THE rest of the audience was leaving the theatre, and as Gonzalo met the people pouring from the door, many of them recognized him, and he was soon surrounded by old friends who were all warm in their welcome.

The first to throw his arms around his neck was Don Mateo; then came Don Pedro Miranda; then the mayor, Don Roque; then Don Victoriano and his wife, DoÑa Rosario, and their three daughters.

Thus a circle soon gathered round the young man, who responded effusively to the greetings, embraces, and hand-pressures which reached him from all sides.

The sailors and women of the place also joined the seÑores in this demonstration of affection, and nothing was heard but exclamations of delight and admiration.

"How stout you have grown, Gonzalito!"

"You are a fine young man!"

"Why don't you grow like that, Periquito?"

"Don Gonzalo, you are a head taller than all the other fellows of Sarrio!"

"Grow! He has not grown; he has doubled his height. Come here, Grenadier, and embrace me directly."

A shipmaster declared that the youth was as like the Prince of Wales as two drops of water, although Gonzalo might be taller.

The tall figure of the youth certainly towered above the group, and he reached his hand over the heads of those about him to the friends who could not get close to him, and his fine, open countenance beamed on all.

Don Mateo, on tiptoe, pulled him by the arm so that he bent down, and then he whispered in his ear:

"What a performance you have lost, Gonzalo! It is a pity you did not arrive in the afternoon. The soprano sings like an angel! And the dancing! The dancing! I tell you, boy, they don't have better in Bilbao or Corunna. But never mind, I will have the performance again before the company leaves—or it won't say much for my influence."

But Gonzalo paid little heed to these words. With his eyes fixed on the door, he was waiting in breathless expectation for the appearance of the De Belinchon family, which, as one of the first and most patrician of the place, always waited behind to avoid mixing with the plebeians. At last, by the light of the lamp burning under the archway of the entrance, he caught sight of the face of DoÑa Paula, followed by that of Cecilia, and he tremulously advanced to greet them.

The girl turned as red as a poppy. This was natural, but for the mother to do so also was less natural. What was he to her? Why was she to blush as much as the daughter? But it was what she did to perfection. The voices of all three trembled, and after inquiring after each other's health, their tongues seemed tied. The looks of curiosity from the people added to their embarrassment. Fortunately, Pablito now approached with Venturita, and our young friend greeted the former affectionately and gave a ceremonious bow to the latter.

Pablo smiled.

"Don't you know her? She is my sister, Venturita."

"Oh! How could I know her? She is a woman. How do you do, Ventura?"

The girl gave him her hand with a mocking, roguish expression that quite confused him.

They then all turned toward home. Venturita ran in front, dragging her brother with her. DoÑa Paula, Cecilia, and Gonzalo walked behind. Don Rosendo closed the procession with his old friend, Don Pedro Miranda. The streets were dark, for it was only at the corners that there were lamps.

The distance between the three groups of people gradually increased.

Gonzalo made desperate efforts to sustain conversation with his bride-elect and future mother-in-law; but the girl never opened her lips, and DoÑa Paula was very far from being a Madame de StaËl, and as the young man had never consulted the manual of conversation, he could not be called brilliant. In their letters they had arrived at the confidential stage. DoÑa Paula had put post-scripts into Cecilia's epistles, to which Gonzalo had replied with little jokes; he had sent stamps and caricatures for Ventura, and in every way had comported himself as a member of the family. But now the three were quite embarrassed, for our young friend had never before spoken to the SeÑora de Belinchon, and to Cecilia he had only addressed the words that we have recorded.

But there in front was Venturita, laughing with her brother; and the engaged couple were quite certain that the merriment was at their expense. Nevertheless, by the time they reached the house they were more at home with each other, and there were signs of increasing friendliness between them. The party collected together on reaching the door of the De Belinchons' abode, which was situated in the Rua Nueva, the best street in Sarrio, and, like all the houses in that quarter, it was large and handsome.

As Gonzalo had not yet supped, Don Rosendo asked him to join them at their evening meal; and the invitation was given so cordially, that the young man, who wished for nothing better, willingly accepted it.

SeÑor Miranda and his son then took leave, and the Belinchon family, with the newcomer who was soon to be one of them, entered the house.

In the anteroom the ladies took off their cloaks and hats.

The light seemed to make the affianced pair shy. Gonzalo was now well able to see his betrothed, who had not improved with years. She was taller, but also thinner—love affairs don't make girls grow plump; her nose seemed a trifle sharper; but her beautiful eyes, so soft and intelligent, still shone like two stars.

He was greatly struck with the change in Venturita, the child he had seen skipping to school on the arm of a schoolfellow.

