I will pass over all the events of the end of the term and examinations, for all that the reader most interested in my future will care to know is that I passed that year; I had my books at my tongue’s end.

The boy from Zamora was likewise successful, but Portal and Trinito did not come off so well; they had not worked hard enough. The Cuban bore his disappointment with his usual indolent composure; but Portal tore out his hair, and laid the blame on the professor’s spite, and on the influence artfully brought to bear in favor of other students, the practical result of which had been to put all the strain on him.

“They have cut me square in two, they have fairly smashed me!” cried the unhappy fellow, forgetting all about that pleasant theory of his in regard to adjusting one’s self, making concessions, conforming and waiting. His calmness in the field of theory turned into furious impatience in actual practice. But he had felt so sure of success that year!

I left him fuming with rage, and went to tell my uncle the good news of my success. I felt greatly pleased, because it seemed to me that every step forward was another victory over my hateful protector, and was like breaking one of the links of the golden chain which bound me. My uncle lived at the Embassador’s hotel, but the concierge told me, with a knowing air: “He is usually at his new house, at this time of day. He does not stay here much of the time. Don’t you know, sir? He has rented a house—but he does not sleep there yet. Where is it, do you ask? Why, Claudio Coello Street, No.——”

I took a car and got off almost at the door of the new dwelling, going up to the second floor. I did not have to ring the bell, for the door was wide open, and in the reception-room there was a man seated Turk-fashion, and sewing strips of fine matting together, with a big needle.

My uncle was pacing up and down in a good-sized parlor, bare of furniture, and was agreeably surprised to see me.

“Halloo, Paul Pry! You here! Come in and take a look at everything.”

“They gave me your address at the hotel, so I came to tell you——”

“Why, come in at once! I want you to look around. What do you think of the house, eh? It is very good for the price. But then, the street is not very central. The parlor is not fixed yet; they have not brought the tÊte-À-tÊte, nor the large mirror, nor the hangings. One loses all patience with these upholsterers! The boudoir and the bed-room are farther along. Come in, come in!”

I entered and looked abstractedly at the boudoir, which was the extreme of commonplace, with its white marble mantle-piece, its arm-chairs upholstered in raw silk with a plush border of a darker shade, its tiny writing-desk, and its theatrical-looking toilet-table, dressed with imitation lace and adorned with bows of ribbon of the same color as the curtains. The narrow looking-glass over the mantle-piece did not have a gilt frame, but one of plush like that on the arm-chairs and sofa. My uncle wanted me to observe all this style, for he was like all niggardly people, when they make up their minds to spend anything extra, in wanting people to know about it.

“Do you see the little mirror?” he said. “That is the way they frame them now—a fashionable freak. And don’t think that they are any cheaper. Whew! they cost three times as much, my dear fellow. That empty space there, in front of the window, is for the piano. My fiancÉe plays beautifully.”

From the boudoir we passed into the sanctum sanctorum, the nest, or bedroom, which was a roomy apartment with stuccoed walls. The wooden bridal-couch, which was very broad and quite low, and had a carved head-board, was standing in the center of the room.

“The two mattresses are still wanting,” murmured my uncle, with a complacent smile. “Just fancy, the upholsterer has got it into his head to make them of rich, costly satin. I told him that cotton damask was good enough. If I had not been careful to furnish the house, your prospective aunt, who does not know what people are in Madrid, would have been swindled right and left. Look at those commodes; would you believe that the two cost me twenty-five dollars? People are so extravagant nowadays. Come now, and take a look at my study.”

We went through the hall and into his study, already completely furnished with its large desk, like a cabinet officer’s, and a big book-case which seemed ashamed to contain nothing but heavy government reports and half a dozen foolish and indecent novels, paper-covered, and very dirty. My uncle opened the glass doors, and taking a handful of books by Paul de Kock, Amancio Peratoner, and the Chinese Da-gar-li-kao, gave them to me, saying, with a suggestive smile: “I make you a present of them, my boy. Don’t get corrupted by reading them, do you understand? Just amuse yourself for a moment, and that’s all. Married men cannot keep such contraband goods in their homes. Send after them, or do you prefer to take them with you?”

I answered, that I had no time to delve in such serious writings, nor did they, in fact, amuse me.

