A TALL priest, still young, with a full, pale face, blue eyes, and the vague gaze of short sight, was standing in the doorway. Every one rose. The Marquesa was the first to come forward and kiss his hand. After her, her daughters did the same, and then Mariana and the other ladies.

"Good-evening, Father." "Delighted to see you, Father." "Sit here, Father." "No, no, not there; come near the fire, Father."

The men shook hands with him affectionately and respectfully. The priest's voice, as he returned their greetings, was sweet and very low, as though there were a sick person in the adjoining room; his smile was grave, patronising, and insinuating. He had an air of having been dragged from his cell and his books with extreme difficulty—of coming hither much against his will, simply to do some good to the CalderÓns, whose spiritual director he was, by the mere contact of his learned and virtuous person. His clothes and robe were fine and well cut; his shoes of patent leather with silver buckles; his stockings of silk.

Every one complimented him enthusiastically on a sermon he had delivered the day before at the Oratory Del Caballero de Gracia. He merely smiled, and murmured sweetly: "I am only glad, ladies, if you derived any benefit from it."

Padre Ortega was no common priest—at any rate, in the opinion of the fashionable society of the metropolis, among whom he had a large following. Without being a meddler, he was a constant guest in the houses of persons of distinction. He did not love to make a noise, or attract the attention of the company to himself; he neither made jokes nor allowed joking; he had none of the frank, gossiping temper which is commonly found in those priests who are addicted to social intercourse. If he had any love of intrigue it must have been of a different type to that usually seen in the world. Discreet and affable, modest, grave, and silent in society, effacing himself completely and mingling with the crowd, he stood out in full relief when he mounted the pulpit, as he very frequently did. Then he expressed himself with amazing ease and fluency; he did not move his audience to emotion, and never attempted it, but he displayed very remarkable talents, and a distinction rare among his order.

For he was one of those very few ecclesiastics who are—or who at any rate seem to be—up to the mark of modern science. Instead of the moral platitudes, the empty and absurd declamation, which are hurled by his brethren against science and logic, his sermons boldly rose to the level of the literature of the day; he invariably ended by proving directly or indirectly that there is no essential incompatibility between the advance of science and the dogmas of the Church. He would discourse of evolution, of transmutation, of the struggle for existence; would quote Hegel sometimes, allude to the Malthusian theory of population, to the antagonism of Labour and Capital; and from each in turn would deduce something in support of Catholic doctrine; to meet new modes of attack new weapons must be employed. He even confessed himself an advocate, in principle, of Darwin's theories—a fact which surprised and alarmed some of his more timid friends and penitents, although at the same time it enhanced their respect and admiration. When he addressed himself to women only, he avoided all erudition which might bore them, adopted a worldly tone, spoke of their little parties and balls, their dress and their fashions like an adept, and drew similes and arguments from social life. This delighted his fair audience, and brought them to his feet.

He was the director of many of the principal families of Madrid, and in this capacity he showed exquisite discretion and tact, treating each one with due regard to his or her temperament and past and present position. When he met with a woman like the Marquesa de Alcudia, devout, enthusiastic, and fervent, the shrewd priest pressed the keys firmly, was exacting and imperious, inquired into the smallest domestic details, and laid down the law. In the Alcudia's household not a step was taken without his sanction; and in such cases, as though he enjoyed exerting his power, he adopted a stern and grave demeanour which, under other circumstances, was quite foreign to him.

If he had to do with a family of worldlings, indifferent to the Church, he played with a lighter hand, was benign and tolerant, requiring them only to conform outwardly, and refrain from setting a bad example. He did all he could to consolidate the beautiful alliance which in our days has been concluded between religion and fashion; every day he found some new means to this end, some derived from the French, some the offspring of his own brain. On certain days of the year he would collect an evening congregation of ladies of his acquaintance in the chapel or oratory of some noble house. Then there were delightful matinÉes, when he would extemporise a prayer, some accomplished musician would play the harmonium, he himself would speak a short friendly address, and then discuss religious questions with the ladies present; those who chose might confess, and, to conclude, the party would adjourn to the dining-room, where they took tea,—and changed the subject.

When any member of one of these families died, Padre Ortega had his name inserted on the letters of formal announcement, as Spiritual Director, requesting the prayers of the faithful for the departed soul; and then he would distribute printed pamphlets of souvenirs or memoirs, with prayers in which he besought the Supreme Redeemer, in persuasive and honeyed words, that by this or that special feature of His most Holy Passion, he would forgive Count T—— or Baroness M—— the sin of pride or avarice, or what not; but, as a rule, not the sin to which the deceased had been most prone, for the worthy father had no mind to cause a scandal or hurt the feelings of the family. He also undertook the business of arranging for the acquisition of the greatest possible number of indulgences, for the Papal benediction in articulo mortis, for the prayers of any particular sisterhood, and so forth. Those who were his friends and of his flock, might be quite certain of not departing for the other world unprovided with good introductions. What we do not know is how far they proved useful in the sight of God: whether He passed them with a superscription in blue pencil as an ambassador does, or whether, like the lady in the story, He asked: "And you, Padre Ortega—who introduces you?"

