During the first few days she was like a hen in a strange yard. In truth, whether it were owing to sad recollections, or to the strange malady of homesickness from which she had suffered ever since her arrival in Madrid, the girl began to decline visibly in looks and she fell into a state of dejection which, though it did not prevent her from working with diligence and even with ardor, deprived her of the elasticity which lightens toil. It was plain to be seen that she had grown thinner, and although from the slenderness of her form and from the expression of her face it was evident she was younger, from her serious turn of mind, and the gravity of her demeanor, she might be thought twenty-eight or thirty.

It is to be adverted that this species of melancholy or dejection did not interfere with the strict performance of her duties. On the contrary Esclavita was a model servant. She rose very early, almost with the sun, indeed, and before the cook had thought of lighting the fire she was already arranging everything for the breakfast of the mistress and the young master. From the very first day she took charge of the preparation of the chocolate, a duty which she performed with scrupulous care. The secret, which is fast becoming lost, of making chocolate—of the number of times necessary for it to boil up, and of the amount of beating required in order that a solution of cocoa should be aromatic, smooth, and nutritious—Esclavita knew so well that DoÑa Aurora declared she had never in her life tasted chocolate like hers. In the sweeping, too, she was no less skillful. With her handkerchief knotted at the back of her head and her skirt turned up around her and fastened behind, she would sweep quietly, not making a great disturbance and upsetting everything in the room, yet doing the work thoroughly. That she did not brush and beat too vigorously, annoying everybody in the house, under pretense of cleaning, was an additional merit in the eyes of DoÑa Aurora, who could not bear rough or noisy people. But what the new maid excelled most in was the mending. It was evident that she was less accustomed to cooking, ironing, or housework than to sedentary tasks. Seated in a low chair by the window, in a couple of hours she would empty the basket of linen, and her invisible darns, her skillful patches, her firmly sewed strings and her well-fastened buttons were DoÑa Aurora’s admiration. She would say to her friends:

“I am not afraid now of wearing my best linen every day. This Esclavita does not leave a bit of torn lace or embroidery unmended. It is a pleasure to see her with the needle in her hand.”

But at the same time DoÑa Aurora’s expansive disposition was little in accord with the reserved melancholy of the girl. The more pleased she was with her service the more she desired to see her go about with that lightheartedness that shows a cheerful conformity with one’s lot in life and the occupation in which one is engaged. All the consideration she had for that blessed girl, and yet she looked always dissatisfied and gloomy! In the kindness of the SeÑora de PardiÑas there was an element of selfishness, the natural outgrowth of that kindness; if she conferred a benefit on any one, she wished to enjoy in return the spectacle of that person’s felicity; and so strong was this feeling that in order to live tranquil and happy she needed to be persuaded that everybody around her was tranquil and happy too. In deciding to take Esclavita she had been influenced by two motives; the first was to spite “that hateful Rita Pardo”; the second to make a girl of so engaging an appearance as Esclavita happy, playing in a certain sense the rÔle of Providence, and reconciling her with destiny, for her fatal and implacable from the very hour of her birth. And in the latter generous desire she could not succeed because the girl would not respond to her efforts and allow herself to be cheerful.

One day DoÑa Aurora noticed that Esclavita ate scarcely anything, persisting at the same time in going on with her work, saying in answer to her mistress’s questions that there was nothing the matter with her. SeÑora de PardiÑas was of a frank, impetuous, and straightforward character, such as is rarely to be met with among the Galicians; the moment a thought came into her mind she gave expression to it, and when anything prevented her doing this she felt as if she had something sticking in her throat. Without further delay, then, she brought the girl close to a window where the shade of her black silk handkerchief would not conceal the expression of her eyes or the working of her features.

“What is the matter with you, child?” she asked her without preface, with motherly solicitude. “Is there anything troubling you? Do you want for anything?”

The girl turned red, as was habitual with her when she was affected by any emotion, and answered in a low voice:

“No, SeÑora. How could I want for anything? May God reward you for your kindness.”

“But what is the matter, then? Are you not happy here, either? Do we treat you badly? Does the other girl not behave as she ought? Do you want more covering?”

As the girl remained silent, answering these questions in the negative by a shake of the head, SeÑora de PardiÑas went on:

“You will do very wrong, I warn you, if you lock up your trouble in your own heart. It is worse for yourself if you are foolish. When you might be happy, I don’t understand the reason of this reserve and this nonsense. For my part I like to see pleasant faces around me. A gloomy countenance, especially when there is no cause for it, disgusts me.”

The last words she pronounced in a tone of annoyance, seeing that Esclavita persisted in her obstinate silence. At the same time she said in her own mind, “The girl has the good qualities of our country, but she has its defects as well. She is modest, respectful, and quiet, but she is a little foxy, too, and there is no way of knowing what she is thinking about, or what are her feelings. The jades here are barefaced and impudent, but at least they are not deceitful; they call bread bread and wine wine; it is either yes or no. For a disposition like mine——”

While these thoughts were passing through her mind, the bell rang, and the voice of Rogelio, who had just returned from college, was heard in the hall. Esclavita’s cheeks grew redder than they were before, and she made an involuntary movement as if to run away and hide herself. “Ta, ta!” said SeÑora PardiÑas to herself, a sudden thought flashing across her mind, “I noticed that the lad seemed to have something against this girl. He speaks to her so coldly, which is unusual with him. That must be it. The poor girl is dejected because she sees that she has not fallen into the boy’s good graces. I must set this matter right. It is plain that Esclavita is too sensitive and when she fancies that she is not liked——” She resumed aloud, “Well, child, if you are dissatisfied——”

“I am not dissatisfied; no, SeÑora,” answered Esclavita, respectfully and not without firmness, “unless others are dissatisfied with me. I am perfectly contented; it would be a pity if I was not. But others——”

“What has put that idea into your head?” said her mistress, looking at her fixedly. “Have I ever found fault with you since you came into the house?”