She was now a woman, a full-grown woman, not so much from her height as from the roundness and fulness of her figure, and a certain directness of look touched with a dash of coquetry.

They cast a rapid look at each other, as if they met for the first time; and Gonzalo said in a low voice to DoÑa Paula:

"How Venturita has improved! She is a beautiful girl."

Low as it was, the girl overheard the remark; she pouted disdainfully and went straight to the dining-room, without betraying the gratification his spontaneous admiration had given her.

The table was laid, a patriarchal provincial board, abundant and clean, without flowers or any of the elegant accessories which are now the fashion. All Gonzalo's shyness vanishing at the sight of the meal, he soon felt quite at home. A feeling of cheerfulness pervaded them all. They exchanged remarks and smiles; Gonzalo took Pablito by the arm and asked him after his horses; DoÑa Paula arranged the order of the places; Venturita, who was already seated, began eating olives and throwing the stones at her sister, with knowing winks, while Cecilia, her cheeks aflame, put her finger on her lip to call her to order. Don Rosendo had returned from putting on his jacket and smoking cap, as he could not eat supper without them. His wife now invited the visitor to take the chair next to Cecilia, but she had taken her seat at the other end of the table.

"What are you about? Why don't you come to your proper place?" asked DoÑa Paula in surprise, whereupon the girl, without replying, quietly rose and blushingly took the chair next to her betrothed.

The classic dish of buttered eggs was already steaming on the table.

"Come, help Gonzalo—serve him first," said DoÑa Paula to her daughter, with the benign smile befitting a wife whose ideas were in accord with those given by Saint Paul in his celebrated epistle.

Cecilia hastened to obey, and filled the plate of her future husband. He always had an excellent appetite, fitting for his great size, but now, sharpened by the sea air and some hours' fasting, he was voracious. He ate everything that was put before him, without stopping a moment, and without leaving a morsel, and Cecilia, as we can suppose, was indefatigable in serving him.

Directly he began to eat Gonzalo lost his shyness, for the pressing necessity of satisfying his enormous appetite was all-absorbing. Cecilia, on the contrary, hardly touched her food. Seeing two little pieces of ham about the size of two filberts on her plate, the young man said:

"Whom is that plate for—the parrot?"

"No; it is for me."

"And are you not afraid it will give you indigestion?"

It was the first joke that he had ventured to make with his bride-elect. She smilingly returned:

"I never eat more than that."

DoÑa Paula whispered into Venturita's ear:

"Don't you think they are very stiff with each other?"

Venturita repeated the remark in an undertone to Pablo, and he passed it on to his father. All four began laughing and casting glances at the engaged couple, who looked confused, asking with their eyes the reason of the sudden merriment.

"Mama, do you want me to tell them what we are laughing at?"

"Tell them."

"Then, seÑores, we were thinking that you might be less stiff with each other."

The bride and bridegroom-elect hung their heads and smiled.

The good spirits of the supper party now broke forth in laughter and jokes. Pablito asked his future brother-in-law questions about horse racing, skating rinks, and other more or less enthralling topics of the kind.

Only Cecilia was silent in the intensity of her happiness, shown in the brilliant scarlet of her cheeks, the heat of which she tried in vain to cool with the back of her hand.

When she thought she was unobserved she cast long, loving looks at her fiancÉ, whose fine, insatiable appetite, the sign of life and energy, surprised and captivated her; and she gazed at him in adoring admiration as a splendid type of masculine strength.

But these long, ecstatic looks did not escape Venturita, who managed by signs to draw the attention of Pablo and her mother to them. Gonzalo acknowledged the attentions of his fiancÉe with a rapid "Many thanks" without looking at her, for fear of blushing. When he did look up to speak to Pablo, his eyes always encountered Venturita's, and her smiling, mocking glance somewhat disconcerted him.

At last they left the table and dispersed. Don Rosendo and Ventura, disappeared, and Pablo, after a few minutes, following their example.

DoÑa Paula and the engaged couple remained alone in the dining-room, and all three sat on low chairs in a corner together. Soon nothing but soft whispers were audible, as if they were at the confessional. The three chairs were close together, and with their heads almost touching, they began an animated conversation.

DoÑa Paula soon broached the all-important question.

"This is the twenty-eighth of April. There are only four months from now to the first of September," and here she cast a long, knowing glance at the couple.

If it had been possible for Cecilia to get redder, she would have done so.

Gonzalo's lips wreathed in a meaningless smile, and he lowered his eyes.

After looking at them for a minute, as if enjoying their confusion, DoÑa Paula continued:

"It is necessary to think of the trousseau."

"Heavens! It is early for that," exclaimed the girl in dismay, while her heart leaped into her mouth.

