The Joy of Captain Ribot Part 12

"What would it matter to Cristina if I had to stay shut up?" exclaimed the critic with an affectation of bitterness.

"Poor little thing! You get on admirably on late suppers at the club, with olives and champagne."

Marti intervened and cut off the dispute between them, seeing that Dona Amparo was already making ready to faint away. Everyone has his own preferences in the matter of amus.e.m.e.nts and it was folly to try to impose our own upon others. "Everybody has a right to be happy in his own way," and if Sabas found himself happier under a roof than under the open sky, he had no wish to disturb him.

"All that I beg," he ended by saying, "is, that although he is not to be of the party, that he will let Matilde and the children come with us."

Sabas generously granted this pet.i.tion, and all friction seemed to be ended; but Cristina, who still wished to tease him a little, said with a mischievous smile:

"Of course we understand that this means the afternoons when she has no b.u.t.tons to sew on."

"Cristina, Cristina!" cried Marti, half vexed, half laughing.

We all did all we could to restrain our laughter. Sabas shrugged his shoulders with apparent disdain, but remained surly the rest of the evening.

The next day and the days thereafter, without his honorable company but with that of Matilde and the eldest of his children, we made our excursions to Caba.n.a.l.

Marti and Castell's carriages took us thither directly after breakfast, and brought us to the city at sunset. This time was spent chatting on the upper balcony of the summer-house while the ladies embroidered or sewed, or we went out into the park, where we played like children with b.a.l.l.s or hoops.

Sometimes we left the place and ran about the village or went down on the beach, where we were greatly entertained by watching the fis.h.i.+ng boats coming in; at other times we directed our footsteps into the country, visited some of the cottages, usually that of a certain Tonet, an old servant of Marti's, who owned the little farm where he lived.

There we often rested, and his wife welcomed us with chocolates or peanuts or served us some other refreshment.

But the important business of the afternoon was the picnic, or rather its preparation. For it interested us that the picnic was spread and eaten in the open air. We carried the alcohol stove and the rest of the things to some distant and shady place in the park. The ladies put on their ap.r.o.ns; the gentlemen, in s.h.i.+rt-sleeves, made chocolate or coffee, or fried fish that we had just bought on the beach, and pa.s.sed a happy time. How happy I was when the party gave me the task of stewing up some sailor's dish, and I went about among my scullions and scullionesses with the stewpan in my hands, despotically giving them exact orders and sometimes--who would believe it?--going so far as to forget that I was in love!

Yet I was more and more in love all the time; there is no doubt about that. Neither when I said to Cristina in an imperious tone, "Bring me the salt!" nor, when I reproved her sharply for cutting the fish up into too small pieces, did it even enter my imagination that a more perfect creature could ever have existed under the sun. In the country the supercilious severity that I had often remarked in her disappeared. Her mood was gay, changeful, lively, and she invented a thousand tricks to make us laugh, while from her lips witticisms flowed continuously. She was the soul of our excursions, the salt that seasoned them.

I could not keep my eyes away from her. I listened to her and stared at her like an idiot. Sometimes, though not often, she made me feel that I was carrying water in a sieve. For example, one afternoon, standing in the summer-house, she showed us a thimble that she had bought. Everybody examined it, and I also after the others, then I contrived to keep it without being noticed. A good while pa.s.sed; nothing more was said about the thimble. But when we left the mirador to go to our picnic she crossed in front of me and said without looking at me:

"Put the thimble in this little basket."

It was of no use to be cunning and crafty with her. She saw everything; she observed everything.