When he had exchanged a few polite words with every person present, with such courtesy as was due to the position of each, the Marquesa de Alcudia took possession of him, carrying him off into a corner of the room, where, seated face to face in two armchairs, they began a conversation in an undertone, as though she were making confession. The priest, his elbow resting on the arm of his seat, and his shaven chin in his hand, listened to her with downcast eyes, in an attitude of humility; now and then he put in a measured word to which the lady listened with respect and submission; though she immediately returned to the charge, gesticulating vehemently, but without raising her voice.

Soon after the ecclesiastic, a youth had made his appearance—a fat youth, very round and rosy, with little whiskers which came but just below his ears, his eyes deep set in flesh, and a fine fresh colour in his cheeks. His clothes looked too tight for him; his voice was hoarse, and he seemed to produce it with difficulty. Ramon Maldonado's face clouded over as he came in. This new-comer was the heir of the Conde de Casa-Ramirez, and one of the suitors for the first born of the house of CalderÓn. Jacobo—or Cobo Ramirez, as he was generally called, was regarded as a comic personage for the same reasons as Pepa Frias, but with less foundation. He too displayed great freedom of speech, cynical disrespect of persons, even of the most respectable, and an almost incredible degree of ignorance. His jests were the coarsest and grossest which decent people could by any means endure. Sometimes, indeed, they hit the nail on the head, that is to say, he had a happy thought; but as a rule his sallies were purely and unmitigatedly indecent.

And yet the company were pleased to see him. A smile of satisfaction lighted up every face but that of Ramoncito.

"I say, CalderÓn," he exclaimed as he came in, without any sort of preliminary greeting; "how do you manage to have such good-looking boys for your servants? As I came in, in the dim light, by the mezzo-soprano voice I heard, I took one of them for a girl."

"Nonsense, man," said the banker, laughing.

"I tell you I did, man, not that I care if you have as many Romeos as you please. Is your friend Pinazo coming this evening?"

All understood the allusion; almost every one burst out laughing.

"No, no, he is not coming," replied CalderÓn, choking with laughter.

"What are they laughing at, Pacita?" asked Esperanza, in a low voice.

"I do not know," she replied with perfect sincerity, shrugging her shoulders; "Cobo has said something horrid no doubt. I will ask Julia by-and-bye; she will be sure to know."

They both looked at the eldest of the three sisters, but she sat unmoved and stiff, with downcast eyes as usual; nevertheless the corners of her mouth quivered with a faint smile of comprehension which showed that her youngest sister's confidence in her profound intuition was amply justified.

"Hallo! Ramoncillo!" said Cobo, going up to Maldonado, and patting him familiarly on the cheek. "Always the same sweet and seductive youth?"

The tone was half affectionate and half ironical, which the other took very much amiss.

"Not to compare with you; but getting on," replied Ramoncito.

"No, no, you are the beauty of the two—let these young ladies decide. You are a little too thin perhaps, especially of late, but you will double your weight as soon as you have got over this."

"I have nothing to get over. And after all, no one can run to as many pounds as you," retorted Ramon, much nettled.

"You have more graces."

"Come, that will do; do not come talking such nonsense here, for it is very bad form, especially in the presence of these young ladies."

"Why must you two always be quarrelling?" exclaimed Pepa Frias. "Have done with this squabbling, or the world will not be wide enough to hold you both."

"No, the place that is not wide enough for these two, is CalderÓn's house," said Pinedo, in an undertone.

"Nothing of the kind," Cobo exclaimed, in a cheerful voice "friends who quarrel are the best friends—eh old fellow?"

And taking Ramoncito's head between his hands, he shook it affectionately. Maldonado pushed him away crossly.

"Have done, have done; you are too rough."

Cobo and Maldonado were intimate friends. They had known each other from infancy, they had been at school together; then in the world of fashion they had kept up a close acquaintance, chiefly at the club which both frequented regularly. As they followed the same profession, that, namely, of "men about town," on horseback, on foot, or in a carriage, as they visited the same houses, and met everywhere and every day, their mutual confidence was unlimited. At the same time, they were always on terms of mild hostility, for Cobo had a true contempt for Ramon, and Ramon, suspecting the fact, was constantly on his guard. This hostility did not exclude liking; they were insolent to each other, and would quarrel for hours on end, but afterwards they would drive out together, just as if nothing had occurred, and arrange to meet at the theatre. Maldonado took everything Cobo said quite seriously, and Cobo delighted in contradicting him whenever he spoke, till he had succeeded in putting him out of patience.

