The proximity of the feasts put an end to long walks. The promenaders confined themselves to walks on the highroad, returning soon to the town, where the plaza was crowded with busy people. The promenaders included the young ladies of the Combist party, gayly attired, parish priests, ill-shaven, of sickly aspect and dejected looking, gamblers of doubtful appearance and strangers from the Border—all types which Agonde criticised with mordacity, to Nieves' great amusement.

"Do you see those women there? They are the SeÑoritas de Gondas, three old maids and a young lady, whom they call their niece, but as they have no brother——Those other two are the Molendes, from Cebre, very aristocratic people, God save the mark! The fat one thinks herself superior to Lucifer, and the other writes poetry, and what poetry! I tell Segundo GarcÍa that he ought to propose to her; they would make an excellent pair. They are staying at Lamajosa's; there they are in their element, for DoÑa Mercedes Lamajosa, when any visitor comes, in order that it may be known that they are noble, says to her daughters: 'Girls, let one of you bring me my knitting; it must be in the press, where the letters-patent of nobility are.' Those two handsome, well-dressed girls are the Caminos, daughters of the judge."

On the eve of the fair the musicians paraded the streets morning and afternoon, deafening everybody with the noise of their triumphal strains. The plaza in front of the townhall was dotted with booths, which made a gay confusion of brilliant and discordant colors. Before the townhall were erected some odd-looking objects which with equal probability might be taken for instruments of torture, children's toys, or scarecrows, but which were in reality fireworks—trees and wheels which were to burn that night, with magnificent pomp, favored by the stillness of the atmosphere. From the window of the building issued, like a Titanic arm, the pole on which was to be hoisted the gigantic balloon, and along the balustrade ran a series of colored glasses, forming the letters V. A. D. L. C.—a delicate compliment to the representative of the district.

It was already dark when Don Victoriano, accompanied by his wife and daughter, set out for the townhall to see the fireworks. It was with difficulty they made their way through the crowd which filled the plaza, where a thousand discordant noises filled the air—now the timbrel and castanets in some dance, now the buzz of the zanfona, now some slow and melancholy popular copla, now the shout of some aggressive and quarrelsome drunkard. Agonde gave his arm to Nieves, made way for her among the crowd, and explained to her the programme of the night's entertainment.

"Never was there seen a balloon like this year's," he said; "it is the largest we have ever had here. The Romerists are furious."

"And how has my likeness turned out?" asked Don Victoriano with interest.

"Oh! It is superb. Better than the likeness in La Illustracion."

At the door of the townhall the difficulties increased, and it was necessary to trample down without mercy the country-people—who had installed themselves there, determined not to budge an inch lest they should lose their places—before they were able to pass in.

"See what asses they are," said Agonde. "It makes no difference whether you step over them or not, they won't rise. They have no place to sleep and they intend to pass the night here; to-morrow they will waken up and return to their villages."

They made their way as best they could over this motley heap in which men and women were crowded together, intertwined, entangled in repulsive promiscuity. Even on the steps of the stairs suspicious-looking groups were lying, or some drunken peasant snored, surfeited with pulpo, or some old woman sat counting her coppers in her lap. They entered the hall, which was illuminated only by the dim light shed by the colored glasses. Some young ladies already occupied the space in front of the windows, but the Alcalde, hat in hand, with innumerable apologies, made them draw their chairs closer together to make room for Nieves, Victorina, and Carmen Agonde, around whom an obsequious circle gathered; chairs were brought for the ladies, and the Alcalde took Don Victoriano to the Secretary's office, where a tray, with some bottles of Tostado and some atrocious cigars, awaited him. The young ladies and the children placed themselves in front, leaning on the railing of the balcony, running the risk of having some rocket fall upon them. Nieves remained a little behind, and drew her silver-woven Algerian shawl closer around her, for in this empty, gloomy hall the air was chill. At her side was an empty chair, which was suddenly occupied by a figure whose outlines were dimly distinguishable in the darkness.

"Why, GarcÍa," she cried, "it is a cure for sore eyes. We haven't seen you for two days."

"You don't see me now, either, Nieves," said the poet, leaning toward her and speaking in a low voice. "It would be rather difficult to see one here."

"That is true," answered Nieves, confused by this simple remark. "Why have they not brought lights?"

"Because it would spoil the effect of the fireworks. Don't you prefer this species of semi-obscurity?" he added, smiling, before he uttered it, at the choice phrase.