Another afternoon, when her sister-in-law Matilde was playing on the piano and she standing turning the leaves of her music, I stole up silently from behind. Pretending to find myself enraptured by the music and looking closely at its sheets, I devoured with my eyes her alabaster neck and the fine, soft hair, there where the black locks of her head seemed to die away and be lost like exquisite music that melts in pianissimo. Well, then as if she had eyes for seeing what was behind her, she raised her hand to the neck of her dress and pulled it up with a gesture of impatience. It was an admonition and a reprimand. But in spite of her dumb rebuffs and reproofs and although she used seldom to look at me, I felt myself happy beside her. And this was because in these rebuffs and in the sternness of her countenance I found no distaste for myself, nor desire to mortify me. Everything emanated from a n.o.ble, if exaggerated, sentiment of dignity, without counting the intense affection that she professed for her husband, of which she constantly gave clear proof. Nor in this either was she unworthy the exquisite delicacy of her sentiments. Instead of showing herself tender and submissive towards him as so many women would have done in her case, she shunned showing any fondness in my presence and, whenever it was possible, avoided the caresses that he would have given her. Sometimes he laughingly asked her the reason for such severity, but she remained inflexible.

Of her sense of justice and the instinct that inspired it she gave witness more than once, although it was always tacit. I had gone to the house one morning. There was no one in the dining-room but herself and her mother. She happened to ask for a gla.s.s of water. I took it upon myself to antic.i.p.ate the servant, went to the sideboard, took a goblet and a little tray, and was about to pour out the water and serve her when she interrupted me dryly:

"No, let it be. I am not thirsty now; it was a whim."

I was very much crestfallen, and even more saddened than humiliated. I cut short my visit and retired. That afternoon I stayed at the _fonda_ and did not go to Caba.n.a.l as usual.

At night I went to the house when they were finis.h.i.+ng supper, entered with a stern countenance, and did not try to glance at her. But I saw plainly that she looked at me, and I wished her to keep on until I saw a humble expression on her face.

In a few moments she addressed me with unusual amiability, seeking to make amends. I stood my ground rigidly. Then she said in a clear voice and with a gracious smile that I can never forget:

"Captain Ribot, will you do me the favor to pour a little water into one of those goblets and bring it to me?"

I served her, smiling. She smiled a little too before drinking it, and my resentment was melted like ice in the warmth of that smile.

Castell was always one of the party on our excursions to Caba.n.a.l.

Sometimes, though rarely, he drove out alone in one of his traps.

I no longer doubted that he paid court to Cristina and had also observed the love that I felt for her. But he owed it to his immeasurable pride not to seem to notice a rival so little formidable; I could not see the slightest change in him. He continued to treat me with the same refined courtesy, not exempt from patronage, and--why should I not say it?--with also a sort of benevolent compa.s.sion. It is true that Castell extended this compa.s.sion towards all created beings, and I think I should not be wrong in affirming that it went beyond our planet and diffused itself among other and distant stars. As a general rule, he listened to n.o.body but himself; but at times, if he were in the humor, he would invite us to express our opinions, making us talk with the complacency shown to children; listening, smiling sweetly at our nonsensical chatter and our little mistakes. It was a regular secondary-school examination. When he deigned to pry into my limited field of knowledge I could not help fancying myself a microscopic insect that had by chance fallen into his hands, that he twirled and tortured between his encircling fingers.

They all listened to him with great deference. Marti ever showed himself proud of having such a friend, and believed in good faith that neither in Spain nor in foreign lands existed a man to compare with him--in the world of theory, of course, because in practical matters, Marti was all there, as I knew.

But Isabelita, Cristina's cousin, listened to him with even more absorption. It is impossible to imagine a more complete attention, an att.i.tude more submissive and devoted than that of this girl with a profile like an angel, when Castell held forth. Her pure and pearl-like face was turned towards him; she sat perfectly still as if in ecstasy; the lashes of her innocent eyes did not move.

The one who took the least pleasure in the dissertations of the rich s.h.i.+p-owner was, as far as I could see, Cristina. Although she forced herself to hide it, I was not long in divining that the science of her husband's friend and a.s.sociate did not interest her. She often grew absent-minded and, whenever she could find a plausible pretext, she would leave the room. Can it be supposed that this lack of reverence for a representative of science lowered her in my eyes? I think not!

