sobbing into an arm-chair. At the same time he had a severe fit of
coughing, and Castro had to persuade him to drink a cup of lime-flower
tea.

By the time the luckless Marquis had a little recovered, Pepe had
achieved the adornment of his person, which he proceeded to take out
walking, very correctly and exquisitely dressed in a frock-coat. He
breakfasted at Lhardy's, looked in at the Club, and by three in the
afternoon or thereabouts bent his steps to the house of the Marquesa de
Alcudia, his aunt, in the Calle de San Mateo. This lady was, as we know,
very proud of her religion, and equally so, to say the least, of her
pedigree. Pepe was her favourite nephew, and, though his dissipated mode
of life disgusted her not a little, she had always treated him with much
affection, hoping to tempt him into the right way. In the Marquesa's
opinion, quarterings of nobility were as efficacious in their way as the
Sacrament of Ordination. Whatever villainies a noble might commit, he
was still a noble, as a priest is always a priest.

Castro had thought of this devout lady as one likely to assist him in
his project. His instincts--which were more to be depended on than his
intelligence--told him that if the Marquesa undertook the negotiations
for his marriage with Esperancita she would undoubtedly succeed. She was
a person of much influence in fashionable society, and even more with
those persons who, like Calderón, had gained a place in it by wealth.

The Alcudia's mansion was a gloomy structure, built in the fashion of
the last century--a ground floor with large barred windows and one floor
above; nothing more. But it covered a vast extent of ground, with a
neglected garden in the rear. The entrance was not decorative; the
outside steps rough-hewn to begin with, and much worn. The late
lamented Alcudia was proposing some repairs and improvements when death
interfered with his plans. His widow abandoned them, not so much out of
avarice as from intense conservatism, even in matters which most needed
reform.

Within, the house was sumptuously fitted; the furniture was antique and
very handsome; the walls hung with splendid tapestry; and fine pictures
by the old masters graced the library and the oratory. This was indeed a
marvel of splendour. It stood at one corner of the building on the
ground floor, but was two storeys high, and as lofty, in fact, as a
church. The windows were filled with stained glass, like those of a
Gothic cathedral; the floor was richly carpeted; there was a small
gallery with an organ; and the altar, in the French taste, was
beautifully decorated. Over it hung an _Ecce Homo_, by Morales. It was
an elegant and comfortable little chapel, warmed by a large stove in the
cellar beneath.

In the drawing-room Pepe found only the girls, busy with their
needlework. Their mother, they said, was in the study, writing letters.
So, after exchanging a few words with his cousins, he joined her there.

"May I come in, aunt?"

"Come in, come in. You, Pepe?" said the Marquesa, looking up at him over
the spectacles she wore for writing.

"If I am interrupting you I will go away. I want to consult you," said
the young man, with a smile.

He took a chair, and while his aunt went on writing with a firm, swift
hand, he meditated the exordium to the speech he was about to deliver.
At last the pen dashed across the paper with a strident squeak, no doubt
emphasising the writer's signature, and taking off her spectacles, she
said:

"At your service, Pepe."

Pepe looked at the floor, praying no doubt for inspiration, twirled his
moustache, cleared his throat and at last began with much solemnity.

"Well, aunt, I do not know whether it is that God has touched my heart,
or merely that I am weary of my present mode of life; but at any rate
for some time past I have been taking to heart the advice you have so
often given me, and which goes hand in hand with my own wish to settle
down, to give up the bad habits which I have contracted for want of a
father to guide me, and yet more of a mother, like yourself. I am very
nearly thirty, and it is time to think of the name I bear. I owe a duty
to that, and to my calling as a Christian; for in all my excesses I have
never forgotten that I belong to an old Catholic family, and that
nowadays in Spain it is incumbent on our class to protect the cause of
religion and set a good example, as you do. The means I look to as an
encouragement to the change I feel within me is marriage."

The penitent could not have chosen his words better in addressing his
aunt Eugenia. They made so good an impression that she rose from her
place and came to lay a hand on his shoulder, exclaiming:

"You delight me, Pepito. You cannot imagine what pleasure you give me.
And you say you do not know whether God has touched your heart! How
could you have undergone this sudden change, if He had not inspired it?
It is the touch of God, indeed, my boy, the finger of God--and the noble
blood which runs in your veins. Have you chosen a wife?"

The young man smiled and nodded.

"Who is she?"

"I had thought of Esperanza Calderón. What do you think of her?"