Nieves was silent. Unconsciously she was fascinated by the situation, in which there was a delicate blending of danger and security which was not without a tinge of romance; she felt a sense of security in the proximity of the open window, the young girls crowded around it, the plaza, where the multitude swarmed like ants, and whence came noises like the roaring of the sea, and songs and confused cries full of tender melancholy; but at the same time the solitude and the darkness of the hall and the species of isolation in which she found herself with the Swan afforded one of those chance occasions which tempt women of weak principles, who are neither so imprudent as to throw themselves headlong into danger, nor so cautious as to fly from its shadow.

Nieves remained silent, feeling Segundo's breath fanning her cheek. Suddenly both started. The first rocket was streaking the sky with a long trail of light, and the noise of the explosion, deadened though it was by distance, drew a cheer from the crowd in the plaza. After this advanced guard came, one after another, at regular intervals, with measured, hollow, deafening sound, eight bombs, the signal announced in the programme of the feasts for the beginning of the display. The window shook with the report and Nieves did not venture to raise her eyes to the sky, fearing, doubtless, to see it coming down with the reverberation of the bombs. After this the noise of the flying fireworks, chasing one another through the solitudes of space, seemed to her soft and pleasant.

The first of these were ordinary rockets, without any novelty whatever—a trail of light, a dull report, and a shower of sparks. But soon came the surprises, novelties, and marvels of art. There were fireworks that exploded, separating into three or four cascades of light that vanished with fantastic swiftness in the depths of space; from others fell with mysterious slowness and noiselessness violet, green, and red lights, as if the angels had overturned in the skies a casket of amethysts, emeralds, and rubies. The lights descended slowly, like tears, and before they reached the ground suddenly went out. The prettiest were the rockets which sent down a rain of gold, a fantastic shower of sparks, a stream of drops of light as quickly lighted as extinguished. The delight of the crowd in the plaza, however, was greatest at the fireworks of three explosions and a snake. These were not without beauty; they exploded like simple rockets, sending forth a fiery lizard, a reptile which ran through the sky in serpentine curves, and then plunged suddenly into darkness.

The scene was now wrapped in darkness, now flooded with light, when the plaza would seem to rise to a level with the window, with its swarm of people, the patches of color of the booths and the hundreds of human faces turned upward, beaming with delight at this favorite spectacle of the Galicians, a race which has preserved the Celtic love and admiration for pyrotechnic displays, for brilliantly illuminated nights in which they find a compensation for the cloudy horizon of the day.

Nieves, too, was pleased by the sudden alternations of light and darkness, a faithful image of the ambiguous condition of her soul. When the firmament was lighted up she watched with admiration the bright luminaries that gave a Venetian coloring to these pleasant moments. When everything was again enveloped in darkness she ventured to look at the poet, without seeing him, however, for her eyes, dazzled by the fireworks, were unable to distinguish the outlines of his face. The poet, on his side, kept his eyes fixed persistently on Nieves, and he saw her flooded with light, with that rare and beautiful moonlight glow produced by fireworks, and which adds a hundredfold to the softness and freshness of the features. He felt a keen impulse to condense in one ardent phrase all that the time had now come for saying, and he bent toward her—and at last he pronounced her name!

"Nieves!"

"Well?"

"Had you ever seen fireworks like these before?"

"No; it is a specialty of this province. I like them greatly. If I were a poet like you I would say pretty things about them. Come, invent something, you."

"Like them happiness brightens our existence, for a few brief moments, Nieves—but while it brightens, while we feel it——"

Segundo inwardly cursed the high-sounding phrase that he found himself unable to finish. What nonsense he was talking! Would it not be better to bend down a little lower and touch with his lips——But what if she should scream? She would not scream, he would venture to swear. Courage!

In the balcony a great commotion was heard. Carmen Agonde called to Nieves:

"Nieves, come, come! The first tree—a wheel of fire——"

Nieves rose hastily and went and leaned over the balustrade, thinking that it would not do to attract attention sitting all the evening chatting with Segundo. The tree began to burn at one end, not without difficulty, apparently, spitting forth an occasional red spark; but suddenly the whole piece took fire—a flaming wheel, an enormous wafer of red and green light, which turned round and round, expanding and shaking out its fiery locks and making the air resound with a noise like the report of fire-arms. It was silent for a few brief instants and seemed on the point of going out, a cloud of rosy smoke enveloped it, through which shone a point of light, a golden sun, which soon began to turn with dizzying rapidity, opening and spreading out into an aureole of rays. These went out one by one, and the sun, diminishing in size until it was no larger than a coal, lazily gave a few languid turns, and, sighing, expired.

