Then her face once more resumed the placid, grave expression which characterized it, and she resumed her work, plunging again and again her firm, rosy fists into the pliant dough. The paste kept taking different forms under the steady pressure of the girl's small but strong hands.

Sometimes it made a thick, short roll or cylinder, which, little by little, as it was worked over the table, kept growing longer and slenderer; again, it a.s.sumed the fashion of a great ball, the roundness of which Marta brought carefully to greater and greater perfection, until she suddenly fell upon it with both hands and flattened it out; at other times it presented the appearance of a thin sheet taking up half of the surface of the table, and which kept spreading more and more, until she began to double it over with repeated folds as one does with a garment; again, she built it up like a pyramid on the slopes of which the graceful little baker bestowed soft pats, as though she were caressing it, but not hesitating fiercely to tear it in pieces in order to give it immediately some new and capricious figure. When it seemed to her that the paste was sufficiently kneaded, she cut it into a number of lumps with a knife, and taking a wooden rolling-pin, she began to shape them with great care. Ricardo asked timidly,--

"Will you let me help you, Mart.i.ta?"

"You don't know how."

"You can tell me what to do, and under your direction it will go first-rate."

"Now, you flatter me! All right, I'm willing; but you must wash your hands first."

Nothing was left for Ricardo but to go and wash his hands.

"That's good. Now take this rolling-pin and flatten out this lump of dough till you make it into a thin, round piece."

The new baker applied himself to his work with ardor; with too great ardor, for the dough was sometimes rolled so extremely thin that it was nothing but holes. The servants looked on with broad smiles of admiration, while Marta kept gravely intent upon her task. In the kitchen the atmosphere was suffocating, as it was heated by the red-hot iron covers of the oven, and impregnated with the heavy odors of cooking viands, which disturb and revolt the stomach when it is surfeited, but excite and stimulate it when it is empty.

Ricardo could not keep his tongue still a single instant. While he was pa.s.sing the rolling-pin over the dough with greater circ.u.mspection than if he had been engaged in preparing a magic philter, he did not cease to ask questions and make remarks of all sorts to Marta, princ.i.p.ally in regard to the pie which they had undertaken to make: "How many eggs did you put in the flour? How much lard? Who taught you to make pies? How long does it have to stay in the oven?" etc., etc. Marta gave laconic answers, and did not lift her face to all his questions, allowing a vague smile of condescending superiority to hover over her lips.

"Aye! Marta, what would Manolito Lopez say, if he were to see us at this moment?"

"What has he to say? It's nothing to him," replied the girl, slightly blushing.

"Wouldn't he be jealous, to see us so near together?"

"Why?"

"Oh, I know! I know he's in love with you, according to what they say."

"Why do you wish to plague me so?"

"La.s.sie, everybody is talking about it; it's no invention of mine."

"Very well; then keep it up, as you say."

"I will, so far as I see it."

"Come, don't be foolish!"

Marta's tone in saying this showed some signs of vexation. It was evident that she did not quite relish the joke. Ricardo's ground for making it was slight enough, as is almost always the case with children; but it was true to a certain degree. Little urchins of fourteen or fifteen, called, in popular language, _pipiolos_, run after the small girls of the same age; and they establish, for the most part tacitly, certain relations with them which resemble or imitate the love affairs of their seniors. It is said, for example, among them that Fulanito[18]

is Fulanita's sweetheart, without any reason why; and Fulanito, merely from this fact, without Fulanita meaning much to him, goes to wait for her, with other friends, at the schoolroom door, and follows her home, greatly to the vexation of the tending maid; at the little parties which are given from house to house he takes her out to dance more frequently than the others. If he be somewhat daring, he is apt to offer her candy in cones of gilt paper; and he pa.s.ses in front of her house several times a day, when he begins to wear new clothes or a new hat; he manages, when he walks behind her, to speak loud and distinctly for her to hear, and plumes himself on his clever talk; and he is quick to roll up his sleeves for the most insignificant thing, so as to exhibit in her presence a boldness and courage which he would not have if she were absent; he spends the pennies which he possesses on pomade or scented oil, and comes to ma.s.s when she is present, his hair brushed and as shiny as a cat just out of the water; in the afternoon, when his heart is sore because she does not take any notice of him, he follows behind her with some of his friends, indulging in naughty words and stupid laughter; and sometimes, coming close up to her, he pulls her by the hair-ribbon, until, with these and other trickeries, he succeeds in making her cry.

Fulanita's conduct is generally of a piece. In reality she doesn't care a fig for Fulanito; but as they say he is her sweetheart, she does all she can to carry out the idea, and so she keeps turning her head to look for him when she comes out of school; at the German she selects him as a partner more times than the others; she hurries to the window when he pa.s.ses, and blushes when they joke her about him. But these pseudo-affections are almost never lasting, and rarely become real. They begin silently, they live their day silently, and silently they pa.s.s away when the girl puts on long dresses. The reason for such fickleness is very obvious. Fulanito has as yet attained the age, not of love affairs, but of the gymnasium, _suspensos_, and sage cigars. Fulanita is already far more perfectly developed as far as the life of the heart is concerned, and in her inmost soul she has a profound scorn for Fulanito, who does not know how to descant on affinity and love, is incapable of kissing a fan fallen from the hand, and hasn't a sign of a mustache.

