangement of Belinchon's table, with the introduction of dessert knives and forks, fish knives, and lithographed cards for the menu, besides other innovations. .h.i.therto unknown at the meals of the house. The foreign element also modified the healthy, patriarchal, abundant fare which we saw at the beginning of this story.

Ventura appeared in the drawing-room with a low-necked blue silk dress and bare arms. She had learned, we know not where, that at formal dinners ladies should wear low-necked gowns. Dona Paula did not go so far as that, but she was gorgeously dressed in bright-colored materials that formed a sad contrast to her thin face, wasted by illness. The only guests were Alvaro Pena and Don Rufo. Pachin, the good Pachin, in his new livery, opened the door and said, with a sonorous voice, in which he had been drilled by Ventura:

"Dinner is served!"

The duke offered his arm to Dona Paula, and they all repaired to the dining-room. The hostess took the chief place, in accordance with her daughter's previous injunction. The duke sat at her right hand, Don Rufo at her left, and the others took their seats as they liked. Venturita had her place set at the right hand of the distinguished guest, then came Alvaro Pena, Cosio, Pablito, and Don Rosendo, while Gonzalo sat by the side of Cecilia.

Then the dinner began with stiff ceremony and long intervals of silence.

They were all oppressed and overwhelmed with the grandeur of the guest.

The thin hair on the back and the side of the duke's shiny bald head was still black in spite of his forty-six years. His slightest movements were the object of the company's admiring attention, and his remarks were received by the company with smiles of delight and adulation.

The first words that fell from his lips after a few conventional courtesies expressed his admiration of the suburbs of the town.

"I only know the provinces in the north," he said in a slow, drawling tone. "I find this much superior to that in the way of scenery; it offers more variety, richer coloring, and there are lovely spots in the district we have traversed, comparable to the most enchanting scenes in Switzerland. Then on arriving at the coast there is the same softness of outline, the same sweetness of atmosphere as in the south of Italy."

"Oh, Senor Duke, you are too flattering! Pure kindness, Senor Duke. In the summer this country is all very well, but in winter!"

Don Rosendo, Alvaro Pena, and Don Rufo, overwhelmed with joy and grat.i.tude, blushed, and disclaimed the encomiums as if they had been the objects of them. The duke continued speaking, as if he had not heard their exclamations.

"It is more hilly than the northern provinces, the tones are more marked. I saw from the Lancian road, looking eastward, a group of mountains with the summits still covered with snow, which was truly beautiful. It only wants a few lakes, and foreigners would resort to it."

"We have a lake in the west of the province," said Pena.

"A lake?" queried the duke, as he raised his eyelids to look at the interlocutor.

"Yes, senor; the lake is called Nordon."

Then the duke kept his gla.s.sy gaze fixed upon the officer until he grew confused, and after bringing each person at the table into the focus of that gaze, he continued:

"In my gallery at Bourges I have a landscape, by Backhuysen, with a background very similar to that of these mountains. Only in the foreground there is a lake surrounded with briers. On the right there are some swans swimming on the water, and on the left there is a boat with two young peasants. I bought it merely for the delicacy of the coloring."

"The senor duke seems to like good pictures," said Don Rufo, stretching his mouth from ear to ear to speak with a befitting smile.

"And who does not like them?" returned the magnate, looking at him with his squinting eyes.

"Oh, yes, senor--it is true--you are very right! Everybody likes them.

But it is an expensive taste--only great people like the senor duke can allow themselves the luxury."

Don Rufo here became confused, thinking he had said something disrespectful.

"The senor duke has many pictures of the best painters from what I hear," said Don Rosendo, coming to his friend's a.s.sistance.

"I have a few," returned the n.o.bleman, pouring some water into Venturita's gla.s.s. This act overwhelmed the girl with grat.i.tude, and the blood rushed to her face.

"The duke's is one of the first galleries in Europe," said Cosio in a low voice to Pena.

"I like painting because it is the national art," continued the magnate.

"It is the only one in which we have really advanced; it is the only one in which we distinguish ourselves in the present day--because, although I have spent a great deal of my life abroad, I am very fond of my country," he added in a patronizing tone, with a slight smile.