As Nieves was returning to her seat she felt a pair of arms thrown around her neck. They were those of Victorina who, intoxicated with delight at the spectacle of the fireworks, cried in her thin voice:

"Mamma, mamma! How lovely! How beautiful! And Carmen says they are going to set off more trees and a wheel——"

She stopped, seeing Segundo standing beside Nieves' chair. She hung her head, ashamed of her childish enthusiasm, and, instead of returning to the window, she remained beside her mother, lavishing caresses upon her to disguise the shyness and timidity which always took possession of her when Segundo looked at her. Two other pieces were burning at two of the corners of the plaza, a pin-wheel and a vase, that sent forth showers of light, first golden, then blue. The child, notwithstanding her admiration for the fireworks, did not appear to have any intention of going to the window to see them, leaving Nieves and Segundo alone. The latter remained seated for some ten minutes longer, but seeing that the child did not leave her mother's side, he rose quickly, seized by a sudden frenzy, and walked up and down the dimly-lighted hall with hasty steps, conscious that for the moment he was not sufficiently master of himself to maintain outward calmness.

By Heaven, he was well employed! Why had he been fool enough to let slip so favorable an opportunity! Nieves had encouraged him; he had not dreamed it; no; glances, smiles, slight but significant indications of liking and good-will; all these there had been, and they all counseled him to end so ambiguous and doubtful a situation. Ah! If this woman only loved him! And she should love him, and not in jest and as a pastime, but madly! Segundo would not be satisfied with less. His ambitious soul scorned easy and ephemeral triumphs—all or nothing. If the Madridlenian thought of flirting with him she would find herself mistaken; he would seize her by her butterfly wings and, even at the cost of breaking them, he would hold her fast; if one wished to retain a butterfly in his possession he must pierce it through the heart or press it to death. Segundo had done this a thousand times when he was a boy; he would do it now again; he was resolved upon it; whenever a light or mocking laugh, a reserved attitude or a tranquil look, showed Segundo that SeÑora de Comba maintained her self-possession, his heart swelled with rage that threatened to suffocate him; and when he saw the child beside her mother, who was keeping up an animated conversation with the little girl, as if she were keeping her there as a protection, he determined that he would not let the night pass without knowing what were her feelings toward him.

He returned to Nieves, but she had now risen and the child was drawing her by the hands to the window; this was the solemn and critical moment; the monster balloon had just been attached to the pole for the purpose of inflating it; and from the plaza came a loud buzz, a buzz of eager expectation. A phalanx of Combist artisans, among whom figured Ramon, the confectioner, were clearing a space around it sufficiently large to allow of the fuse burning freely, so that the difficult operation might be accomplished. The silhouettes of the workmen, illuminated by the light of the fuse, could be seen moving about, bending down, rising up, dancing a sort of mad dance. The darkness was no longer illuminated by the glare of the rockets, and the human sea looked black as a lake of pitch.

Still folded in innumerable folds, its sides clinging together, the balloon swayed feebly, kissing the ground with its lips of wire, between which the ill-smelling fuse was beginning to burn brightly. The manufacturers of the colossal balloon proceeded to unfold it gently and affectionately, lighting below it other fuses to aid the principal one and hasten the rarification of air in its paper body. This began to distend itself, the folds opening out with a gentle, rustling sound, and the balloon, losing its former limp and lank appearance, began to be inflated in places. As yet the figures on its sides appeared of unnatural length, like figures reflected from the polished, convex surface of a coffee urn; but already several borders and mottoes began to make their appearance here and there, acquiring their natural proportions and positions and showing clearly the coarse red and blue daubs.

The difficulty was that the mouth of the balloon was too large, allowing the rarefied air to escape through it; and if the fuses were made to burn with greater force there was danger of setting the paper on fire and instantly reducing the superb machine to ashes—a terrible calamity which must be prevented at all costs. Therefore many arms were eagerly stretched out to support it, and when the balloon leaned to one side many hands made haste to sustain it—all this to the accompaniment of cries, oaths, and maledictions.