"It is not so, Cecilia; you do not know the time the embroideresses take in such matters. Nieves took a month to embroider two petticoats for DoÑa Rosario's daughter—and Martina is slower than she."

"Nieves embroiders very well."

"There is no embroideress in the town to hold a candle to Martina. She has hands of gold."

"I prefer the embroideries of Nieves."

"Then, if you wish it, let her embroider your clothes, but I—" said DoÑa Paula, looking at her daughter in an offended, haughty sort of way.

"I don't say so," returned the girl in alarm; "I only say I like the work of Nieves better than Martina's."

The trousseau soon became the subject of conversation. It was discussed from every point of view, and with the gravity and the care it deserved.

To whom should they entrust the hemming of the linen sheets? To whom the common ones? Who should make the underlinen? Where should the mantles be bought, etc.? All these questions were discussed, weighed, and considered. DoÑa Paula gave her opinion; Cecilia affected to contradict, but in reality what did she care?

Her whole soul was so filled with the thought of her approaching marriage that her voice trembled with emotion, and she could hardly speak, while her eyes glowed with rapture, and shone like two fine stars on a soft summer night.

"How hot it is!" she exclaimed every now and then, putting her hands upon her flaming cheeks.

Gonzalo assented with an inane smile to what was said, and frequently changed the position of his long legs, which were cramped from the lowness of his chair.

When they had discussed the linen of the trousseau, they passed on to the dresses, and the conversation became more animated, and Cecilia saw her betrothed without looking at him, and the eyes of DoÑa Paula, as she gazed at them both, grew softer and softer, their breath mingled, and the shoulders of the future bride and bridegroom touched each other.

The soft whispers, the lowered light of the lamp, which scarcely reached them, the frequent contact with the arm of her beloved, all combined to fill Cecilia with overwhelming emotion. Quite overcome, she got up two or three times and kissed her mother warmly; when she did this the third time, DoÑa Paula saw what it betokened and, with a compassionate, smiling glance, said:

"Poor little thing! My poor little thing!"

Cecilia covered her eyes with her hands, and remained so for some time.

"What is the matter?" said DoÑa Paula at last.

"Nothing, nothing."

But she kept her eyes covered.

"But what is the matter, my daughter?"

"Nothing," she replied at last, taking her hands from her face, and she smiled, but her eyes were wet.

"I know, I know," returned the mother. "You want the salts; you feel faint."

"No, I am not faint; I am quite well."

The conversation was then renewed, and DoÑa Paula expressed her wish that Gonzalo should come and live with them. This he rather objected to at first, as he knew his uncle would not like it, nevertheless he ended by conceding to the entreaties of both ladies. It was so natural that they should not want to be separated! "You can both be quite independent, I will take care of that. There is the large room, the blue one, you know, Cecilia; it has a large alcove; then you only want the study for Gonzalo. But I have thought of that. Just by the large room there is the wardrobe-room, that opens on the courtyard; it is nice and light. It is all in disorder now, but, with a little trouble, it could be turned into a very nice room. Would you like to see it, Gonzalo?"

The young man replied that it was not necessary, that he believed all she said, and that he had as good as seen it; but the lady insisted on it, and, taking a flat candlestick, she escorted him to the other end of the house.

"This is the room—large, is it not? Two windows. The alcove is large enough for two beds, let alone for one," she added, with a glance at her daughter, who turned aside to shut a window.

"Let us go and see the wardrobe-room—"

And leaving the apartment, crossing a passage, and turning round a corner, they entered another room full of cupboards and lumber.

"Don't mind about the distance, for it is really next to the large room; it only wants a door of communication to be made between."

Gonzalo turned to his intended and said softly:

"Why does not mama thee and thou me as your papa does? Ask her from me—I do not like to."

Then Cecilia approached her mother's ear and said in a soft voice, which trembled with shyness:

"Gonzalo would like you to thee and thou him."

"What do you say, child?" asked DoÑa Paula, putting her hand to her ear.

Cecilia, with a great effort, raised her voice a little:

"Gonzalo asks why you do not thee and thou him as papa does?"

"Ah! I am glad the suggestion comes from him, otherwise I should not have ventured. Very well, then, when a door is made here in the wall, you will be able to go from the large room into this one without crossing the passage—do you like the room? Is it large enough?"

"Too large; my business at the present moment does not require much space."

Cecilia looked anxious, as if something were on her mind. She opened her mouth several times as if about to speak, and then lacked courage. At last, after a long pause, she ventured to say:

"One thing is wanting, mama."

"What?"

The girl hesitated, as if to gain courage, and then, in a trembling voice, she said:

"There is no dressing-room for Gonzalo."