From the study we proceeded to visit the dining-room, which was already furnished with sideboards and chandeliers, and then inspected even the humbler regions of kitchen and storeroom.

Back of the dining-room there was a cheerful little room, with a window overlooking some vacant lots.

“This is our spare room,” said my uncle; “so we shall be able to entertain a guest.”

After thus examining the entire house, we went back to the study, and my uncle took out a cigar, and offered me another one, praising the brand; but, as I did not smoke, I gave it back, so that he might be able, in his own words, “to pay off his debts with somebody else.” While he was taking the first puff, I told him the good news about my having passed my examination. His face lighted up with sincere joy. Two or three times I saw him carry his hand to his pocket, instinctively, while he murmured in a smothered tone, as he still held his cigar between his teeth:

“Well done, man; well done! So another year has passed, and you only have two to go. Bravo! At that rate you’ll soon be building bridges over the Lerez. I vow, I’ll push you forward on the works ordered by the legislature. One must know how to pull out the stops. You may understand all about problems in algebra, and be able to fling equations and logarithms about; but I know all about the key-board.”

When I rose to leave, my uncle got up his resolution, put his hand, not into his vest pocket, but into his inside coat pocket, brought out his pocket-book without saying a word, and took out a greasy bank-note.

How often have I observed that brief struggle in my uncle’s mind between his parsimony and the quick instinct which notified him when and why it was necessary, advantageous, or extremely agreeable to spend his money. I never saw him spend a cent without perceiving that effort and inward struggle in his soul—the painful and longing good-by which he gave to his money. It was evident that reason advised him to make the expenditure, but always had to fight with his temperament. To superficial observers, even if my uncle did not seem lavish, he was far from appearing avaricious; but to me, who studied him closely, with the cruel sharp-sightedness of hatred, his owl’s beak revealed avarice, though checked, kept latent, and in that larva-form to which civilization reduces so many passions or frenzies that, in other days, when the impulses of the individual had greater power, used to reach a tragic development.

My uncle was a frustrated miser; reflection, the power of surrounding circumstances, as well as the desire for enjoyment and comfort which modern society fosters, all counteracted his disposition—for nowadays an old-fashioned miser would appear absurd, and nobody would have anything to do with him. But under the cover of the successful man of the present, who knew how to acquire riches in order to enjoy them, I could see the Hebrew of the Middle Ages, with his greedy and rapacious claws. Whenever my uncle let any money go, he would turn slightly pale, his jaw would drop, and his eyes would be cast down as though to conceal their expression.

Well, he handed me the bank-note, saying: “This is to enable you to attend my wedding. They are selling cheap excursion tickets now, round-trip, do you understand? Yes, they are good for two months, or I don’t know how long, so that will be very convenient for you. Of course, you’ll travel second-class, for third-class is too uncomfortable. You can write at once to your mother what day you expect to start. The sooner the better, because you’ll not only get more pure country air, but you’ll save your board at the same time. Your mother is at Ullosa, and from there to Pontevedra and Tejo is only a step. Come a few days before the wedding. I don’t know as I told you; it will take place on the day of Our Lady of Carmen. There is room enough for everybody at Tejo. It is an old castle, which has been rebuilt and fixed up recently. You’ll not be in the way. Try to make your mother go also; I am afraid she is so queer that she’ll not do so.”

It was getting late in the afternoon, and the man at work at the matting had finished his task; so my uncle put the key in his pocket, and went out with me. We turned down the street, and got on a horse-car. When we came to the Puerta del Sol, instead of going toward the hotel, we took another car and proceeded toward Ancha de San Bernardo Street.

“Come with me,” said the Hebrew. “As it is now vacation time, a little recreation will not harm you. You’ll see some fine people.” Although I suspected what his “fine people” might be, I could not help feeling surprised when a very fine-looking girl opened the door for us. This handsome damsel had on a red calico wrapper, with pink flowers, low slippers, and wore her hair in that style of large bands pasted down over the ears which the women of the lower classes in Madrid have discarded at present for cork-screw curls.

I warmly admired her raven black hair, her beautiful form, her cheeks, where the fresh color struggled to show itself through a thick coating of rice-powder, which she had daubed on hurriedly. Her velvety eyes, bold, but sweet by reason of their fine lashes, fastened themselves upon mine, and said something to me, to which I immediately responded in the same mute language.