But all affection vanished from the moment when they had both cast their eyes on Esperanza de CalderÓn; hostility alone remained. Their relations were apparently the same as before, they met every day at the club, often walked out, and went hunting together, but at the bottom of their hearts they hated each other. Each spoke ill of the other behind his back; Cobo, of course, with more wit than Ramon, because, with or without good reason, he had a real and sincere contempt for his rival.

"Come, you are just like my daughter and her husband," said SeÑora de Frias.

"Not so bad, not so bad, Pepa!" Ramirez put in, with affected horror.

"What a shameless fellow you are!" exclaimed the lady, trying to control her laughter, which ill-matched her affectation of wrath. "They are just like you two, for they are always squabbling and making it up again."

And then she went on to describe in racy terms her daughter's married life. She and her husband alike were a couple of children, dear children, but quite insupportable. If he did not hand her a dish as quickly as she expected, or had not poured her out a glass of water; if his shirt-buttons were off, or his clothes not brushed; or if there was too much oil in the salad, there were frightful rows. They were both equally susceptible and touchy. Sometimes they did not exchange a word for a week at a time, and to carry on the affairs of life they would write little notes to each other in the most distant terms: "Asuncion has asked me to go with her to the play at eight o'clock. Is there any objection to my going?" she would write, and leave the note on his study-table.

"You may go wherever you choose," he would reply in the same way.

"What will you have for dinner, to-morrow; do you like pickled tongue?"

"You ought to know by this time that I never eat tongue. Do me the favour to order the cook to get some fish; but not fresh anchovies, as we had them the other day; and desire her not to burn the fritters."

Neither of them chose to give way to the other, so that this nonsense would go on indefinitely, till she, Pepa, took them both by the ears, gave them a piece of her mind and obliged them to make it up. Then they went to the other extreme in their reconciliation.

"Do you know, Pepa, that I should not care to be there at the moment of reconciliation?" said Cobo, with another outburst of malignant vulgarity.

"Nor I, my friend," she replied with a sigh of resignation, that was very laughable. "But, what can I do? I am a mother-in-law, which is the lowest function one can fill in this world, and I must endure that penance and many more of which you know nothing."

"I can imagine them."

"You cannot possibly imagine them."

"But then, my dear, it would be a great joy to me, to see my children friends once more," said the gentle Mariana, in her slow, drawling, lethargic way. "There is nothing more odious than a quarrelsome couple."

"And to me, too—when the scene is over," replied Pepa, exchanging smiles with Cobo Ramirez and Pinedo.

"How gladly would I make friends with you, Mariana, on the same terms," said the insinuating general, in a low voice, taking advantage of a moment when CalderÓn's wife stooped down to stir the fire with an enamelled iron poker. At the same time, as if he wished to take it from her, and save her the trouble, the General's fingers were laid on the lady's, and without exceeding the truth, may be said to have lightly pressed them.

"Make friends?" said she, in her usual voice. "But first we should have to quarrel, and thank God we have not done that."

The old beau did not venture to reply; he laughed awkwardly with an uneasy glance at CalderÓn. If he persisted, this simpleton was capable of repeating aloud the audacious speech he had just made.

"Of course," Pepa went on, "I interfere as little as possible in their disputes. I hardly ever go to their house even—Pah! I loathe playing the part of mother-in-law."

"Well, Pepa, I only wish you were my mother-in-law," said Cobo, with a meaning look into her eyes.

"Good! I will tell my daughter; she will be much flattered."

"No, it has nothing to do with your daughter! It is that—that I should like you to interfere in my concerns."

"Stuff and nonsense! Cease your compliments," replied the lady, half vexed. But a symptom of a smile which curled her lips showed nevertheless that the speech had pleased her.

Ramoncito now brought the conversation back to the opera—the hare which runs in every fashionable meeting in Madrid. The opera is, indeed, to the subscribers, no mere amusement, but an institution. It is not, however, a love of music which makes it a constant subject of discussion, but the fact that they have nothing else to think about. To Ramoncito Maldonado, to SeÑora de CalderÓn, and to hundreds of others, the world is divided into two classes: those who subscribe to the opera and those who do not. The former alone really and completely represent the essential part of humanity.

Gayarre and Tosti once more came under discussion. Those of the party who had just come in gave their opinion on the merits as well as on the physical advantages or defects of the two singers.

Ramoncito began to tell Esperanza and Paz in a low voice how that he had last evening been presented to La Tosti in her dressing-room. A very amiable and refined woman; she had received him with wonderful graciousness and friendliness. She had heard much of him—Ramoncito—and had been most anxious to know him personally. When she was told that he was a member of the Assembly she was amazed to think of his having risen to such a position while still so young. "So absurd you know; it would seem that in other countries it is the custom only to elect old men.—She is even handsomer near than from a distance—a skin like velvet, exquisite teeth; then a splendid figure—a noble bust, and such arms!"