“No, SeÑora, you are very kind. I am not complaining of anybody,” responded the girl. “I am only afraid—well, that I may not give satisfaction. If I did not give satisfaction I would rather not stay. Unless people were satisfied with me I would rather be in purgatory—or worse.”

“Hold your tongue, silly girl, hold your tongue,” said her mistress reprovingly. “Of course you give satisfaction. Go to your mending. If I hear any more of this nonsense, you shall see.”

As soon as a favorable opportunity presented itself DoÑa Aurora took her son to task. “I am convinced,” she said, “that the secret cause of all Esclavita’s dejection is your manner toward her. You speak to Fausta in a different way; you may not be aware of it, but with Fausta you are always jesting or disputing, and with the other one you are always serious and formal; she fancies you do not like her, that she does not give satisfaction, as she says. I assure you that the poor girl is greatly distressed and that she is capable of worrying herself into a sickness about it. These nervous girls are ticklish creatures to deal with. And apart from that, on account of her—the rector, eh?—the girl gets more and more sensitive every day. On my word I pity her. If I were you I would speak to her—well—with more kindness.”

The student listened to his mother’s words with his face turned toward a picture, that seemed to possess a great attraction for him. When he was at last obliged to answer, he did so jestingly. “Don’t say another word. I shall get a mandolin and give the young lady a serenade this very night. I will bring her another bouquet and see if I can’t write her some sentimental verses, like those of my friend Anastasio Cardona. You shall see! you shall see! We will sign a treaty of peace, the illustrious kitchen-maid and I.”

In reality, Rogelio was extraordinarily flattered and pleased by Esclavita’s complaint. If his coldness and indifference touched her so profoundly, it was because the girl did not regard him as a child, or, as she said, a boy. Is any one vexed or troubled by what a child does or says? There was not a doubt but that she looked on him as a man, and a man on whose conduct her peace of mind depended; she took it so much to heart that her spirits and even her health were affected by it. Rogelio allowed his mind to dwell with pleasure on this thought. During breakfast, however, notwithstanding his mother’s repeated signals, he made no change in his manner toward the girl. Without knowing why, he felt ashamed of making this alteration in DoÑa Aurora’s presence. However, he glanced furtively from time to time at Esclavita, who—no doubt from the excited state of his imagination—seemed to him thin and pale and drooping like a willow. As this idea took possession of him his noble youthful heart overflowed with compassion, but his vanity, youthful also, thrilled with sweet satisfaction. “And it is on my account that she suffers thus,” he thought. “To judge by the respectful attention with which she serves me one might almost think her afraid of me.”

Rogelio was washing his hands in his room when he heard a light tap at the door, and in answer to his summons, “Come in,” Esclavita entered carrying a shallow willow basket containing half a dozen ironed shirts. Holding her burden in her uplifted hands, the girl’s fine figure and her graceful and rhythmic gait were displayed to advantage. She was going to lay the shirts upon the bed and leave the room again without speaking, when Rogelio, going up to her and shaking his hand threateningly at her, cried:

“Let us see how these cuffs are ironed. If I find a single scorch on them, woe be to you!”

On hearing the young man’s voice,

Esclavita started, imagining at first that he was scolding her in earnest; but when she raised her eyes and noticed the expression on his countenance, she saw that he was jesting. Her glance revealed such sincere joy, she was so visibly relieved, so delighted, in a word, that the young man’s kind heart was once more pleasurably thrilled, and in order to conceal his emotion he went on with the jest.

“Is it right that I should go about like a half-pay government official with my shirts looking like the face of the worthy SeÑor Don Prudencio Rojas? Let me see; lift up that snowy gauze and show me those inner garments. If my togÆ pretextÆ display the wrinkles of old age, fly, I warn you, beyond the reach of my avenging wrath.”

Esclavita’s face, that had been gradually clearing up, brightened as she lifted up the cloth with a look of affectionate mischievousness.

“Let us see, SeÑorito,” she said, “let us see what fault you have to find with these bosoms. Not even the king himself wears finer ones.”

“What the king wears is bibs; let us not get things mixed up. Let me see those prodigies.”

And indeed they were beautifully ironed, so smooth and lustrous that it would have been an unreasonable exaction to require them to be better done.

“Well, for this time I grant you your life. But woe to you if you should ever grow negligent in the performance of so sacred a duty.”

“No, SeÑor; no, SeÑor. They shall be whiter and whiter every day. As white as doves.”

“Deign to tell me that in Galician; I intend to begin the study of that language, as I am so perfect now in Greek and in Sanscrit that I cast the professors in the shade. What is dove in Galician?”

“And you are from there and you don’t know that. Well, what a being! It is called pomba, and also suriÑa.”

“Ah! suriÑa, how sweet that sounds! I shall begin to-morrow to study the classic tongues; you shall be my teacher. ‘Mademoiselle SuriÑa; professor of languages; lessons given at the house.’ We will put a card on the window and an advertisement in El Imparcial. SuriÑa, take those shirts off the bed; they are in the way there. Put them in the wardrobe. So!”

“Oh, SeÑorito, how upset your wardrobe is!” exclaimed the girl when she opened it.

“Put it in order, then, SuriÑa. The putting in order of wardrobes is a part of the lesson in Galician.”