Behind this lovely specimen of the Madrid type appeared the head of a younger girl; not so good-looking, thin, mocking, and combed and powdered like her elder sister.

My uncle entered with the air of a lord and master.

“Come here at once, all of you. I have brought you a young man, and you must be careful how you treat him.”

Saying this, he led on over the loosened tiles of the passage-way to a small parlor, without any furniture excepting a sofa and two arm-chairs with calico coverings, an old mahogony shelf, several cheap and gaudy chromos, a little table on which stood several bottles of mucilage, broken plates, brushes, and scissors; scattered all around, on the table, chairs, sofa, floor, shelf, and I believe even on the walls and the ceiling, were endless remnants of silk, satin, and plush; blue, yellow, green, pink, and of all the colors of the rainbow, mixed up with strips of paste-board, circular pieces of the same, gilt and silver tinsel, ribbons and galloons, chromos and paints, flowers, and the thousand other accessories belonging to the pleasing trade of covering and decorating boxes of sweetmeats “for weddings and christenings,”—for this was the official occupation of those buxom girls. A woman, about fifty years old, shriveled, untidy, with very weak eyes, was busy in decorating a lilac-silk bag by pasting on each side a bunch of lilies and an angel’s face that she had cut from a chromo containing at least ten legions of angels. She saluted my uncle, saying, “Good afternoon,” in a dry manner, and went on pasting lilies and angels. Then my uncle, turning toward the girls who were following us, tapped each one under the chin in succession, and introduced them to me as “SeÑorita BelÉn—SeÑorita Cinta.”

After that, drawing near to the table, he exclaimed, jestingly:

“What a barricade! Come, girls, clear things away! I must treat my nephew.”

The old woman then interfered, exclaiming harshly:

“That’s it! waste the afternoon for us, so that when the time comes to deliver the work at the shop, we’ll just tell them that there was too much chattering, isn’t that so? As for things to eat, there’s nothing here but a miserable dish of rice and mussels.”

My uncle’s lips contracted, as they always did previous to his disbursing any money, but that movement was only momentary, and drawing forth a coin from his vest pocket he gave it to the smaller girl, saying:

“Cintita, just get some sherry wine, and biscuits, and a few oranges also.”

This argument was convincing to the old woman.

“Gents, I’ll go into the next room to finish my work of sticking on these angels so as to leave the table free; make yourselves at home.”

They brought the wine and biscuits, and got some cracked, dirty glasses from the depths of the kitchen, and the scene became quite animated. BelÉn took down her guitar, and sang something or other in that low, hoarse voice, which reminds one of the cooing of a dove, displaying all the grace of her southern beauty, and showing her pretty, arched foot, which rested on the round of the chair.

Cinta brought out a tambourine, and put it on her head like a hat, laughing merrily all the while, and amusing herself by throwing orange-peels at us. Then she got a little old India crape shawl out of a drawer, and put it on, while she made all sorts of contortions, saying that she wanted to have a regular spree.

Then ensued bravos, sky-larking, pushing, racing round the room, chairs upset, and pieces of silk flying through the air. Afterward they made us strum on the guitar, and sing, while the girls danced. The wine flowed freely; my uncle breaking the bottle against the edge of the marble table, for we had no corkscrew. As we soon dispatched the contents of that bottle, he told Cinta to bring up another one.

“I have spent all the cash,” answered the girl. My uncle scowled a little, and said:

“But I gave you four dollars.”

BelÉn came to her rescue, exclaiming, “Come now, old fellow, you must not be mean. We need a lot of things and they will not trust us at the grocery for our pretty faces. Keep quiet skin-flint, you stingy thing you!”

What with scolding and joking, they got two dollars more out of the Hebrew, so we had something “to wet our whistles.”

My uncle’s face was flaming red, and it seemed as though the blood would burst from his veins; if his tongue was thick, his eyes, on the other hand, gleamed more than ordinarily, and a beatific expression of material enjoyment was clearly marked upon his face.

I also felt the effects of the wine, for as it was adulterated, it kept rising to my nose; and this, together with the natural excitement of youth in the society of two girls—one a proud, and the other a saucy beauty;—but either capable of turning the head of an anchorite, and much more so of a student,—made me beside myself.

