And in effect, before twenty-four hours had passed, SeÑora de PardiÑas had arranged an interview between her son and Esclavita’s rival. The place of rendezvous was the abode of the aforesaid rival, an obscure abode and not a very odorous one, as is apt to be the case with the dwellings of individuals of her class; for which reason, in order that Rogelio should make himself acquainted with the bearing and the figure of his new sweetheart, she was brought out into the yard unadorned, her graceful form was covered only by an old blanket, which Augustin Cuero, the proprietor of the livery stable, hastened to take off, so that not a single one of her charms should remain hidden from view.

She was a beautiful Andalusian pony, sorrel, with black feet, with a small, thin head, sinewy legs, curved and shining hoofs, a coat dazzlingly bright, dilated and sensitive nostrils, and an eye full of fire and sweetness; she was young, gentle, graceful, spirited, one of those animals which do honor to the race of Spanish horses by the beauty of their appearance, by their intelligence, and by their noble and generous natures. Augustin Cuero was lavish in his praises of the animal, affecting to be grieved at parting from so precious a treasure.

“I assure you, SeÑora, that a finer horse is not to be seen to-day on the Castellana. She has not a single blemish. And she is a saint—a skein of silk; an infant could manage her. Spirited as she is, she is incapable of playing a trick. So that a man becomes attached to her, and when one sells her, it is like parting, one might almost say, with one of the family.”

“Yes,” answered SeÑora PardiÑas, who had an eye for a bargain, “but you won’t attempt to deny that this kind of horse is not now in fashion. The horses that are in style now have a neck a mile long, and are shaped like a tooth-pick.”

“Yes, the English horses; a ridiculous fashion, like a great many others. And those are for a certain kind of young gentlemen and certain circumstances. For the hippodrome and that sort of nonsense. A pony like this will always be of use. Anxious enough the Baraterin, is to buy her from me; only we can’t come to an agreement about the price. The SeÑorito there can tell you so.”

“That is true, mamma,” affirmed Rogelio, stroking the silky coat of the gentle animal. “I can bear witness to it. Augustin asked him the same price that he has asked you, and the bull-fighter offers him two ounces less; he is wild about her; he is all the time hanging around her; he makes her more visits!”

“Let him give up hanging around her then, for she is yours,” exclaimed the mother, with decision, enjoying the sight of the happiness depicted on the countenance of her son, who, on hearing those heavenly words, with a spontaneous movement threw his arms around the neck of the pony and planted a hearty smack on her soft black nose.

The price and the time of payment being agreed upon, DoÑa Aurora proposed to leave the pony in the care of Augustin for the present. But Rogelio, almost wild with delight, would not hear of this or of any other definite arrangement being made. “You know nothing about it, mamma,” he cried. “I will take charge of that, leave it all to me. Likely, indeed, that I should spend a whole day without knowing how my pony goes! Every morning and evening I must have a look at my lady pony. Leave it all to me, I say.” DoÑa Aurora ended by acceding to his wishes, and investing him with full powers in the matter, saying, “Very well, arrange it to suit yourself, then.” When the question arose as to a name for the pony, the young man said, smiling, “I will call it ‘SuriÑa.’”

The cardinal affections of the human soul are at times marvelously clear-sighted counselors. SeÑora de PardiÑas had divined, enlightened by maternal affection, that with a young man of twenty—and one young for his age—a woman can have no more dangerous rival than a fine horse. The horse is not merely a distraction for a couple of hours daily, but an occupation and a preoccupation from sunrise to sunset. To make investigations with regard to what it has eaten, and whether it has been robbed of its feed; to see if it has been rubbed down, and if all the operations of its toilet have been performed—and the toilet of a fine horse occupies almost as much time as the toilet of a beautiful woman; then the affectionate understanding that establishes itself between the horseman who for the first time enjoys the possession of a horse, and the animal; the tenderness that springs from ownership, the exchange of caresses, the sugar robbed from the breakfast table to take to it; the fresh bread put away in the waistcoat pocket, the pleasure produced by the joyful whinny of the animal when its keen sense of smell and its delicate perception tell it that its master is approaching with the dainty. Then the anxieties regarding its health—a horse gives as much anxiety in this respect as a child. “SeÑorito, I don’t know what is the matter with the pony, it hasn’t eaten its feed to-day. I notice that its eyes look dull—” “SeÑorito, to-day the pony has not—” But who can enumerate the ailments from which a pony may suffer. With all these cares, there are others of a different order, having relation to what may be called the wedding-finery of horsemanship—the saddle of the best pig-skin, small, fanciful, that crackles at the touch; the saddle-cloth of handsome felt, adorned with English ciphers; the steel stirrup, the fine head stall that gives free play to the graceful movements of the slender head; and for the rider, the whip with its chased silver handle, the Tyrolese gloves, the cravat with white horseshoes on a gray ground. All is excitement, all is delight in the enchanting honeymoon of the young man and his pony. And what emotion when it is brought out of the stable! What pride in displaying it before his friends! What ineffable joy to ride up and down the shady walks of Moncloa, seated on its back; to see a carriage approach in which some black-robed beauty reclines, and under the fascinating gaze of the beautiful unknown to make it rear and prance and show off its grace and spirit until it is covered with foam and sweat! What delight to put it through all its paces,—passing from the measured pace to the quick trot, then to the fiery gallop, and, as he strokes with his palm the neck of the obedient brute, to hear it snort with pleasure, thrilling through all its sensitive nerves and its vigorous and sinewy muscles like a young girl when the arm of her agile partner encircles her waist as he leads her to the dance!