Vanity had made the young man not only a blunderer—for it is a well-known rule that in courting one woman it is never wise to praise another too vehemently—but a little over free in speaking to two such young girls. They looked at each other and smiled; their eyes sparkling with mischievous fun, which the young deputy did not detect.

"And tell me now, Ramon, did you not make her a declaration on the spot?" Pacita inquired.

"Certainly not," replied he, seeing through the ironical meaning of the question.

"Then you will."

"Never! I love another lady." And as he spoke he shot a languishing glance at Esperanza. The young girl suddenly turned serious.

"Really? Tell me, tell me——."

"It is a secret."

"Well, we can keep a secret. You will not tell, will you, Esperanza?"

And the mischievous little thing looked slily at her friend, enjoying her vexation and Ramoncito's discomfiture.

"I do not want to know anything about it."

"There, Ramon, do you hear? Esperanza does not want to hear anything about your love affairs. I know why, though I shall not say."

"What a silly thing you are, child," exclaimed Esperanza, now really angry.

The young man, flattered by these hints from an intimate friend, nevertheless thought it well to change the subject, for he saw that Esperanza was seriously annoyed.

"But you must not believe that it would be so very difficult to make a declaration to La Tosti, and for her to respond to it. Ask Pepe Castro; you can depend on what he says about it."

"But Pepe Castro is not you," said Esperanza, with marked disdain.

Maldonado fell from the celestial spaces where he had been soaring. This pointed speech, uttered in a tone of contempt, touched him to the quick. For, as it happened, the transcendent superiority of Pepe Castro was one of the few truths which dwelt in his mind as absolutely indisputable. There might be doubts as to Homer's, but as to Pepito's—none. The certainty of never rising, however much he might try, to the supreme height of elegance, indifference, contempt, and sovereign scorn of all creation, which characterised his admired friend, humiliated him and made him miserable.

Esperanza had laid her finger on the wound which was threatening his existence. He could not reply; the shock was so great.

Clementina was depressed and uneasy. As soon as she had entered her sister-in-law's drawing-room, she had sought a pretext for leaving; but she could find none. She was compelled to let some little time elapse; the minutes seemed ages. She had chatted for a few moments with the Marquesa de Alcudia, but that lady had quitted her when Father Ortega had come in. Her sister was appropriated by General PatiÑo, who was giving her an elaborate account of the mode of rearing and feeding nightingales in captivity. The two Alcudia girls, who sat next to her, might have been wax dolls, they were so stiff and motionless, answering only in monosyllables to the few questions she addressed to them. By degrees a sort of obscure irritation took possession of her; to a woman of her temperament it was a matter of minutes only before she would cast all conventionality to the winds and take an abrupt departure. But on hearing the name of Pepe Castro, she looked up eagerly, and listened with keen interest. At Ramoncito's abrupt allusion to him she suddenly turned pale; however, she immediately recovered herself, and, joining in the conversation with a smile, she said: "Nay, nay, Ramon, do not be malignant. We poor women, if you begin to talk of us——!"

"I speak ill of none who do not deserve it, Clementina," replied the youth, encouraged by the rope thus thrown out for him.

"You men discuss us all. It strikes me that your friend Pepe Castro is not a man to bite his tongue out rather than sully a woman's reputation."

"But, indeed, Clementina, I never yet found him out in a falsehood. All Madrid knows him for a favourite with women."

"I cannot imagine why!" exclaimed the lady, with a disdainful pout.

"I am no connoisseur in male beauty," said the young man, laughing at his own phrase, "but everybody says that Pepito is handsome."

"Pshaw! That is a matter of individual taste. Pacita, who is his relation, will excuse me—but I, who am one of the 'everybody' do not say so."

"It is quite true," said Esperanza timidly, "that Pepito is not considered bad-looking. Besides he is very elegant and distinguÉ. Do you not think so?" And she turned to Pacita, colouring slightly as she spoke. Clementina glanced at her with a penetrating and singular expression which deepened the blush.

"What are you talking about?" asked Cobo Ramirez, joining the little circle.

He hardly ever sat down. He liked wandering from group to group, breathing as hard as an ox, and firing some audacious remark at each in turn. Ramoncito's brow darkened at his rival's approach. Cobo did not fail to perceive it and looked at him with a slight sneer.

"Well, Ramoncito? Tell me, how do you contrive to keep these ladies so well amused? I was just saying to Pepa that you really sparkle with wit."

"No, indeed. How should I sparkle when you monopolise it?" said the deputy, with some irritation.

"Well, well, my son, if you are afraid of me I will go."

An ironical smile, both bitter and triumphant, beamed on Ramoncito's sharp features. He had the enemy in a trap. It should be said that, a few days since, a learned discussion had given rise to a decision by an expert philologist that afraid was wrong and afeard alone was right.

