DoÑa Aurora was in the habit of taking her son his chocolate every morning before he was out of bed, for, old-fashioned in many other respects, the household was old-fashioned also in the matter of early rising. Those were delightful moments for the doting mother.

The boy, as she called him, felt on awakening that causeless joy peculiar to the springtime of life, that season when each new day seems to come fresh from the hands of time, golden and beautiful, and embellished with delights, before painful memories have begun to weigh down the fluttering wings of hope. Rogelio, who in the afternoon suffered from occasional fits of nervous depression, in the morning was as gay and sprightly as a bird. Even his chatter resembled the chirping of birds or the cooing of infants when they open their eyes in the morning. His mother, after removing the articles of clothing and the books lying about, would seat herself at his bed-side and hold the tray, so that the chocolate might not spill as the boy dipped the golden biscuits into it, while a glass of pure fresh milk stood beside it waiting its turn.

And what anxiety and trouble this glass of milk cost DoÑa Aurora! She knew more on the subject than the entire municipal board of chemists; without analysis or instruments or other nonsense of the kind, she could distinguish, simply by looking at it, by its color and its odor, every grade and quality of milk that is consumed in Madrid. For her hopes of seeing Rogelio grow robust were all centered in that glass of milk drank before going to college, and in the beefsteak eaten after returning from it.

While he was taking his chocolate, it was that all the events of the preceding day were discussed, the amusing skirmishes between NuÑo Rasura and Lain Calvo, the college jokes, the latest crime, last night’s fire, together with all the trifling incidents of that home so truly peaceful like many another in the capital, notwithstanding the provincial superstition that Madrid is a perpetual whirlpool or vortex, Rogelio’s first words on the morning following the day of the Galician’s application were to ask his mother with ill-disguised interest:

“Well, what did they tell you about the fair maid—of all work?”

There was nothing strange or out of the way in his asking this question, and yet DoÑa Aurora was somewhat embarrassed by it, and hesitated whether she should tell him what she had heard or keep it to herself. No, it would be more prudent to say nothing about it. It was a serious matter, and if Rogelio should be wanting in discretion—it was necessary to proceed with caution.

“See, little mouse, in the first place I must tell you that I have dismissed Pepa.”

“Hello! Is a change of ministry to take place here without my being consulted in the matter?”

“You shall hear! She was getting to be very conceited, very fond of answering back. So I handed her her wages. I will bear anything from them but answering back. I suppose there was a lover in the business or she would not——. To tell the truth I am tired of these Madrid servants, they are so upsetting and unbearable with their airs and assurance. I prefer a modest, docile girl. With a civil word you can conquer me, I can’t help it. If you were to see that Pepa, as stubborn as a mule and as wild as a mountain rabbit. Ah, I can’t believe that she is gone!”

“Mater, enough of prolegomena,” exclaimed the boy, dipping the end of his biscuit into the milk. “All this means that you are going to take the black-robed Unknown. She found her way straight into your heart through your eyes. We all have our weaknesses.”

“Don’t be foolish. What I want is that things should run smoothly in the house. That is a deserving girl. When I say so——”

Ah! those resolutions to be reticent, those determinations to be discreet, shun them as you would fire, for they open wide the door to unrestrained confidences. SeÑora de PardiÑas meant to be silent, but who is silent after letting out the first hint. Nor would Rogelio have given her any peace. Besides, DoÑa Aurora in her heart was eager to recount her triumph and tell how she had got the best of that hypocritical humbug, Rita Pardo. This sweet satisfaction was the reward of her victory. There is a pleasure whose origin cannot be defined but whose attraction we almost all feel, in relating these tragic episodes of human life which by their reaction on society affect us all, which interest us, because they appeal to our sentiments of compassion and justice, and at the same time present to us grave problems, not for our solution, but only for our consideration, as we consider the argument of a tragedy which we see represented on the stage and which arouses our horror and pity. Rogelio, leaning with his elbow on his pillow and with wide open eyes, waited eagerly for his mother’s romantic story.

“You see,” said the latter, when she had finished her story, “that we must treat the poor girl with some consideration. In the circumstances she could not have behaved better than she has done. She has shown herself to be remarkably unselfish, and along with that, religious and discreet. As far as I understand she believes herself to be under a ban, and that she must bear the sins of her parents, and it makes her ashamed that in her native place they should see her and remember what has happened. We must be very careful how we speak to her. Her father we must not even mention; still less her mother—for the wretched woman is still living and wandering about the world, leading Heaven knows what sort of a life.”

“Well,” responded Rogelio, recovering his good humor, “it seems then that we are to regard the girl as if she were a mushroom. If the question ever turns on fathers or mothers I will say to her—“Of course I know you never had any. Will that do?”

“Child, don’t be absurd. Eat that other biscuit. What I mean is that you must not tease her. People who have suffered great misfortunes are very sensitive; the least thing is apt to upset them. I should like her to be contented. In this Madrid, where there are so few good servants, to find a virtuous girl of so attractive an appearance is a great piece of good luck, I can tell you. They are either like sergeant-majors or like rushes.”

“Shall I buy a bunch of flowers to present to her gallantly when she enters our mansion?” asked the student. His mother gave him an affectionate little tap, saying:

“What I am going to buy is a washstand and a few other necessary articles, for that untidy Pepa has left the room like a den of lions; otherwise this girl, who is so neat, will not find a place to wash her hands. A washstand, some soap, a little table, and new mat so that she may not have to step on the tiles, that are as cold as ice, when she gets out of bed in the morning. Or better than a mat would be a piece of moquette carpet, and it can be had so cheap. I am going to buy her some warm cloth, too, to make a little jacket. I don’t believe she has a wrap; she came without any yesterday. I don’t know how she may be off for clothing. I am sorry now for the three beautiful garments I gave to Pepa less than a fortnight ago.”

“Bah! All you have to do is to order a trousseau from Paris, like that of the SeÑora de CÁnovas, for instance. Ten dozen elegant wrappers and four thousand pairs of silk stockings. Would that be enough?”

DoÑa Aurora went out early and returned home before twelve with her new acquisitions. It was a pleasure to her to see the room swept and the washstand and the piece of carpet in their places. She put out clean towels and had a white quilt put on the bed to make the iron bedstead look more attractive. She left the room for a moment, and on returning she could not help bursting out laughing. In a blue glass was a cheap bunch of flowers and Rogelio was hidden behind the door, watching.

“What do you think of that idea, eh? Now we have a bouquet. Caray, carapuche, as Lain Calvo says. They are gardenias; ten dollars they cost me. Shall I go get a begonia? It would look very well beside the washstand. We will write a description of it afterward: ‘The alcove was transformed at the touch of a fairy’s wand into a leafy winter garden.’”

Esclavita was engaged when she presented herself at about one o’clock. But she wished to go to say good-by to the SeÑoritas de Romera. She did not install herself in her new home until the afternoon, when she brought a boy with her to carry her trunk—one of those Galician trunks covered with leather, with tin clamps. It was so light that at the foot of the staircase the girl took it on her shoulders and carried it upstairs herself. In this trunk, which was almost empty, she carried all the wealth she had inherited from the rector of Vimieiro.