QUENTIN did not abandon the idea of becoming intimate with Rafaela.
He now knew the close relationship that united them. They were of the same family. Things would have to turn out badly indeed not to be advantageous1 to him.
One morning Quentin again went to his cousin’s house. He found the gate open, and went as far as the interior of the garden without ringing. He found Juan, the gardener, busily occupied in trying to turn the key which let the water out of the pool; an undertaking2 in which he was not successful.
“What are you trying to do?” Quentin asked him.
“To turn this key; but it’s so dirty....”
“Let me have it,” said Quentin; and taking a large crowbar, he turned the key with scarcely an effort. A jet of water ran into a small trough, from which it flowed through the various ditches that irrigated3 the different parts of the garden.
“Where are the young ladies?” asked Quentin.
“At mass: they’ll be back in a little while.”
“What’s doing here? How is everything getting on?”
“Badly. Worse every day,” answered the gar[125]dener. “How different this house used to look! Money used to flow here like wheat. They said that every time the clock struck, the Marquis made an ounce of gold. And such luxury! If you had walked through these patios4 thirty years ago, you’d have thought you were in heaven!”
“What was here?”
“You would have met the armed house-guards, all gaudily5 attired—with short coats, stiff-brimmed hats, and guns.”
“What did they do?”
“They accompanied the Marquis on his trips. Have you seen the coach? What a beauty it is! It will hold twenty-four persons. It’s dirty and broken now, and isn’t a bit showy; but you should have seen it in those days. It used to take eight horses and postillions a la Federica to haul it. And what a to-do when they gave the order to start! The guards, mounted on horseback, waited for the coach in that little plazoleta in front. Then the cavalcade6 started off. And what horses! He always had two or three of those animals that cost thousands of dollars.”
“It must have cost him a lot to maintain a stable like that.”
“Just think of it!”
“When did these grandeurs come to an end?”
“Not very long ago, believe me. When the Queen came to Cordova, she rode from the Cueva del Cojo to the city in our coach.”
“How is it that the family could fall so far?”
“It has been everybody’s fault. God never granted much sense to the members of this household; but the administrator7 and the Count, who is the young ladies[126]’ father, were the ones who brought on most of the ruin. The latter, besides being a libertine8 and a spendthrift, is a fool. People are always deceiving him; and what he doesn’t lose through foolishness, he does through distrust. Once he bought twenty thousand gallons of oil in Malaga at seventy reales, brought them here, and sold them in a few days, at forty.”
“That certainly was an idiotic9 thing to do.”
“Well, he’s done lots more like it.”
“What has become of him now? Where does he live?”
“He goes about the city with toreadors and horse-dealers. He has separated from his wife.”
“Did he marry again?”
“Yes; the second time, he married the daughter of an olive merchant: a beautiful, but ordinary woman who is giving the town a lot to talk about. Since he is a fool, and she a sinner, after two or three years of married life, they separated—throwing things at each other’s heads. Now he is living with a gipsy girl named La Mora, who relieves him of what pennies he has left. The girl’s brothers and cousins go into retirement10 with him in taverns11, and make him sign papers by threatening him with violence: why, they haven’t left him a penny! And now that he has no money, they no longer love him. La Mora throws him out of his house, and I believe he crawls back to her on his knees.”
“Meanwhile, what about his wife?”
“She gets worse and worse. She has been going about here with a lieutenant12 ... she’s a wild hussy.”
The gardener took his spade and made a pile of earth in a ditch to keep the water away from a certain spot.[127] While Juan worked, Quentin turned his ambitious projects over and over in his mind.
“What a superb stroke!” he was thinking. “To marry the girl, and save the property! That surely would be killing13 two birds with one stone. To have money, and at the same time, pass for a romantic chap! That would be admirable.”
“Here come the young ladies,” said Juan suddenly, looking down the corridor.
Sure enough; Rafaela and Remedios, accompanied by the tall, dried-up servant, appeared in the garden. The two girls were prettier than ever in their mantillas and black dresses.
“See how pretty they are!” exclaimed Juan to Quentin, arms akimbo. “Those children are two slices out of heaven.”
Rafaela laughed the laugh of a young woman utterly14 lacking in coquetry; Remedios looked at Quentin with her great, black eyes, waiting, perhaps, for a confirmation15 of the gardener’s compliment.
Rafaela removed her mantilla, folded it, stuck two large pins in it, and gave it to the maid; then she smoothed her hair with her long, delicate-fingered white hand.
“I have a favour to ask of you,” she said to Quentin.
“Of me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Command me: I shall consider myself most happy to be your slave.”