"My dear Cobo," he exclaimed, throwing himself back in his chair and gazing at him with ironical amazement. "Before you talk in the presence of persons of quality you might learn to speak your mother-tongue. I mean—it seems to me——"

"Well?" said the other, in surprise.

"That no one now says afraid but afeard, my dear Cobo. I give you the information for your satisfaction and future guidance."

Ramon's manner as he spoke was so arrogant, and his smile so impertinent that Cobo, disconcerted for a moment, asked in a fury:

"And why afeard rather than afraid?"

"Because it is so—because I say so! That is why," replied the other, not ceasing to smile with increasing sarcasm, and casting a triumphant look at Esperanza.

The two rushed into an animated and violent discussion. Cobo held his own, maintaining with great spirit that no one ever said afeard, that he had never heard the word in his life, and that he was in the habit of talking to educated persons. The young and scented deputy answered him briefly, still smiling impertinently, and sure of his triumph. The more angry Cobo became, the more Ramon gloated over his humiliation in the presence of the damsel to whom they both were paying court. But the tables were turned when Cobo, thoroughly provoked and seeing himself beaten, called General PatiÑo to the rescue.

"Come here, General; you who are eminent as an authority—Do you think it correct to say afeard?"

The General, greatly flattered by this opportune mouthful of honey, replied, addressing Maldonado in a tone of paternal instruction:

"No, Ramoncito, no. You are mistaken. Such a word as afeard was never heard of."

The young man jumped in his chair. Suddenly abandoning all irony, and his eyes flashing, he began to exclaim that they did not know what they were talking about, that it would seem that the best authorities were liars, and so on, and so on—that he was quite certain he was right, and that he wanted a dictionary forthwith.

"To tell you the truth," said Don Julian, scratching his head, "the dictionary I used to possess has disappeared. I do not know who can have taken it. But it seems to me—I agree with the General—that we say afraid and not afeard."

This fresh blow was too much for Maldonado; pale already, and tremulous with vexation, he uttered a last cry of despair.

"But afeard is derived from fear, gentlemen!"

"Fear or small beer, it is all the same!" exclaimed Cobo, with an insolent peal of laughter. "Confess now that you have put your foot in it, and promise not to do it any more."

Maldonado's disgust and rage knew no bounds. He struggled on a few minutes with incoherent words and gestures; but as the only reply to his energetic protests were laughter and sarcasm, he resigned himself to an attitude of dignity and scorn, chewing the cud of bitterness, his lips quivering, his looks grim, a snort of indignation now and again inflating his nostrils. Cobo remained unmoved, taking every opportunity that offered for shooting a poisoned dart of repartee at the foe, which enchanted the girls and made their elders smile soberly. No one in this world ever hungered and thirsted for justice as did Ramoncito at this moment.

The arrival of another visitor ended, or at any rate, suspended, his torments. The Duke of Requena was announced. His entrance produced an agitation which sufficiently indicated his consequence. CalderÓn went forward to receive him, offering him both hands with much effusion. All the men rose in haste, and left their seats to meet him with smiles and gestures expressive of the reverence he inspired. The ladies turned their heads to greet him with curiosity and respect, and Pepa Frias rose to shake hands with him. Even Father Ortega deserted his Marquesa and went forward with a submissive and engaging bow, smiling at him with his bright eyes behind the strong spectacles for short sight which he wore. For a few minutes the only words to be heard in the room were "SeÑor Duque," "SeÑor Duque"—"Oh SeÑor Duque!"

The object of all these attentions was a short, stout man with a lividly-pale face, prominent squinting eyes, white hair, and a grizzled moustache as stiff and harsh as the quills of a porcupine. His lips were thick and mobile, stained by the juice of a cigar which he held, not lighted, between his teeth, incessantly passing it from one corner of his mouth to the other. He might be about sixty years of age, more rather than less. He was wrapped in a magnificent loose fur coat, which he had not removed in the ante-room, having a cold. But on setting foot in the little drawing-room, the heat struck him as unpleasant, and hardly replying to the greetings and smiles which hailed him from all sides, he only muttered rudely, in the hoarse, thick voice characteristic of men with a short neck: "Poof! a perfect furnace!" And he added a Valencian expletive more vehement than choice. At the same time he unbuttoned his overcoat. Twenty hands were laid on it to help him to take it off, which somewhat hindered the process.