In the plaza the surging crowd continued to increase, and the eager expectancy became momentarily greater. Carmen Agonde, with her mellow laugh, recounted to Nieves the plots that went on behind the scenes. Those who were trying to push their way to the front in order to overturn the fuses and prevent the ascent of the balloon belonged to the Romerist party; a good watch the maker of the fireworks had been obliged to keep to prevent them from wetting his powder trees; but the greatest hatred was to the balloon, on account of its bearing Don Victoriano's likeness; they had vowed and determined that so ridiculous and grotesque an object should not ascend into the air while they had life to prevent it; and that they themselves would construct another balloon, better than that of the townhall, and that this should be the only one to ascend. For this reason they applauded and uttered shouts of derision every time the gigantic balloon, unable to rise from the earth, fell down feebly to the right or to the left, while Don Victoriano's partisans directed their efforts on the one hand to protect from all injury the enormous bulk of the balloon, on the other to inflate it with warm air to make it rise.

Nieves' eyes were fixed attentively on the monster, but her thoughts were far away. Segundo had succeeded in pushing his way through the crowd in front of the window and was now sitting beside her, on her right. No one was observing them now, and the poet, without preface, passed his arm around Nieves' waist, placing his hand boldly on the spot where, anatomically speaking, the heart is situated. Instead of the elastic and yielding curve of the form and the quickened pulsation of the organ, Segundo felt under his hand the hard surface of one of those long corset-breastplates full of whalebones, and furnished with steel springs, which fashion prescribes at the present day—an apparatus to which Nieves' form owed much of its slender grace. Infernal corset! Segundo could have wished that his fingers were pincers to pierce through the fabric of her gown, through the steel whalebones, through her inner garments, through the flesh and through the very ribs and fasten themselves in her heart, and seize it red-hot and bleeding and crush, tear, annihilate it! Why could he not feel the throbbings of that heart? Leocadia's heart, or even Victorina's, bounded like a bird's when he touched it. And Segundo, enraged, pressed his hand with greater force, undeterred by the fear of hurting Nieves, desiring, on the contrary, to strangle her.

Surprised at Segundo's audacity, Nieves remained silent, not daring to make the slightest movement, lest by doing so she should attract attention, and protesting only by straightening her form and raising her eyes to his with a look of anguish, soon lowering them, however, unable to resist the expression in the eyes of the poet. The latter continued to search for the absent heart without succeeding in feeling anything more than the throbbing of his own arteries, of his pulse compressed against the unyielding surface of the corset. But fatigue finally conquered, his fingers relaxed their pressure, his arm fell down powerless, and rested without strength or illusion on the form, at once flexible and unyielding, the form of whalebone and steel.

Meanwhile the balloon, in defiance of the Romerist intriguers, continued to expand, as its enormous body was filled with gas and light, illuminating the plaza like a gigantic lantern. It swayed from side to side majestically, and on its immense surface could be read plainly all the inscriptions and laudatory phrases invented by the enthusiastic Combists. The effigy, or rather the colossal figure of Don Victoriano, which filled one of its sides completely, followed the curve of the balloon and stood out, so ugly and disproportioned that it was a pleasure to see it; it had two frying-pans for eyes, the pupils being two eggs fried in them, no doubt; for mouth a species of fish or lizard and for beard a tangled forest or map of blots of sienna and lampblack. Giant branches of green laurel crossed each other above the head of the colossus, matching the golden palms of his court dress, represented by daubs of ocher. And the balloon swelled and swelled, its distended sides grew ever tenser and tenser, and it pulled impatiently at the cord that held it, eager to break away and soar among the clouds. The Combists yelled with delight. Suddenly a murmur was heard, a low murmur of expectation.

The cord had been dexterously cut and the balloon, majestic, magnificent, rose a few yards above the ground, bearing with it the apotheosis of Don Victoriano, the glory of his laurels, mottoes and emblems. In the balcony and in the plaza below resounded a salvo of applause and triumphal acclamations. Oh, vanity of human joys! It was not one Romerist stone only but three at least that at this instant, directed with unerring aim, pierced the sides of the paper monster, allowing the hot air, the vital current, to escape through the wounds. The balloon contracted, shriveled up like a worm when it is trodden upon, and finally, doubling over in the middle, gave itself up a prey to the devouring flames lighted by the fuse which in a second's space enveloped it in a fiery mantle.

At the same moment that the balloon of the official candidate expired thus miserably, the little Romerist balloon, its swelling sides daubed with coarse designs, rose promptly and swiftly from a corner of the plaza, resolved not to pause in its ascent until it had reached the clouds.