FROM that day her attitude towards me changed materially. She showed herself less diffident and distrustful; she did not seek so carefully to avoid looking me in the face. When I entered she did not suddenly turn serious as she used. Little by little her freedom of manner increased, making her cordial, and affectionate too, within the bounds of her reserved temperament. Her delicacy hindered her from recompensing me in words for what I had uttered in her presence; but she used her ingenuity to find a way to make me understand that she approved of me.

One afternoon there was talk of certain things that had been bought and left forgotten in a shop. MartÍ wished to send a servant for them. She said with apparent indifference:

"Captain Ribot, do you not go through the Calle de San Vicento? Then do me the favor to get this parcel and bring it to me to-night."

I was overwhelmed with delight. At night when I delivered it to her she received it with more indifference than ever.

"Thanks!" she said dryly, without looking at me.

It did not matter. I was sure she had given me a reward. I felt happy and peaceful.

But next day, after this small bounty and grateful success, adverse fate had prepared for me a graver alarm than I had ever experienced in my life of peril and hazard. Neither when I ran aground in the Rio de la Plata, nor when the sea knocked away the bridge and half our masts in the English Channel, did I feel my heart so constricted by any sudden encounter. The agent to furnish me with this most cruel trial was DoÑa Amparo. We had been chatting in this lady's sewing-room, Cristina and I. While they worked I had been turning over an album of portraits of all of the family and many of their friends. I inquired, and DoÑa Amparo told me, who the originals were. Cristina remained silent.

"Who is this charming child?" I asked, gazing at the likeness of a little girl of ten or twelve years. "What beautiful eyes!"

"Don't you recognize her? It is Cristina."

"Ah!" I exclaimed, surprised. And, looking at her, I observed that she was crimson.

"She was then in school. Wasn't she very lovely?"

"Yes, I think so," I stammered.

"Mamma, don't say such absurd things. She looks like a picked chicken!" exclaimed the one under discussion, laughing.

"Like a picked chicken!" cried the mother indignantly; "you were plump as possible. From that time you have done nothing but lose ground. I would give something to see you now as you were then. And Ribot will say the same."

"SeÑora," I murmured, although in confusion, "no doubt she was very beautiful at that time, but I think that the present is better worth while."

Cristina blushed more yet, and bent over her work serious and silent. Her mother did not choose to drop the subject. I did not venture to contradict her openly; I only uttered monosyllables or phrases of doubtful interpretation. At last we gave up this conversation, so dangerous to me. We were told that the hairdresser had come, and Cristina went to her room.

I continued turning over the album, and DoÑa Amparo went on moving back and forth the ivory needle of her lace-work. We preserved silence; but three or four times, on lifting my eyes, I observed that she was looking at me with irritating persistence. Finally I could see that she laid down her work, doubtless to look at me more to her liking.

"Ribot," she uttered in a low voice.

I thought it well to seem deaf.

"Tss! Ribot."

"What did you say, seÑora?" I asked, pretending to come out of my great abstraction.

"Look me in the face."

"How? I do not understand."

"Will you look me in the face?"

As I had not been doing anything else, this petition would have been tremendously absurd if it had not been even more disquieting.

"Now, move your chair a little nearer."

This new demand appeared to me much more disquieting. I drew up, none the less, according to orders, dragging the chair with an ill-omened squeak. Adopting a tranquil and unembarrassed air, distinctly contrary to what would have suited me at that instant, I waited for what it was she had to say to me. DoÑa Amparo gazed at me smiling, and then, with a deep look, she said:

"Ribot, you are in love with my daughter Cristina!"

I grew pale, then crimson; afterwards other shades of yellow, green, and blue. Indeed, I think my face was a rainbow for the space of several seconds.

"SeÑora! I! How can you suppose it? On my life, what a notion! What an idea!"

DoÑa Amparo, on seeing me in such a terrible state of agitation, became frightened, and turned pale also. She reached out immediately for her smelling-bottle; with one hand she held up my head, and with the other put it under my nostrils. I was given salts to smell in such a moment as that!