"That's true. I never thought of that. Where was my head? There is no room about here—wait a moment—wait. We might put the pantry downstairs, and then there would be that little room, which, nicely furnished, would perhaps do. The only thing is, it does not communicate with the other rooms; he will have to cross the passage."

"What does that matter?"

They then returned to the dining-room, and to the same seats in the corner. Presently Venturita came in, in a white peignoir, cut so as to show her alabaster throat and part of her beautiful neck; her hair hung loose over her shoulders, and her feet were shod with gorgeously embroidered Eastern slippers. She came to say "Good-night" before retiring to rest, and, approaching her mother, she gave her a kiss, making teasing faces at her sister the while, which Gonzalo could not see.

"Well, good-night," she said, giving Gonzalo her hand.

"Good-night," he returned, with an admiring glance, and in a tone of admiration not unnoticed by the girl.

She was just going away when a coquettish feeling made her turn back at the door and say to Cecilia:

"Where did you put the shoe-horn? I had to come in with slippers, as I could not find it."

Then she took the opportunity of showing her pretty foot.

"But it is there in the table drawer."

"If you only knew how sleepy I am," she said, advancing a step, and putting her hand on the head of her sister—"Do you know what I ought to do for it?" she added, with a smile. Gonzalo looked at her attentively. She was really a perfect creature; the more he looked at her, the more he admired her particular charms. Her skin was soft, and shining as silk; her complexion pink and white; her mouth like a budding rose; her lips red and full enough to show two rows of even teeth; her hair golden, silky, and abundant; a drawing-room magazine would say that it fell over her shoulders like a cascade of sunbeams, or something to that effect.

Her only imperfection was her height. If she had taken after her mother in this respect, nobody could have found any fault with her excepting, perhaps, her friends.

Seeing she was an object of admiration, she went on walking about, turning herself round to be seen from all sides, posing in affected attitudes, asking impertinent questions of her sister, then laughing aimlessly and covering her with kisses, or pinching her unmercifully.

"Let me alone, Venturita; how wild you are to-day!" exclaimed Cecilia, with her kind, frank smile as she tried to get away from her.

"Go to bed!" said DoÑa Paula.

"I am going."

But instead of going, she embraced Cecilia again, and, tickling her, she managed to whisper into her ear:

"How are you enjoying yourself, you rogue? Don't make those large eyes at him, or you will frighten him. Good-by, good-by, SeÑores," she said in a louder voice, "and leave something for to-morrow, eh?"

"What a little silly!" cried Cecilia, blushing.

DoÑa Paula and Gonzalo smiled, and he said in a low voice:

"What lovely hair!"

Ventura overheard him, and shaking her locks, she said:

"It is false."

They all burst out laughing.

"Don't you believe it?" she asked in a serious tone, and approaching nearer.

"Pull it, and you will see it will come off in your hand."

The young man did not dare to comply, and continued to smile.

"Pull, pull," she insisted, turning her back to him, and holding her hair before his face.

Gonzalo raised his hand to the hair, but he only ventured to touch it caressingly.

"What! it has not come off! That is because it is well tied on."

And she ran out of the room.

The private conclave was prolonged for some time, and many more points of their future life were touched upon; and as Cecilia listened to her mother descanting upon what they should do when once they were married, she could hardly conceal the tremor of emotion that possessed her. She had taken her mother's hand, and she pressed it and caressed it in a nervous way; sometimes she raised it to her lips and kissed it passionately.

DoÑa Paula looked at her with sympathy, and smiled kindly at the joy that filled her daughter's heart.

The clock in the dining-room struck half-past twelve.

"Oh, how late! What will Don Rosendo say?"

"He never goes to bed before this time," replied Cecilia.

"Yes; but you know he takes some time to lock up," returned DoÑa Paula.

Cecilia was silent. Gonzalo shook hands with them warmly, promising to come the following day. Then he went to SeÑor Belinchon's study to take leave of him.

The mother and daughter went on talking in the same corner on the same theme, the former being the object of countless embraces and fervent kisses.

"These are not for me," said the lady, in a tone of mingled joy and sadness.

"Yes, mama; yes!" replied the girl, embracing her with still greater effusion.

In the meanwhile Don Rosendo was bringing the arduous and complicated task of locking and bolting the doors and windows to a successful termination.

He was not contented with locks and iron bars, but, to insure the non-violation of the sanctuary of his dwelling during the night, the rich merchant was in the habit of gumming pieces of paper over all the locks. These he examined carefully in the morning, to be quite certain that nobody had tampered with them. Then he put various bottles and pots upon the doorstep, so that if thieves came they would fall over them.