I noted further that, although Cristina joined apparently the projects of her husband, and never contradicted him when he discussed them with his usual frankness before us, she showed lively vexation when Castell encouraged them. When the millionaire, therefore, would begin a pompous eulogy of Marti, praising in affected language his clear sight, his decision and activity, Cristina's face would change; her cheeks would lose their delicate rose-color; her brow would be knitted, and her beautiful eyes would take on a strange fixity. Usually she could not stand it to the end. She would get up and leave the room abruptly. The good Emilio, intoxicated with grat.i.tude and pleasure, took no notice of this.

What a soul was that of this man, how n.o.ble, how sensitive, how generous! Chance brought to my knowledge a magnanimous action that raised him still more in my eyes. With the freedom that he had given me from the first, I entered his private office one day unannounced at a rather inopportune moment. His mother-in-law sat sobbing (for a change) in an arm-chair, and he with his back towards the door was opening his safe. On hearing me he turned and quickly shut the door of the safe. He seemed a little more serious and thoughtful than usual, but the generous expression of his face had not disappeared. He greeted me, making an effort to appear cheerful; then turning to his mother-in-law and putting one hand upon her shoulder, he said affectionately:

"Come, mamma, there is nothing to grieve about. Everything will be arranged this afternoon, without fail. Come now, go to Cristina and rest a little. You must not make yourself ill."

"Thank you, thank you!" murmured the suffering lady, without ceasing to weep and blow her nose.

Recovering finally at least a part of her energies, she left the place, not without giving me a strong, convulsive grasp of the hand and drawing her son-in-law to the door for three or four kisses. He shook his head and said, smiling:

"Poor woman!"

I gave him a glance of interrogation, not venturing to put the question in words. Marti shrugged his shoulders and murmured:

"Tss! It's the same as always. Her son abuses the bounty of this poor woman and it gives her a great deal of trouble."

As I perceived that he did not wish to go into further explanations, I refrained from inquiries, and we talked of other things. But a moment later Cristina came into the office, not in a good temper, and asked him:

"Mamma has been begging money of you, hasn't she?"

"No, my girl," replied Marti, coloring a little.

"Don't deny it to me, Emilio. I have known all since this morning."

"Very well, what of it? The thing is not worth wrinkling this little brow," he answered, touching it tenderly.

Cristina remained silent and thoughtful a few moments.

"You know," she said at last firmly, "that I have never opposed your expenditures for Sabas. I have enjoyed your generosity towards all, but your treatment of my brother has especially pleased me. Yet I have asked myself sometimes, 'Will this generosity of Emilio have really good consequences? Will it not encourage my brother to continue in his idle and dissipated habits?' If he were alone in the world, he might indulge in such luxurious ways without much danger. When he came to want, you could, by reducing him to strict necessities, keep him on his feet. But he has a wife, he has children, and I fear that they will have to bear the consequences of your generosity and of the habits which, thanks to your kindness, their father does not abandon. And, too," she added in low tones that trembled a little, "at present we have no great responsibilities, but we shall have them----"

"I believe you; we shall have them!" exclaimed Marti. "It looks to me as if the first of them would not be many days in arriving!"

Cristina's cheeks colored swiftly. Emilio, changing his tone, went over to her, put his arm about her shoulders affectionately, and said to her:

"You are right in this, as you are in everything that you say. You are a hundred times more sensible than I am. Perhaps I should have refused Sabas if he had come begging of me, because I am already a little tired of his affairs; but your mother comes--when I see her crying--you don't know how that moves me."

Cristina lifted to him her eyes s.h.i.+ning with immense grat.i.tude, her face quivering with feeling; fearing that she could not control her emotion, she suddenly left the room.

"Poor little thing!" said Marti, smiling once more. "She is very right.

Sabas is a bore."