They went to the next room, which was Dona Gertrudis's, and this alone was proof positive that no sign of Menino was there, though occasionally she had in her head such a singing, as of a whole nest of birds, that it prevented her from resting. Therefore they went to the next room, which was Marta's. It was a room which seemed lined with mirrors, since everything in it was polished, from the wooden floors to the railing of the balconies; whatever was not varnished by the cabinet-maker was rubbed bright with cloths. Marta's great hobby which gave her the most joy and the most trouble was keeping things bright. Her exaggerated love for cleanliness had quickly brought her to the point of trying to put a shine on all the articles of furniture in the house, and more especially those in her own room. Every day, aided by the maid, she rubbed them with a dry flannel, polishing them with unwearied zeal, until you could see your face in them. Then, all out of breath, sometimes dripping with perspiration, her hair in disorder, and her cheeks ablaze, she lifted the flannel and stood awhile contemplating her work, the lovely scintillations made by the light in the polished surface, with a genuine inward satisfaction, with almost mystic enthusiasm. The household made much fun of her, which caused her to hide herself while performing this task, and induced her to lock her room to everybody. Ricardo had never been in it. And so without any thought of Menino he began to inspect it with bold, inquisitive attention; he gazed at the pictures, halted in front of the toilet-table, opened the bottles, felt of the curtains, and even went into the bedroom to see the bed, uttering exclamations of astonishment at the perfect order which he found everywhere, and especially at the wonderful polish of all the furniture.

"What a pretty room you have, child. It's like a silver cup! What a lovely white little bed!"

"Ricardo, don't be inquisitive. Go away; come, Menino isn't here!"

The girl felt annoyed by the young man's curiosity. Every woman of gentle birth feels a certain modesty, if we may say so, in regard to her room, for the reason that there clings about it something like the essence of her very self which she hesitates to let a man approach; but in Marta's case, in addition to this modesty, there was a sense of shame in having her stubborn, childish fancies brought to light, like that of keeping things bright, that of placing the bottles of her dressing-table in a sort of symmetry worthy of an altar, and other such things which served her family as subjects for merriment at dinner time. Consequently she tried to push him out by main force.

"Come Ricardo; there's nothing to see here. Come along, come along!"

"Do let me, nina, do let me have a look at this charming room! How exquisite!" And putting his nose to the bed, he said with great seriousness, "It smells like Marta!"

"Will you be quiet, you foolish fellow!"[34]

"It may not give you any trouble to keep your room in this way, but let me tell you, child, I couldn't keep it so if my life depended on it. If you were to see my room, Mart.i.ta!"

"Yes, yes, it must be fine! You always were a disorderly fellow.[35] But come, dear, come; let us go!"

"We'll go whenever you please. My room is a stable compared with this; but just consider that it's open to dogs and cats, the gardener, with his dirty feet, the coachman, with the smell of the stable, and, in fact, to every living creature. It is not my fault."

From Marta's room they pa.s.sed through various other apartments, the dining-room, the parlor, the gallery of the court, another private room, and a few others, without finding Menino anywhere. As they were standing in the midst of a pa.s.sage-way without knowing whither to turn, an idea suddenly struck Marta, and she said,--

"Let's go to the terrace; we haven't been there yet."

The terrace was now only a large hall tiled with marble and covered over with stained gla.s.s. It was called the terrace because it had been one in former times; but Don Mariano had had it closed in with gla.s.s a few years before, transforming it into a handsome, fantastic room in Moorish style, where he went to drink coffee on summer evenings with his daughters and friends. It was for the most part unfurnished, having only in one corner three or four small marquetry tables and a few rockingchairs. When our young people reached this hall, they found it flooded with light: the sun, that morning leaving his long seclusion, came forth bright and warm, resolved on visiting all the corners of the city; and when he found the thousand crystals of the Elorza terrace, not caring to see anything better, he pa.s.sed through them and revelled inside with a lively, eager pandiculation which occupied the whole circuit of the room. It was a magical sight. Thousands of rose, green, yellow, purple, gray, and blue lights burned within it, pouring over the floor, the ceiling, and the walls, and dissolving into an infinity of tints, delighting and dazzling the eyes. Over the mosaic pavement fell a shower of blinding rays, reflecting up in a delicate, many-colored vapor; and these rays were crossed and interwoven in the air, making a flame-bearing web, subtile and beautiful, through the interstices of which pa.s.sed the intangible scintillations of other rays more diaphanous, from which arose a vapor still more aerial. And these veils of dust, of rays, of scintillations, and of colors, stretching one behind the other, in spite of their transparency scarcely allowed you to see with vague indefiniteness, as through a mist, the crystals and arabesques of the windows. The sun squandered his treasures of light and color like a Turkish pasha within the walls of some chamber in the East, proving once more that when he endeavors to make a brilliant and fanciful decoration with them, there is no stage director with all his spangles, _Bengalas_, and curtains who can equal him.