Rafaela laughed musically and said:
“Goodness me! How quickly you take your ground!”
“I am not exaggerating; I am saying what I feel.[128]”
“Then be careful, for you seem to me to be a trifle restless for a slave, and I may have to put you in irons.”
“It won’t be necessary for you to do that. Tell me what you want me to do.”
“Well, a very simple thing. My father, who is not all a gentleman should be, took a little silver jewelcase out of my room the other day. It is a souvenir of mother. I think he must have sold it, and I wish you would take the trouble of looking for it. You’ll find it in some pawn-shop on the plaza16. There is a coronet upon the cover of the case, and in the silk lining17 are the initials, R. S. If you find the little box, please buy it, and I shall pay you whatever it amounts to.”
“No, not that.”
“Oh, I don’t want it under any other condition.”
Apropós of the little box, Rafaela spoke18 sadly of her mother.
Remedios, who had taken off her mantilla, took a hoop19 from a corner and began to play with it.
“Remedios!” said Rafaela. “You have your new dress on. Change it, and study your lessons immediately.”
“No, not today,” replied the child.
“Why not? And she says it so calmly! Big girls don’t play with hoops20. If I don’t watch this child, she plays all sorts of games, just like a little street urchin21. Do you think that is right, girlie?”
Remedios looked at her sister impudently22, and only whistled as an answer.
“Don’t whistle, please.”
“I will,” answered Remedios.[129]
“I’ll shut you up in the dark room. We’ve had two days this week without our lessons. If you don’t learn any more than that, you’ll be a little donkey.... Just about as clever as Pajarito.”
“No!” exclaimed the little girl, stamping her foot.
“Yes, yes,” said Rafaela, smiling.
“No.”—And throwing her arms about her sister’s neck, Remedios climbed into her lap.
“I believe you have lost your moral strength,” Quentin said to her.
“Yes; I think so too,” added Rafaela.
Safe in her sister’s lap, Remedios began to chatter23, while Rafaela patted her like a baby. She told several stories in which Pajarito, Juan and the genet appeared.
“What a little story-teller you are!” said Rafaela, laughing.
When she grew tired of this, Remedios jumped from her sister’s lap, and began to run about the garden. Presently she appeared riding astride of the donkey.
“The child is wild today,” said Rafaela, gazing severely24 at Remedios.
The little girl noticed that her sister was annoyed, and jumping from the donkey at the risk of falling, she went up to her.
“Juan said that we can pick oranges now.”
“Girlie, will you kindly25 be less of a busybody, and a little more quiet?”
“Well, that’s what he said!” exclaimed Remedios, making an expressive26 gesture, and rolling her great, black eyes.
Quentin began to laugh. Rafaela joined him.
“What are you laughing at?” demanded Remedios of her sister.[130]
“I’m not laughing, child.”
“Yes, you are. Let’s get out of here.”
“But, why?”
“Yes; come on.”
“It’s just a little notion the girl has taken,” murmured Quentin.
“What business is it of yours?”
“My dear child, if you grow up like this, no one will be able to resist you.”
Remedios remained frowning by Rafaela’s side; then she saw Juan’s little dog, took it in her arms, and running to the pool, threw it into the water.
“What a creature!” said Rafaela, vexed27.
They went to the pool; the dog swam to the edge and began to flounder about without being able to get out. Quentin knelt upon the ground, and stretching out his arm, lifted the little animal from the water.
“He’s shivering,” said Rafaela. “Do you see what you have done?” she added, turning to her sister—“He may die.”
Remedios, who had watched the rescue impassively, went to a corner and sat upon the ground with her face to the wall.
“Remedios!” called Rafaela.
The child made no reply.
“Come, Remedios,” said Quentin, going over to her.
“Go away!”
“Come, you’re exhausting my patience.”
“I won’t.”
Rafaela tried to seize the girl, but she began to run, shouting:
“If you follow me, I’ll throw myself into the pool.”
And she was making for it when Quentin seized her[131] firmly about the waist, and heedless of her shrieks28 and kicks, handed her over to Rafaela.
“No, no; you must go into the dark room. What a child!”
“No, I won’t do any more, I won’t do any more,” sobbed29 Remedios, hiding her head on her sister’s shoulder, overcome with shame, and weeping like a Magdalene.
“When the tears are over, she’ll be a little lamb. Will you undertake my mission?” Rafaela asked Quentin.
“If the little box is in Cordova, you may be sure that I shall find it.”
“Good! Adiós. We are going in to get over this,” said Rafaela, smiling ironically.
Rafaela and Remedios went up to their rooms, and Quentin went out into the street.