There was not a doubt but that the idea of the pony had been a happy one, suggested as it was by experience, and infinitely superior to that commonplace artifice of taking a sweetheart, which had suggested itself to the innocent mind of Rogelio as a sovereign remedy against his incipient love-sickness. His mother did not need now to ask him to accompany her on her expeditions or to invent excuses to get him out of the house. Of his own accord the young man spent his time between his house and the stall of his favorite. The weather was now growing milder. The closing days of March, notwithstanding the bad reputation of that variable month, were clear, calm, and pleasant, and every afternoon, at three o’clock, Rogelio rode out to enjoy the first warm airs of spring, now alone, again with some friend, and again with the riding-master, to return home at dusk healthily tired, intoxicated with the pure air, strengthened and exhilarated, and his mind free from enervating thoughts. Between this vein of activity which his mother had discovered, and study no longer to be avoided, as the examinations were approaching with alarming swiftness, how or when could he find time to devote to Esclavita?

His mother did not on this account relax her vigilance, however, or abandon her well-considered plan of defense. One day Don Gaspar Febrero, having gone somewhat earlier than usual to DoÑa Aurora’s, found himself alone with her, and, according to his custom, turned the conversation on Esclavita, praising her so extravagantly that his companion at last began to grow impatient.

“Now that you speak of the girl,” she said, when the old man allowed her to get in a word, “I wish to say something to you about her. But promise me first that you will answer me with the frankness due to our long-standing friendship.”

“Can you doubt it? Why of course I shall, my dear Aurora. In what way can I serve you?”

“You shall hear. It is something that I have been thinking of sitting here alone in the mornings when the boy is at college. As you will be very lonely, no doubt, when Felisa starts on her long voyage to the Philippines, I have thought—so that you might not miss so greatly the attentions to which you have been accustomed—what do you think?”

“Let us hear—let us hear. Since the idea is yours—you always reason very judiciously, my dear friend——”

“As you have often told me that you thought Esclavita so excellent a servant——”

The sprightly old man made a quick movement of delighted surprise, settled his spectacles on his nose, and eagerly and tremulously, in disjointed phrases, exclaimed:

“My dear friend! my dear friend! what is it you are saying? what is it you are saying? Have you considered well before speaking? To part with that treasure! that treasure! You overwhelm me with this proof of your goodness. Yes, indeed, but in conscience no, I cannot accept. Now I see of what friendship is capable, Aurora! No, it would be too selfish on my part. You have not thought well over the matter. Are you speaking in earnest? in earnest?”

SeÑora de PardiÑas felt the pricking of remorse at this spontaneous effusion of gratitude, and hastened to add:

“Listen and you will see that it would be for my own advantage as well as for yours. There is something of selfishness in the offer, too, Don Gaspar, it is not all a kindness. As I am thinking of taking Rogelio on a visit to our native place this year——”

“A reason the more, my friend; a reason the more. You cannot dispense with the services of such a girl, traveling. The times are bad. With the Higinias that are going, who would part with an Esclavita? And an Esclavita of that stamp! Have you thought seriously over the matter, I mean seriously?”

As he spoke thus, NuÑo Rasura jumped up and down in his chair, twirling his crutch between his palms. His eyes sparkled, his form straightened itself like a boy’s, and his breast rose and fell with his agitated breathing.

“Heaven help us!” thought DoÑa Aurora, “I shall have to lift the man up from the floor with a spoon.” And as she remained silent, affecting to be considering the good man’s arguments, the latter added quickly and energetically, like a child who pretends to be yielding to persuasion in accepting a toy:

“That is to say—of course I know from the very fact of your proposing it to me that you have thought well over it. I see that you are right in what you say; very right, very right, Aurora. Traveling, one is better alone; the boy and his mother, of course, of course. As for me, it is enough that you should propose it; I accept, I accept; do you hear, my friend? I accept.”

“It is true,” reflected DoÑa Aurora, “that that slippery Don Nicanor, who is stuffed full of malice and who is capable of thinking evil of his own mother, irritates one at times; but these simpletons, too, who can never understand a hint—well, there are days when they keep one’s nerves on the stretch like the strings of a guitar.”

Don Gaspar’s scruples being thus vanquished, he himself arranged a plan of action, which he laid before DoÑa Aurora—as soon as his daughter should go away, he would take Esclavita as his housekeeper. The octogenarian added, rubbing his hands:

“Don’t let CandÁs know anything about the matter. I don’t want to be made the subject of annoying jests.”