If the country could have heard those fine words it would doubtless, like Venturita, have trembled for joy.

"I love it notwithstanding I acknowledge its backward condition. Nature has endowed us liberally with rich gifts. A fertile country--not so much so as is commonly believed, but, in short, fertile--admirably situated at one side of Europe, stretching her hand to America across the seas; a sky--oh, the sky! There is not another like it. The air has here, above all in the south, a transparency--oh, an infinite transparency! The despair of painters. Then this transparency gives greater purity to the outlines; nowhere do points stand out as they do here. In Castile the towers are visible many miles off, and as distinct as if they were only a few steps distant. It is quite evident this is due to its being above the level of the sea."

"The countries which lie much higher than the level of the sea are the least intelligent," remarked Don Rufo, glad to air his physiological mania.

The duke turned his head to look at the speaker, and then went on as if he had not heard him.

"Then the great power of the sun throws up the contrast between the light and the shade, and gives a distinct outline even to the distant mountains. Only here in the north the vapors floating in the atmosphere rather blur and confuse the contours, and make them misty. But, on the other hand, the tones are richer; in the south the shades of the ground are lost in the excessive brilliance of the sky, in the universal sense of light. But here what an immense variety of shades! Oh, infinite beauty! Then what power, what changes! In the south the tone is stationary; the immutable light of the sky keeps it the same for many hours, and the same one day as another; but in these provinces, where the light changes every minute, the color varies, too; the composition is perfect, the gradations of color are slight, and its general tone is transformed into strong reliefs."

The duke, having begun enumerating the advantages possessed by the Spaniards, could not leave the subject of contour, light, and color, and lost himself in disquisitions on landscape, to which the company listened without understanding, with open eyes and idly moving lips.

But without ceasing talking he attended to Venturita, antic.i.p.ating her wishes, pouring water into her gla.s.s, handing her the condiments, the bread, or anything she might want, signing to the servant to give her wine when he noticed that her gla.s.ses were empty, and all with the easy, polished ways of a man accustomed to society. Venturita accepted these attentions shyly and smilingly, and trembling with grat.i.tude, without understanding that at that moment she was nothing to the magnate but the lady on his right.

Gonzalo, not feeling well disposed to the egregious guest, became tired of the monologue on painting, and exchanged a few whispered remarks with his sister-in-law, joking her as usual on her small appet.i.te.

"Come, bag of bones, another cutlet. Don't be ashamed because the senor is here. We told you that he will not be astonished at the quant.i.ty you eat. Const.i.tutions like yours require a little fat."

Cecilia, smiling, replied with broken words, with respectful glances at the duke; and he, having noticed that they had spoken, raised his eyes and gave them a vacant, contemptuous look. The second time, particularly as Gonzalo and Cecilia put their table-napkins to their mouths to stop the sound of their laughing, the glance of the n.o.bleman was longer, colder, and more abstracted than ever. Venturita showed her annoyance with her eyes, but Gonzalo, either from a wish to avenge his wife's former slighting remarks, or because he really did not feel the shyness and awe with which the personage inspired the others, did not desist from joking with his sister-in-law and making her laugh.

The affectionate feeling between the brother and sister-in-law had not decreased. Gonzalo and his children were the especial care of Cecilia.

Her beneficial, sweet influence was felt every moment of their lives.

The eldest little girl, Cecilita, now two years and a half old, and the other, Paulina, who was eight months old, throve under their aunt's maternal warmth of affection: she washed them, she dressed them, she took them out to walk, she was the first to teach them to pray. The mother, fond as she was of her children, soon wearied of them; their crying worried her; and when it was a question of keeping them quiet she was ignorant of any method of doing so, and only ended by half suffocating them with caresses.

Thus it came about that "auntie" was the refuge to which they ran, and for which they cried in any distress. Sometimes Ventura, wounded at this preference, grew jealous, and made them stay with her by force, but this only resulted in making them afraid of her.

