Maximina Part 53

XXI.

With suitable precautions, that is, first vaguely insinuating the idea, afterwards making it more and more definite, Miguel brought it to his wife's notice that he must go to Galicia for a few days. She received the news with consternation; but perceiving that her husband was annoyed, she made an effort to control herself, and became calm, and finally even quite cheerful. But finding herself, as always after breakfast, seated on her husband's knee, while the "little rascal" was sleeping, and ready to talk about the linen that the traveller would need for his journey, the tears came into her eyes when least expected.

"What a girl you are," exclaimed Miguel, kissing her, "only a few days'

separation!"

"I was not crying for that exactly," rejoined Maximina, endeavoring to smile. "But for several days I have been having such melancholy forebodings."

"What forebodings?"

"I imagine that I am not going to live very long."

"_Ave Maria!_ what a terrible idea! What makes you have such crazy notions?"

"I don't know," replied the little wife, smiling though the tears were sliding down her cheeks. "What I dread most is leaving my baby while he is so young."

"Don't be absurd!" said Miguel, impatiently. "These gloomy ideas are caused by the sadness that you feel at having me go away. As for the rest, though death is liable to come to any of us, there is no reason to think that yours is near at hand. You are a child of seventeen; you were never ill a day in your life, except when the baby was born. You enjoy perfect health.... It is much more likely that I should die before you: I am considerably older; besides, I haven't a very strong const.i.tution, as you know...."

"Hush! hush!" exclaimed Maximina, throwing her arms around him, and bursting into a pa.s.sion of tears. "I don't want to hear that you may die!"

"Why, my child, there is nothing to be done about it."

"But I don't want to hear about it; I don't want to, I do not!" she replied, with such lovely determination that her husband covered her with kisses.

After a while, and when they had been speaking of other things, Maximina returned to the same topic.

"If I should die, you would marry again, wouldn't you, Miguel?" she asked, with an expression half serious and half mischievous, which nevertheless concealed a very real meaning and a genuine anxiety.

"Back to the old subject? Please don't indulge in any more of these follies, sweetheart."

"Would you marry again, Miguel?" she insisted, ceasing to smile, and showing her anxiety.

"Well, then, I am going to speak with all frankness: If you should die (but you aren't going to die), I will not answer for it, that in the course of my life I should never have anything to do with other women; but I give you my word and oath that I will never marry any one else.

And this is not alone because of the deep and affectionate love which I bear you, so that to-day you are an essential part of my being, and if you were taken away from me it would be as though half of myself were taken away, but also for selfish reasons. I should be unhappy with any other woman. G.o.d has endowed you, my darling, with all, absolutely with all, the qualities necessary for making me happy."

The little wife well understood that these words were sincere, and she looked at her husband with enthusiasm and joy.

Miguel, in speaking the last words, had felt his heart growing tender: he covered his eyes with his hands, and turned away his head. On seeing him in this att.i.tude a smile of intense delight illumined his wife's face.

"Are you crying?" she whispered into his ear.

Miguel did not reply.

"Are you crying?" she repeated. "You _are_ crying; don't try to deny it." And with infantile curiosity she tried to pull his hands away from his face.

"Stop, stop!"

"Let me see thy tears, Miguel!"

And she struggled with all her might to see her husband's eyes full of tears.

"Are you satisfied now?" he asked, laughing; then after a moment of silence, "And you, Maximina," he said, in a tone of anxiety, "would you marry again?"

"Oh! for Heaven's sake!"

"You are very young, and it would not be at all strange if this should happen. After some time the same circ.u.mstances might drive you to it!

Perhaps your relatives might urge you into it: a woman is not well off alone in the world.... If this took place, I have no doubt that you would love your husband; but I could take my oath that you would not love him as much as you love me. There are things, Maximina, that are never repeated, and one of them is first love; especially if this first love has been blessed by Heaven as yours has been. Just notice the walls of this study; preserve in thy memory the form of these pieces of furniture, the color of the carpet, the sweetness of that sunbeam that comes through the window. All this that now has so little importance, if I should die, would, perhaps, seem much more so, for the moments of bliss which we are now spending here, with thee sitting on my knees, and with me looking into thy dear eyes, would never again return, Maximina, would never return for thee!"

The little wife fell back against her husband's breast, when she heard those words, like a sensitive plant which contracts at the slightest touch.

"Oh! Miguel, light of my life, what have I done to make thee speak to me so?"

And sobs choked her.

He tried to pacify her by such means as were in his power; but to accomplish it he found himself obliged to promise her solemnly that he would not die!

At last the day set for his journey arrived. It had been agreed that during Miguel's absence Julita should come and sleep with her sister-in-law. She and _la brigadiera_ both came over that afternoon to bid the traveller good by. It was just dusk. Miguel, after eating a hurried and solitary dinner, sent for a carriage, and prepared to depart. When he went toward his wife to kiss her, she darted away, and ran to hide in her bedroom.

"But it is your husband, _tonta_!" cried Julita, laughing.

Miguel followed her, and groping around in the darkness, found her in one corner.

"Don't you want me to kiss you, sweetheart?"

"Oh, yes, Miguel; but there before people I should die of mortification!"

As our young man took his place in the carriage he felt his heart depressed within him.

"If it were not for what is at stake, I should not have been mixed up in this dirty business, and I certainly should not be leaving my wife and baby," he said to himself, with some bitterness.

Before reaching his district he made a stop at the capital of the province, where he was received with extreme cordiality by the governor.

He was a young man who had recently been filling the position of second or third _gazetillero_ on a liberal paper at the capital. It was said in the city that his administrative knowledge might possibly have been more solid without doing any harm; but, on the other hand, whenever it took his fancy he replied in rhyme to letters, walked the street, in free and easy costume, gave lunch-parties to the provincial deputies almost every day, enjoyed cracking jokes with the ushers, and when the a.s.sembly was in session, sometimes permitted himself to whistle in an undertone arias from _Blue Beard_ or _The Grand d.u.c.h.ess_. His name was Castro.

As soon as Miguel presented himself at the _Gobierno Civil_, Castro gave him a most hearty squeeze, as though he were an intimate friend, although they had never spoken together in Madrid more than three or four times, and began to address him from the very first with the familiar "thou." He instantly promised him the whole weight of his official influence.

"I'll get you in swimmingly, my lad, no matter what it costs. Go to the district and write me from there all that you need, and I will do for you anything in the world."

Rejoiced and flattered by this reception, our hero on the following day took the diligence for Serin, which was about seven leagues from the capital.

It was a miserable little village, but admirably situated near a river, the banks of which displayed the luxuriant vegetation of tropical countries, and the fresh verdure of the North; orange-trees, lemon-trees, and river-laurels almost shook hands with oak and chestnut groves which swept up the slopes of the mountains; they in turn were gentle and green in the foreground, dark and steep in the background, thus making a magnificent chain, rendering the landscape most picturesque. The group of white cottages that composed the village of Serin was surrounded by a thick border of trees, except on the side of the river, in whose clear blue waters it was reflected.

Now this delectable spot, which appeared like a little corner of Paradise was rather a little corner of Hades, as Miguel was quickly able to a.s.sure himself. It even had, as we shall soon see, not one, but two, serpents to torment its inhabitants.

These had been divided from time immemorial into two parties--"those of the Casona" and "those of the Casina," thus named because the first met in a great, dark mansion with two machiolated towers, which stood at the upper end of the village, while the others met in a one-storied and highly ornamented edifice with a handsome portal with an iron grating and two great balconies, and was situated on the Muelle by the river.

They were likewise called "Don Martin's Party" and "Don Servando's,"

after the name of their respective leaders.