I took my bitter cup as best I could, thanked her, and, with smothered words and faltering tongue, ascribed my emotion to my natural surprise. The accusation was so grave that really——

DoÑa Amparo smiled benevolently, doubtless to calm me, and would not consent that we should say another word before I took a drop of ether to fortify me. I swallowed it not without difficulty, for my throat was constricted so that I was scarcely able to breathe. Then, to mollify the just indignation of this lady, I returned to my discomfited and incoherent protestations against such a monstrous supposition.

I in love! How could it be possible that I should have the hardihood, the audacity? Her daughter was a model of all the virtues. Nobody would have the rashness to offend her with other sentiments than those of respect and admiration—I least of all, a friend of MartÍ, who was such a gentleman, so loyal, who had given me so many proofs of unmerited esteem, etc., etc.

"All this is very well, Ribot," declared DoÑa Amparo, emotionally sniffing her smelling-salts, "but this does not hinder you from being on fire, mad, lost, for my daughter."

"You deceive yourself, seÑora. I assure you that you——"

"Come, confess yourself," she said, putting one hand on my shoulder, and looking at me with a smilingly mischievous face: "nobody can hear."

"SeÑora, for God's sake!"

"Confess, sinner! Confess yourself!" and she gave a gentle and affectionate little pull at my beard.

I was terrified, dreading something decidedly unpleasant.

"Let us keep the secret between us two. You are in love with Cristina, as Castell has been for some time."

"Enough of this!" I said, trying to find a way to escape.

"He is a much worse rake, and, between the two, frankly I prefer you."

I was stupefied. What was it that this seÑora preferred? Why was she talking to me in this manner? Where was she going to stop?

"Isn't it true that Cristina is very lovely?" she went on with the same flippancy. "She is such an interesting type, of such delicacy! It is not strange that you should become enamored of her. Of course, I will not have her talked about."

"SeÑora!"

"No! I know what you would say! She is the best of creatures, virtuous, incapable of failing her husband. Further, Emilio has no equal, so much affection, so much loyalty, so splendid! He adores his wife. I am as proud of him as if he were my own son. I would not consent, for anything in the world, that he should have the least trouble."

"He will not have any on my account, make yourself easy," I ventured to say.

"That is honorable in you, Ribot," she replied, pressing my hand. "You are very good, enough better than that rascal of a Castell," she added, smiling sweetly. "And, truly, you could not do less than be fond of Emilio. He is so good. I always find him so affectionate towards me. But who can blame any poor fellow for falling in love! The wrong is in murmuring soft nothings in the ear of Cristina when Emilio is not looking. We will suppose that they are foolish things, that she has eyes like this and a skin like that. But that is not right. Emilio is his best friend, and if he suspected, he would be disturbed. You, Ribot, are much more respectful. You would not let yourself gaze, except by stealth. But what eyes he makes at her! Come, now, let us see, sinner, did you fall in love at Gijon or here?"

"I beg of you, seÑora—I—I feel so much upset, I must ask you to allow me to retire."

"How reserved you are, Ribot! Well, this pleases me. Men of few words are those who best know how to care. But with me you ought not to be so timid. I know the affection you have vowed her. Open your heart to me, so that I can do everything possible to console it. To whom better than me can you unbosom yourself?"

"A thousand thanks, seÑora. Permit me to go. At present I feel that I should not be able to say anything in reason."

"I understand you! I understand you, dear Ribot!" declared DoÑa Amparo, pressing one of my hands with emotion between both her own. "You are like me, exceedingly sensitive, exceedingly emotional. Don't you want another drop of ether? Neither you nor I is fit for this world. I cannot bear to see anyone suffer. Now here you see me, me who, in spite of my adoration for my son-in-law, for whom I would willingly give my life, am dissolved in tears at seeing you suffering on account of my daughter. I am weeping like mad."

And truly DoÑa Amparo did not in this moment malign herself.

"Frankly, Ribot," she went on rackingly, "if it were possible for Cristina to care for you without troubling Emilio, I would myself go and intercede for you."

"Thank you, thank you," I murmured, pressing her hand before I got mine away.

"Believe me, you are as dear to me as a son, and I would give something if——"

Here her voice strangled in her throat, and I improved the precious opportunity to stride with tragic footstep from my scene of trial.