Of this sort, though with slight variations, was our Marta's friendship with Manolito Lopez. To the general causes which tend to wither and nip in the bud such predilections must be added in this case the very slight similarity of their characters. Manolito, though he had an expressive and even handsome face, was mischievous, obstreperous, quarrelsome, and saucy; one good quality was observable in him: he was not inclined to be spiteful. Marta was placid, taciturn, and reserved; the fault which they found with her at home was that she was somewhat obstinate. It was not possible, therefore, to have a more complete ant.i.thesis. If this had not been so, Marta would have come to love Manolito, for her temperament was opposed to change not only in the furniture of her room, but in the sentiments of her heart.

When they had finished moulding various thin covers of pastry, Marta went to work to put some of them on top of others in copper baking-dishes, which made the bottom of the pie. Then one of the maids put in the pork, neatly trimmed and cut into small bits. The lard, well seasoned with spices, exhaled a stimulating, appetizing odor, which made the mouth water. When once the bits were laid on the bottom crust in the most accurate order, the girl went to spreading new covers of pastry which she laid over the pork. Ricardo no longer helped her; he was evidently tired of it. But when it came to making the ornaments for the top, he once more hastened to offer his services, and he took great delight in designing in the dough a thousand kinds of mosaics, arabesques, and figures of every species that was ever seen. Marta put an end to such dilettante labors by taking the pastry from his hand, for he was never done. When the pie was made, the girl herself put it in the oven, and following a pious custom traditional in that part of the country, she made the sign of the cross over it, and repeated a Pater Noster so as to obtain a happy result.

"Do you know one thing, Mart.i.ta?"

"What is that?"

"That kitchen odors and the labor on these pies have given me an abnormal appet.i.te!"

"Really?"

"It's the honest truth!"

"Then see here; something to eat will cure it. Come with me."

And she drew him to the dining-room near by and seated him at the table.

Then she took out of a sideboard a napkin, bread, wine, a plate of cold turkey, and a jar of preserves, and put them down one after the other with the carefulness and system which characterized all her movements.

"Eat, Senor Marques, eat."

To call Ricardo "Senor Marques" was one of the most audacious jests which Marta allowed herself to indulge in toward her future brother. It was not in accordance with her nature to make jokes and epigrams about any one. Those that occasionally came from her lips were meant to disguise a tenderness which her reserved nature prevented her from showing openly to any one, even to her own sister.

Ricardo proceeded to despatch a slice of turkey with all solemnity, occasionally washing it down with draughts of Valdepenas, while the girl, smiling and happy, stood enjoying her friend's voracious appet.i.te, and looking out to fill his gla.s.s with wine and change his plate when there was need.

"You are a fine woman, Mart.i.ta," said Ricardo, with his mouth full.

"You're worth your weight in gold, and certainly you would not weigh a little, judging by the signs which I won't mention for fear you would call me a bore. When I see Manolito Lopez, I shall tell him not to think of any other woman if he wants to get fat and plump; and that's what he very much needs. If you take such good care of me, what care you would take of him!--That's enough, that's enough, Mart.i.ta! don't give me so much preserve. One would think that you wanted to give me dyspepsia here, on the sly.--This turkey is excellent; it deserves the honors which I have done it;--a little more wine, please!--"

Marta poured out the wine, and looked at him out of her great, calm eyes, in which gleamed an evanescent smile of comfortable satisfaction.

It seemed as if it were she who was feasting.

"See here, la.s.sie[19]! do me the favor to eat something too, because it grieves me to see you so abstemious. I should think you were being punished."

The girl was not hungry, and she refused to take the plate which Ricardo offered her. However, she cut a small piece of bread, and began to devour it solemnly with her little white teeth.

"I prophesy that it won't be long before you dispose of this saucer of preserve, Mart.i.ta. The thing is to begin. The worst of it is, it's now twelve o'clock, and at dinner-time I shan't have any appet.i.te.--Yet I don't know how far that's certain, for my stomach is a good one!--Mart.i.ta, don't be foolish, but eat this preserve, which you will find appetizing."

While Ricardo was bringing his task of feasting and chattering to an end, Genoveva came into the dining-room, saying,--

"The Senorita Maria has a little headache and is resting in her room."

"I'll go to her," cried Marta, hurrying away.

"And I bring you this message from her, senorito," added the maid, handing him a note.

But seeing that the young man was about to break the seal, she said,--

"The senorita wanted you not to read it till after you had left the house."

"Very good," muttered Ricardo, somewhat disturbed.

And taking his hat, and without saying farewell to any one, he hurried home devoured by impatience, and tearing open the envelope with trembling hand, he read the following letter:--

"MI QUERIDiSIMO RICARDO,--