"Nothing could be better. She is very well brought up, attractive, and I
love her as a child of my own. She has always been my Pacita's bosom
friend, as you know. Your choice is a most happy one."

Castro smiled again with a gleam of mischief, as he went on:

"You see, aunt, I would rather have married a girl of our own rank, But,
as you know, I am utterly ruined, and the daughters of good families
are not apt to have fortunes in these days. Those who have, would not
have anything to say to me, as I have nothing to offer but what they
already possess--a noble name. It is for this reason that I have chosen
one of no birth, but with a good fortune."

"Very wise. And though we are compromising our dignity a little, we must
save the name from disgrace. And Esperanza is a thoroughly good girl.
She has been brought up among ourselves. She will always be a perfect
lady, and do you credit."

The young man's face still wore that strange sarcastic smile. For a
minute or two he remained silent; then he said:

"Do you know what we young fellows call a marriage of this kind?"

"No--what?"

"Eating dirt."

The Marquesa smiled frigidly, but then, looking grave again, she
replied:

"No, that cannot be said in this case, Pepe. I can answer for this girl
that she is worthy of a brilliant marriage. You will be a gainer. Are
you engaged? Have you spoken to her? I have had no communication----"

"I have not said anything as yet I know that she does not dislike me; we
look kindly on each other, but nothing more. Before taking any definite
steps I decided that I would speak to you as the person of most weight
of our family in Madrid."

"Very proper; you have behaved admirably. When marriage is in question
it is well to proceed with due caution and formality, for, after all, it
is a sacrament of the Church.[E] In better times than these no alliance
was ever contracted in the higher circles without consulting the opinion
of the heads of both houses. I thank you for your confidence in me, and
you may count on my approval."

"And on your assistance? You see I am afraid of meeting with some
difficulties on her father's part. He loves hard cash. And to be frank,
I should not relish a refusal."

The Marquesa sat meditating for a while.

"Leave him to me. I will do my best to bring him to reason. But you must
promise to do nothing without consulting me. It is a delicate
negotiation, and will need prudence and skill."

"I give you my word, aunt."

"Above all be very careful with the little girl. Do not startle her."

"I will do exactly what you bid me."

They presently went together into the drawing-room, where some visitors
had arrived.

On Friday afternoons during Lent, the Marquesa received those of her
friends who, like herself, would devote an hour or two to prayer and
religious exercises. There were the Marquesa de Ujo and her daughter,
still with her skirts far above her ankles, General Patiño, Lola
Madariaga and her husband, Clementina Osorio, with her faithful
companion Pascuala, and several others; and, above all, Padre Ortega.
As, in fact, the honours of the occasion were his, and he was director
of the entertainment, every one had gathered about him in the middle of
the room. Everyone talked louder than he did; the illustrious priest's
voice was always soft and subdued, as though he were in a sick room. But
as soon as he began to speak, silence instantly reigned--every one
listened with respectful attention.

The Marquesa, on entering, kissed his hand with an air of submission,
and inquired affectionately after a cold from which he had been
suffering.

"Oh! have you a cold, Father?" inquired several ladies at once.

"A little, a mere trifle," replied the priest, with a smile of suave
resignation.

"By no means a trifle," said the Marquesa. "Yesterday in church you
coughed incessantly."

And she proceeded to give the minutest details of the reverend Father's
sufferings, omitting nothing which could make her account more graphic.
The priest sat smiling, with his eyes on the ground, saying:

"Do not let it disturb you, the Marquesa is always over anxious. You
might think that I was in the last stage of consumption."

"But, Father, you must take care of yourself, you really must take care
of yourself. You do too much. For the sake of religion you ought to
spare yourself a little."

The whole party joined in advising him with affectionate interest. A
maiden of seven-and-thirty, a sportive, gushing thing, whose confessor
he was, even said, half seriously and half in jest:

"Why, Father, if you were to die, what would become of me?"

A sally which made the guests laugh, but somewhat disconcerted the very
proper director of souls. The Marquesa wished to hinder him this
afternoon from delivering the address with which he usually favoured
them; but he insisted.

Meanwhile the room had been filling. Mariana Calderón had come in with
Esperancita, the Cotorrasos, Pepa Frias, and Irene. She, poor child,
looked pale and ailing; in fact, she had come straight from her room, to
which she had been confined for some days with a nervous attack. When
the party was large enough, the Marquesa invited them to retire to the
Oratory. The ladies took front places near the altar, chairs and stools
having been comfortably arranged for them, the gentlemen stood in the
background and were provided only with a velvet-pile carpet to kneel on.