Our young people, entirely forgetting Menino, stopped an instant in surprise at the whimsical, magical work of the light; and without saying a word they entered the hall and went to the centre with the slow, uncertain step of one who goes into a bath. In point of fact they stood submerged and inundated in a luminous vapor wherein all possible colors were floating.

"How beautiful the terrace is to-day!" said Marta at last.

"It seems like a room in an enchanted palace. It would be more appropriate if, instead of us, a Moor in a white turban stood here, and an odalisque covered with brocade and precious stones. How many capricious effects of light! Wait a moment, Mart.i.ta; step into this ray of rosy light. If you could see what a peculiar expression it gives your face now! You look like a gypsy,--a daughter of the desert."

Indeed, that light turned the girl's fair complexion to brown, kindled it with a sunset tinge, and animated it with the ardent, cruel expression of southern natures. All the innocence of her eyes, all the purity of her maidenly form were lost under the power of that perverse, luxuriant flame, which transformed her into another being, fiery, and at the same time voluptuous, and certainly far from her own true nature.

Ricardo understood this, and said,--

"No! that color does not suit you. Come into this one!"

And he drew her under a ray of greenish light:--

"Heavens! you look like a dead person! No, no; that's just as bad! Here, try the yellow color; that goes well, but it makes you ruddy, and brunettes ought to stay brunettes,--I mean dark-haired people,--for of course we know that your complexion is light; come, try the blue. Oh, superb! wonderful! How beautiful you are, child!"

The young marquis was right. Blue, which is the most spiritual, the purest, and the sublimest of colors, was admirably adapted for Marta's bright face. The sun-ray fell on it like a caress from heaven, bathing it sweetly in a diaphanous light. Her long black hair a.s.sumed a purplish tint, while the adorable oval of her face and her firm, mellow neck were softly tinged with a heavenly blue. The delicate line of her regular features acquired an ideal perfection, and her whole countenance was transfigured with an angelic expression of beat.i.tude.

Nevertheless, there was a certain exaggeration not in good taste in that rapturous, celestial expression given by the blue light. It was not the true Marta, ingenuous and modest in her looks as in her features, but a different Marta, affected, theatrical, and fantastic. Ricardo finally declared that no light was so becoming to her as the natural.

The girl suddenly exclaimed,--

"And Menino!"

"It's true; we had forgotten him. But where shall we go now? we have looked everywhere."

"Let us go to Maria's room; perhaps it has flown up there."

"It does not seem to me likely; however, let's go there."

They mounted to the tower, but without any better success; neither in Maria's room nor in Genoveva's did they find any sign of the canary-bird. Ricardo felt a peculiar emotion in entering his lady-love's room, and Marta did not fail to notice it. He became graver and more silent, and began to examine with interest everything there, moving the articles, opening the scent-bottles, and even pulling out the drawers, so that the girl felt obliged to interfere.

"Don't meddle with her things. When Maria comes and sees her things tumbled up, she will be angry."

"And what if she is?" replied the young man, with a touch of asperity.

"The blame will be thrown on me."

"All right; then tell her that it was mine, and that'll settle the matter."

He stepped into the bedroom, lifted the bed-curtains, took up the books from the dressing-table, laid them down again, and finally pulled out the table drawer. In it were a number of articles laid away, but he thrust in his hand, pulling out one more extraordinary than the rest. It was a large leather cross, full of bra.s.s brads on one side, and with a cord to attach it to the neck.

"What is this?" he asked, turning it over and over in his hand, with amazement.

Marta guessed what it was.

"Put it back, put it back! for G.o.d's sake, Ricardo! Maria will be very angry."

"Horrors! What an abominable thing! This must be a cilicium."

"It may be; but put it back, put it back for Heaven's sake!"

The young man threw it violently into the drawer again, with a gesture of scorn and disgust,--

"Maria has become crazy. It is an abomination, and there's no good in it."

"Don't say that; it's wrong. Maria is very religious,--"

"Religious! religious!" muttered the young fellow, angrily. "So are you, and you don't have to perform these penances--"

"Don't compare me with Maria!"

Ricardo began to pace up and down the room excitedly and without speaking. Then he returned to the chamber, and pulled out the leather cross once more, examining it with more care.

"It seems to me that these nails form letters. Look! Can you make out what they say?"

"No; I don't see anything; it's your imagination."

"Yes, yes; there is an inscription on it. But, however, I don't care to bother with deciphering it. All these things are only absurdities. Come, child, come along! Let every fool have his folly!"

And shutting the drawer angrily he left the chamber, followed by Marta.

As they were pa.s.sing by one of the windows of the boudoir, the girl uttered a cry of surprise and joy,--

"Look, look! Ricardo! Look! there's Menino!"