As to Gonzalo, he had in Cecilia a sister and a mother, ever ready to save him discomfort and to remove all thorns from his path; she always had a soothing effect upon him, and he would go to her like a great spoiled child, annoyed if his wishes were not immediately complied with, and not sparing her in any way.

But the bond between him and his wife remained firm and unchanged; his pa.s.sionate admiration, which had made him commit the first sin of his life, had not abated in spite of everything; she was still the orbit of his life. Ventura kept her hold over him by the power of her beauty, which continued to fascinate his senses. Cecilia understood it all, and when the young man, wounded by some neglect or some unkind word of his wife, broke out in complaints against her, she smiled sadly, and tried to calm him, while she was sure that her brother-in-law would soon lower himself by going to his wife in contrition and shame to kiss her very feet.

When the n.o.bleman had finished his monologue a few minutes' silence ensued. Then, as if recollecting he had been remiss, he a.s.sumed a benevolent interest in his companions' affairs.

"So Senor Don Rufo Pedroso is a doctor, eh? The practise of medicine is arduous, especially in the provinces where, as a general rule, it does not meet with due compensation. Senor Pena is a sailor, is he not? Oh, the naval profession has always been brilliant. It is a pity that our war material is not equal to the bravery and skill of the officers. They have a hard time of it. Does the command of a harbor give much to do? I thought of bringing before the Senate a motion asking for the construction of two ironclads. And Pablito, does he have a good time in Sarrio? What resources does the town offer to young men?" Had he been in Madrid? He was fond of horses. Ah, riding was a grand exercise! The duke could well sympathize with that taste. Were his horses Spanish or foreign? He asked all these questions in an abstracted way, with an artificial smile, as if he were reciting a lesson. In fact, the most trying point of his code of manners was the necessity of recollecting that one has to make one's self agreeable to people with whom one is conversing, and to take an interest in their affairs.

He cast a cold glance at Gonzalo and Cecilia, but he directed no questions to them. When the unpleasant task of conventionality was accomplished the magnate resumed his eternal monologue. This time it was not on painting, but on archeology. In Lancia he had seen a Byzantine chapel, which had excited his attention by its purity, not having at present been at all restored. The cathedral was not bad, only the tower was too wide; evidently it was originally higher, but its dimensions had doubtless been changed when rebuilt after its destruction by lightning.

He understood that Sarrio had a very beautiful church in the florid style of architecture. While the duke continued this drawling, learned, endless disquisition, Don Rosendo evinced by his eyes and gestures that he was consumed with an anxiety which he vainly strove to conceal. Three times he had asked a question of the servant in a low voice, and three times he had received the answer also in a low voice.

The duke having concluded his archeological monologue, with the perspicacity of the conceited, who know whom they fascinate and whom they do not, then addressed his conversation to Venturita. The remarks were now made with a little more animation, and the ill.u.s.trious guest occasionally deigned to smile, and to do his fair interlocutor the honor of raising his drooping eyelids to give her a look of curiosity and admiration. The girl was filled with pride at this mark of favor, and with crimson cheeks and bright eyes she talked so naively and prettily that the duke was quite delighted with her. They seemed to be talking of painting, for Cecilia and Gonzalo, who were still joking together, heard her say:

"Oh, Rubens! What flesh-painting! Rubens is the Cervantes of painting."

Gonzalo turned his head as if he had been struck, while his face expressed his astonishment.

"Cecilia, where did my wife learn all that?" he asked his sister-in-law.

A shrug of the shoulders was the only reply. But Venturita had noticed Gonzalo's movement, his surprise, and the remark he made to Cecilia. She colored, and lowered her voice; then seeing her husband's mocking expression, returned it with a quick, angry look.

In the meanwhile Dona Paula talked to Don Rufo about her heart complaint; Cosio took pride in describing to Pena and Pablito all the grandeur and luxury of the Castle of Bourges, where the duke had his famous picture gallery. Only Don Rosendo remained silent, getting more restless every minute, and making little b.a.l.l.s of bread with his nervous fingers. Suddenly his fine features expanded into a benevolent smile, for all heads were simultaneously raised at the sound of a loud trumpet in the street--it was the band from Lancia, arrived at last.