And now, in the CalderÓn's drawing-room, was repeated the scene which has oftener than any other been performed in this world, of the Israelites in the desert worshipping the Golden Calf. The new-comer was no less a person than Don Antonio Salabert, Duke of Requena—the famous Salabert, the richest of the rich in Spain, one of the colossal figures of finance, and, beyond a doubt, the most famous for the extent and importance of his transactions. He was a native of Valencia. No one had ever heard of his family. Some said he had been a mere waif in the streets; others that he had begun as a footman to some banker, and had risen to be a sort of messenger and errand man, others that he had been an adventurer under Cabrera in the first civil war, and that the origin of his fortunes was a valise full of gold, of which he had robbed a traveller. Some even went so far as to credit him with having belonged to one of the notorious troops of banditti who infested Spain just after the war. He, however, explained the growth of his fortune—which amounted to no less than four hundred millions of reales[B]—in the simplest and most graphic way. When he was angry with any of his clerks—as very frequently happened—and found that they took offence at his gross abuse, he would say to them, shouting like a possessed creature: "Do you know how I came by my money? By taking many a kick behind. Nothing but kicks will ever help you up the ladder. Do you understand?"

It must be confessed that there was something a little vague about this explanation, but the authority with which it was delivered gave it irrefragable value. Assuming it as the basis of the inquiry, we might perhaps be able to form a just estimate of the character and the achievements of the wealthy banker.

"Hallo, little lady," said he, going up to Clementina and taking her by the chin as if she were a child. "You here? I did not see your carriage below."

"No, Papa; I came on foot."

"You are a wonder. You can take mine if you like."

"No, I would rather walk. I have been out of spirits lately."

The duke had turned his back on all the company, and was talking to his daughter with as much affability as he was capable of. He rarely saw her. Clementina was his natural daughter, the child of a woman of the lowest type, as he himself had probably been. Afterwards, when he was already beginning to be rich, he had married a young girl of the middle class, by whom he had no family. This lady, whose health since her marriage had been extremely delicate, had agreed, or to be exact, had herself proposed that her husband's daughter should come to live with her. Clementina had therefore been brought up at home, and was loved as a daughter by her father's wife, whom she loved and respected as a mother. Since her marriage she had paid her frequent visits; but as her father was always busy, she did not go into his rooms, but left her mother's—for so she called her—only to quit the house. Excepting on days when there was some great dinner or reception, or when she met him by chance in the street or at a friend's house, they never talked together.

After inquiring for her husband and sons, the duke, without sitting down, turned to talk to CalderÓn and Pepe Frias. He was a man of common and provincial appearance; he rarely smiled, and when he did, it was so faintly as to be hardly perceptible. He was in the habit of calling things by their names, and addressing every one without any formula of courtesy, saying things to their face which might have seemed grossly rude, but that he knew how to give them a tone of friendly bluntness which deprived them of their sting. He was not loquacious; he generally stood silently chewing the end of his cigar and studying his interlocutor with his squinting and impenetrable eyes. When he talked it was with a factitious and cunning simplicity which was not unattractive, but through it pierced the old man, the Valencian foundling, shrewd, sarcastic, crafty and uncommunicative.

Pepa Frias began to talk of money matters; on this subject the widow was inexhaustible. She wanted to know everything, was afraid of being taken in, always greedy of large profit, and comically terrified at the idea of a depreciation of the Stocks she held. She would have every detail repeated to satiety.

"Should she sell Bank Stock and buy Cubas? What was the Government going to do about entailed estates? She had heard rumours! Would money be dearer at the next settlement? Would it not be better to sell at once, and make thirty centimes, than to wait till the end of the month?"

To her Salabert's words were as the Delphic oracle; the banker's fame acted like a charm. But, unluckily, the Duke—like every oracle, ancient or modern—was wont to answer ambiguously. Often his only reply was a grunt, which might mean assent, dissent, or doubt; while the words, which now and then made their way between the cigar and his moist, stained lips, were obscure, brief, and frequently unintelligible. Besides, every one knew that he was not to be trusted, that he loved to put his friends on the wrong track, and see them get a tumble in some bad speculation. Nevertheless, Pepa persisted in hoping to wring from that great mind the secret of the hidden Pactolus, playfully taking him by the lapels of his coat, calling him old fellow, old fox, Sphinx, glorying in her audacity, which amounted to a flirtation. But the banker was not to be cajoled. He humoured her mood, answering her with grunts, or with some coarse joke at which CalderÓn would laugh, though he felt in no laughing mood as he noted the frequency of the duke's expectorations on his carpet; for the munching of his cigar gave rise to the necessity, and he was not accustomed to note what he was doing. CalderÓn was as much irritated, and annoyed as if his visitor had spit in his face. The third time it happened he could contain himself no longer; with his own hands he fetched a spittoon. Salabert gave him a mocking glance and winked at Pepa.

CalderÓn, now easier in his mind, became quite loquacious, and endeavoured to reply instead of the Duke, and advise Pepa as to her investments; but though he was a man of prudence and experience in such matters, the widow did not value his counsels, nor would she listen to them. When all was said and done, there was an enormous gulf between him and Salabert—the one an ordinary stock-broker, the other a genius of banking. The Duke, no doubt, assented inarticulately to the opinions of the master of the house, but Pepa would none of them.