Nevertheless, it would not be fair to say that I was tipsy. I had made up my mind never to fall into the ignoble condition of a drunken man. I had often seen Botello completely fuddled, stumbling around, or falling on the floor like a block, or wild and beside himself; and I could never forget the shock it gave me, to see that handsome creature converted into a beast, talking nonsense, or bellowing like a calf. Luis Portal, the man of the golden mean in self-indulgence, used to say:

“In jolly company, when there is some advantage in it, one may get a trifle elevated, but never drunk. On the contrary, you should keep cool, and try to enjoy yourself at the expense of the tipsy fellows.”

I followed this maxim, and was thus able to keep within bounds, not losing my head. I did foolish things, but knew that I was doing them, and rather enjoyed it.

The frolic was getting more obstreperous every moment. My uncle took out three dollars more; Cinta went down several times, now to get wine, now a shrimp salad, now fruit and preserves. Finally, he bled again in order to have some coffee and liqueurs brought up. In short, there was got together at last an appetizing mixture of dinner and supper. The old woman must have feasted herself on the platter of rice and mussels, all alone out there in the kitchen, for that commonplace dish did not make its appearance.

We did not leave that diabolical den until after one o’clock. The mamma lighted us down the narrow, crooked stairs, with a kerosene lamp which gave out a ray of sickly light. When we reached the street, the first breath of fresh air aroused me as if from a dream. While we walked down Ancha Street, my uncle smacked his lips over the jolly time we had had.

“What do you think of the girls, eh? There are none of that kind in our part of the country. Which do you like the best? BelÉn, of course. She’s just splendid. How lovely she is! I presume, of course, you are discreet, so mum’s the word. There is no need of talking yonder about these fair ones we run across here; they are innocent creatures, and harm nobody. We must have a good time, my boy, for the very reason that I am about to become a sober, married man. It is well enough to go on a lark once in a while. And then, BelÉn and Cinta are not so exacting as many others; although, if they could, they would make me scatter money like dust all day long.”

“Why didn’t you give them one or two bank-notes at first? It would have been better than to keep haggling over one dollar after another.”

“Pshaw! Are you perchance some Russian prince? Such creatures, if one is free-handed with them, get so high and mighty you can’t stand them. If I had shown them my pocket-book! I am even sorry that I carried it with me, because in such rollickings, one never can tell——”

He suddenly stopped, entirely recovered from the effects of the sherry, and pale and frightened, hastily thrust his hand into his pocket, crying:

“Why! my pocket-book! It is not here! Daggers and knives, it isn’t, it isn’t! Those thieves have stolen it. Three bills of a hundred each, at least. Thunder and Mars! It is not here, I tell you. Let’s go and make them give it up.”

“Search for it carefully,” I murmured, with difficulty concealing my annoyance and disgust. “Search your pocket, they have not taken it, that’s nonsense! I think your overcoat bulges out at the side, there.”

He took a deep breath; the pocket-book was found. He felt of it joyfully, stopping under the light of a lamp-post to make sure that all the money was there. After he had searched the depths of his pocket-book, he recovered his good humor and said: “And, besides, it contained my Carmen’s photograph. A nice fix I’d have been in, if they had stolen it. BelÉn would have been capable of digging out the eyes with a big pin.”

He handed me the photograph, which was a small one, such a we give to those we love. I saw a youthful face, with a high, broad forehead, the hair dressed in a simple style, a pair of bright eyes with a gleam of passion and strength of will which surprised me—for I had pictured my uncle’s sweetheart as mild and yielding, passively submitting to everything put upon her. Nor did I find her as plain as my mother had led me to expect. She had one of those faces, which, without being beautiful, attract your gaze the second time.

I left my uncle at the door of his hotel, and went to bed not far from daybreak.

I should never end if I were to tell how Portal teased me the next day. He smelled of my clothes, and then smacked his lips, exclaiming:

“Aha! You’re a sly bird, you rogue! Odor di femina!” Suddenly he burst out laughing:

“Ho, ho! What’s all this!”

On the left leg of my trousers were stuck two little heads of angels, a rose, a bunch of lilies, and I know not what other properties. I had to make a clean breast of it, and give him a faithful and detailed description of the sweetmeat-box artists.