I went out in indescribable confusion. I felt angry, wrathful at such a woman, who with so much frivolity and folly lifted the veil of the most delicate secrets, the deepest intimacies of her family life. Between my teeth I called her coarse, imbecile, a bad mother. My anger carried me so far as to accuse her of an inclination to trade upon her child's attractions, of having been born for the part of a Celestina. Yet little by little I calmed myself, and with calmness arrived at last at justice. DoÑa Amparo was absolutely idiotic, of this there was no doubt; but she was not a bad woman. Hers was a heart that spread itself like butter over the first comer. It was necessary to her to be looked after and petted like a child or a dog, and like them she knew no difference between the hands that bestowed caresses. Reflecting thus, my spirit was little by little inspired with less wrathful sentiments; but I could not help thinking, all the same, that if the foregoing conversation should become known to Cristina, she would fall dead of shame.

I encountered her in the office with her husband and Castell. Emilio, who was beginning to organize and get under way his famous project for putting canals through the province of Almeria, was in an excellent humor. I suspected that Castell had finally facilitated the matter with the needful. Emilio was babbling away, chaffing his friend affectionately about his scepticism and theories, and his apathy towards business. If he had Castell's means at his disposal, he would undertake to become the richest man in Spain, at the same time giving bread away to many families and furthering the progress of the nation. When I entered, the torrent of his chaffing was diverted to me, and he threatened to marry me off within a period of not more than two months. Then he began talking to me about his project. As soon as the great family event we were all hoping for had come off, he would go to Almeria to hasten the preparation for the canal. He drew from the desk a lot of portfolios and showed me the plans, explaining details, and trying to stir up in me the same enthusiasm that animated him. I gave him a religious attention, but only in appearance. I really lost not one movement of Castell's while I looked over the papers, for I suspected him. I saw him manage skilfully to get near Cristina, who with one foot on the balcony sill was turning over a book. When he got near her, under pretext of examining the book she held, I observed that he brought his cheek near hers until it almost touched; and although his back was towards me and I, of course, could not see his lips move, I knew that he was whispering something to her. The lady moved her head abruptly away and tried to withdraw; but—oh, what a surprise!—Castell detained her, taking hold of her wrist. At the same time with his other hand he tried to put a letter between her fingers. Cristina refused to take it. There was a struggle in silence. My heart beat in my breast. I was afraid that MartÍ would turn his head and see what was going on. Not for sake of the villain Castell, it may be readily understood, but to save my friends from the scandal and from cruel trouble, I did everything possible to keep him occupied. Cristina's frightened eyes were several times turned towards us; then not getting free otherwise, and fearing that which was surely going to happen, if this struggle were prolonged a few seconds more, she decided to take the letter, which she crumpled and hid in her hand. Then, pale, yet smiling, she came over to us and busied herself also in looking over the plans, forcing herself to seem at ease. But her face did not lose its intense pallor and her whole body was trembling.

As for Castell, I never saw anybody cooler, serener, or showing less emotion of any sort. He remained a little while quiet, his hands in his pockets, looking out over the balcony into the street. Then he walked about the room. Now and then he would give Cristina a quick, scrutinizing glance. In spite of the profound aversion with which he inspired me, I could not help admiring the man's incredible audacity and at the same time his perfect self-control and unquenchable confidence in himself. I have never known anyone to whom other created beings represented less.

I did not lose sight of the hand in which Cristina had crumpled the letter. Emilio went on through the portfolios without ceasing his long prolix explanations. Then rising from his chair and taking Castell's arm, he halted him in his walk.

"Do you—don't you want to go into such a business?" he said in the chaffing tone.

"You know already, Emilio, that I can't serve you," replied the other, with his placid and patronizing smile.

"In work, no—I know that. But as a figure-head you can do me a great service. As you are rich and are known as a scientific man (you know that, although you don't care much about it), it is necessary that you should take the most important position, and be president of the council of administration. No work will be demanded of you. You shall be given a comfortable arm-chair, and you can, from time to time, drop off to sleep, scattering benedictions."

Cristina had remained near the table. Standing up, she, with a lofty expression, cast one full glance at Castell. Then unfolding that which she held, she tranquilly tore it up and flung the tiny bits into the waste-paper basket.