Salabert presently left them to themselves, and seated himself on the arm of a chair in a lounging attitude, which he alone would have ventured on. Instead of being disliked for his coarse rudeness, his bad manners contributed not a little to his prestige and to the idolatrous reverence which was paid him in society. Having left the spittoon behind him, he again expectorated on the carpet with a malicious pleasure which was visible through his imperturbable mask of good humour. CalderÓn on his part frowned gloomily once more, till at length, with a heroic determination to ignore the conventionalities, he once more fetched the spittoon, but less boldly than before, for he only pushed it along with his foot. Pepa, meanwhile, seated herself on the other arm, and went on coaxing the Duke till at last he paid more attention to her. He glanced at her several times from head to foot, dwelling with satisfaction on her figure, which was round and shapely. Altogether Pepa was a fresh-looking and attractive woman. In a few minutes the banker leaned over her without much delicacy, and, putting his face so close to hers, that he almost seemed to touch her cheek with his lips, he said in a whisper:

"Have you many OsuÑas?"

"A few—yes——"

"Sell at once."

Pepa looked him straight in the eyes, and, taking the advice as meant, she said no more. A few minutes later it was she who put her face across to the banker's, and asked him mysteriously:

"And what shall I buy?"

"Entailed estate," he replied in the same tone.

Just now a lady and gentleman came in, a young couple, both under the middle height, smiling, and lively.

"Here are my young people," said Pepa.

They were, in fact, a pleasing pair; well matched, with attractive, candid faces, and so young that they really looked like a couple of children. They shook hands with every one in turn, and every face beamed with the affectionate protecting feeling which they could not fail to inspire.

"Here is your mother-in-law, Emilio. What a vexatious meeting, eh?" said Pepa to the young man.

"Mother-in-law! No, no. Mamma, mamma," replied he, pressing her hand affectionately.

"Heaven reward you!" replied the lady, with a comical sigh of gratitude.

Once more the company settled into their seats. The young couple sat down by the mistress of the house. Clementina had left her seat, and was talking to Maldonado; Pepe Castro's name recurred frequently in their conversation. Meanwhile Cobo was improving the opportunity, and making Pacita laugh with his impertinence; but although he hoped that Esperanza might receive his jests with equal favour, this was not the case. The young lady was grave and absent-minded, and evidently trying to overhear what Ramoncito and Clementina were saying; Pinedo had remained standing, and was doing the civil to the Duke; and the General, seeing his adored one in eager conversation with the new comers—tired, too, of finding that his elaborately disguised compliments were not understood, nor even his poetical allusions—followed his example. The Marquesa and the priest still sat whispering vehemently to each other in a corner, she more and more humble and insinuating, sitting at the very edge of her chair, and bending forward to make herself heard; he every minute more grave and rigid, closing his eyes from time to time as if he were in the confessional.

"What a pair of babies!" said Pepa to Mariana, alluding to the young couple. "Is it not a shame to think of such children being married? How much better they would be playing with their tops!"

The young people in question laughed, and looked lovingly at each other.

"They play with them still, at spare moments," said Cobo Ramirez in a childish squeak.

"Don't talk nonsense!" cried Pepa, turning on him fiercely. "Have they told you what they play at?"

Cobo and Mariana exchanged a significant look. Irenita, the young wife, coloured deeply.

"You are growing old, Pepa. Remember you are a grandmother," said Mariana.

"And such a grandmother!" exclaimed Cobo in an undertone, intended to be heard only by the lady concerned. She glanced at him, half smiling and half vexed, showing that she had heard, and was on the whole pleased. Cobo affected innocence.

"Is your quarrel over?" said the widow, turning to her children. "And how long will peace last? Mercy, what a squabbling pair. Look here, I will go to your house no more, for when I find you sulking I long to take a broomstick and break it over your shoulders."

The whole company turned round to look at the husband and wife, who were smiling beatifically. This time they both blushed. But in spite of the gravity which remained stamped on Emilio's features, it was clear that his mother-in-law's free and easy sallies did not altogether displease him.

General PatiÑo, at SeÑora de CalderÓn's request, pressed the button of an electric bell. A servant came in to whom his mistress gave a sign, and five minutes later he reappeared with two others, carrying trays with cups, tea, cakes and biscuits. There was a stir of satisfaction; a change of attitude in all the party, and the sparkle in their eyes of the animal pleased to satisfy a craving of nature. Esperanza hastened to leave her friend and Ramirez, and proceeded to help her mother in the task of pouring out tea for the company. Ramoncito took advantage of the moment when the young girl offered him a cup, to observe in an aside that he was much surprised at her finding any pleasure in listening to the nonsensical or unseemly speeches of Cobo Ramirez. Esperanza looked at him somewhat abashed, but she replied that she had heard no nonsense; that Cobo was very pleasant and amiable. Ramoncito, in his lowest and most pathetic tones, protested against such an opinion, and persisted in running down his friend, till Cobo's suspicions were aroused, and he came up, jesting as usual. On this our illustrious deputy grew sullen once more, and drew in his horns; it only remained for Cobo to bring out some piece of insulting nonsense to turn the laugh against his rival.

This was the moment for discussing literature; a stage which always supervenes in every afternoon or evening party in Madrid. General PatiÑo mentioned a new play which had just been brought out with great success, and raised some objections to it, chiefly on the ground of certain scenes being too highly coloured. Mariana declared that on no account, then, would she go to see it; and all agreed in anathematising the immorality which nowadays is the delight of play-writers. Naturalism was becoming a curse. Cobo Ramirez, who had taken tea and then more tea, and had eaten a fabulous quantity of sandwiches and biscuits, told the company that he had lately read a novel entitled "Le Journal d'une Dame"—in French of course—which was precious, charming, the most delightful thing he had ever read. For in literature Cobo—strange to say—was all for refinement, spirituality and delicacy. It was of no use to talk to him of those dreary books which dwell on the number of times a bricklayer stretches himself when he gets out of bed—or of biscuits and cakes a young gentleman can eat at afternoon tea—or describe the birth of a child and other such horrors. Novels ought to deal with pleasant things since they are written to give pleasure. And all this he pronounced with decision, snorting like a war-horse as he talked. All the audience agreed with him.

But this literary lecture was prematurely cut short by the arrival of another visitor, a man, neither tall nor short, nor stout nor thin, square shouldered and dapper, sallow, and wearing a black beard so thick and curly that it looked like a false one. This was no less a personage than the Minister of Public Works, a member of the Cabinet. He carried his head so high that the back of it was almost lost between his shoulders, and his half-closed eyes flashed self-confident and patronising gleams from between his long black lashes. Till the age of two-and-twenty he had carried his head as nature intended; but from the day when he had been made vice-president of the section of Civil and Canon Law in the Academy of Jurisprudence, he had begun to hold it higher and higher, by slow and majestic degrees, as the moon rises over the sea on the stage at the opera-house, that is to say by slight and frequent jerks with a rope. He was elected a provincial member—a little jerk; then deputy to the Cortes—another little jerk; Governor of a district, and another little jerk; Director General of a department—another; President of the Committee of Ways and Means—another; Member of the Cabinet—yet another. But now the rope was at an end. If they had made him heir to the throne, Jimenez Arbos could not have held his large head a tenth of an inch higher.

His entrance on the scene produced some little sensation, but not such as that of the Duke of Requena. He, whose puffy, sensual face could not conceal the scorn he felt for the Assembly, nevertheless hurried to greet him with a deference and servility which amazed every one, all the more by comparison with the rough discourtesy he usually displayed in social intercourse. The Minister, on his part, distributed hand-shakings with an air of abstraction which was positively offensive. It was only when he greeted Pepa Frias that he showed any signs of animation. The widow asked him in a familiar tone:

"How is it that you are in evening dress?"

"I am on my way to dine at the French Embassy."

"And then home?"

"Yes."

This dialogue, carried on very rapidly in a low voice, was noticed by the Duke, who went up to Pinedo and asked him mysteriously, with an expressive sign: "I say—Arbos and Pepa Frias?"

"These two months past, at least."

The gaze which the banker now bestowed on the widow was widely different from his former glances. He was more attentive, more respectful, keener, and presently somewhat meditative. CalderÓn had approached the Minister and was talking to him with polite attention; Salabert joined them. But the great man was not inclined to talk of business, or perhaps he was afraid of the financier; the press had thrown out some malevolent hints as to Requena's transactions with the Government. So in a few minutes the Duke attached himself, instead, to Pepa Frias, and stood chatting with her in a corner of the room.

Clementina was growing more and more impatient, longing vehemently to get away. Still, she would not go, for fear her father should insist on accompanying her. The Minister was the first to depart, taking leave with the same impressive absent-mindedness, never looking at the person he addressed, but up at the ceiling. The Duke meanwhile had quite taken possession of the widow, displaying such effusive gallantry that he might have been about to make her a declaration of love. The General, observing this, said to Pinedo:

"Look how eager the Duke has become! He is certainly making love to Pepa."

"No," replied the other very gravely. "He is making love to the transfer of the Riosa Mining Company."

At this moment Pepa Frias announced in a loud voice that she was going.

"Where are you off to, next?" asked the banker.

"To Lhardy's shop, to buy some Italian sausages."

"I will take you there."

"Do—and I will treat you to some little tarts."

The Duke was delighted to accept the invitation.

"Come along, too, child?" she added to her daughter.

Clementina waited only five minutes longer. As soon as she felt sure of not overtaking her father on the stairs, she rose, and, under the pretext of having forgotten some commission, she also took leave.