The meeting began by each one going through the prayers of the Rosary
after Padre Ortega. The ladies did this with edifying precision and
devotion, their ivory fingers, on which diamonds and emeralds twinkled
like stars, piously crossed or clasped, their pretty heads bent
low--they were quite bewitching. The Creator must surely hearken to
their prayers, if it were only out of gallantry. Not the least humble,
the least engaging and edifying figure of them all was Pepa Frias. A
black mantilla was most becoming to her russet hair and pink and white
complexion. The same may be said of Clementina, who was taller, with
more delicate features, and in no respect inferior in brilliancy and
beauty of colouring. The languid and artistic attitudes affected by the
fair devotees were no doubt intended to appeal to the Divine Will; but,
as a secondary end, they were no less certainly meant to edify the
escort of men who looked down on them. And, if by any chance there could
have been a Freethinker among them, what confusion and shame must have
possessed his soul on seeing that all that was most elegant and
distinguished of the _High-life_ of Madrid was enlisted in the service
of the Lord.

Prayer being over, two of the ladies, accompanied by a baritone
"Savage," went up into the gallery, and while another gentleman played
the organ, they sang some of the finest airs from Rossini's _Stabat
Mater_. As they listened, the pious souls felt a vague craving for the
Opera house, for La Tosti and Gayarre, and confessed regretfully, in the
depths of their hearts, that the amateur performance promised them in
Heaven would be a stupendous and eternal bore. After the music came
Padre Ortega's homily or lecture. The priest was accommodated on a sort
of throne of ebony and marble in the middle of the chapel, the ladies
moved their chairs and cushions, so as to face him, and the gentlemen
formed an outer circle, and after a few moments of private meditation to
collect his ideas, he began in a gentle tone to speak a few slow and
solemn words, on the subject of the Christian Family.

As we know, Father Ortega was a priest quite up to the mark of modern
civilisation, who kept his eye on the advance of rationalistic science
that he might pounce down on it and put it to rout. Positivism,
evolution, sociology, pessimism, were all familiar words to him, and did
not frighten him, as they did most of his colleagues. He was on intimate
terms with them, and fond of using them to confute the pretensions of
modern learning. What he esteemed to be his own strong ground, was the
demonstration of the perfect compatibility of science with faith, the
Harmony (with a capital H) between Religion and Philosophy. His
discourse on the Family was profound and eloquent. To Father Ortega,
that which constituted the Family was a reverence and love for
tradition, reverence and love for the past. "The Family is
Tradition--the tradition of its glory and of its name, of honour,
virtue, and heroism; and all these may be summed up in two words:
respect for elders--love and reverence, that is to say, for all that is
highest and most conservative in the race."

Starting from this theorem, the preacher inveighed against revolution as
against a gale from hell, blowing down all that was old, and clearing
the ground for all that was new; against the barbarous hostility of our
time to the beliefs, the manners, the laws, the institutions, and the
glories of the past.

"The banners of revolution are inscribed with the motto: 'Despise the
Elders,'" said he, "as though old creeds, old manners, old institutions,
old aristocracies--though like everything human, they fall far short of
perfection--did not represent the labours of our forefathers, their
intelligence, their triumphs, their soul, life, and heart. And this
being the case, how could revolutionary science, which casts its stupid
contumely on everything ancient and venerable, fail to besmirch even our
great ancestors with its scorn? One element of dissolution in the Family
was the attack on property, directed by the revolutionary faction. This
aggression was not merely adverse to the constitution of society, it was
still more directly hostile to that of the Family. Property,
inheritance, and the patrimony, what were they but the outcome of
reverence for our forefathers on the one hand, of love for our children
on the other? Property consolidates the present, the past, and the
future of the Family; it is the spot where it has grown up and spread;
the soil which, when the progenitors pass away, assures them of rest
beneath the tree of posterity, which shall grow up from it and call them
blessed!"

Then, for above an hour, the learned Father proved the existence, on the
most solid foundations, of the Christian family. Its bases were
religion, tradition, and property. He spoke with decision, in a simple,
convincing style, and emphatic but correct language. His audience were
deeply attentive and docile, quite persuaded that it was the Holy Ghost
which spoke by the mouth of the reverend preacher, commanding them to
cherish tradition and religion, but, above all, property. The sublime
thought was so elevating that some of the gentlemen present felt
themselves united for all eternity to the Supreme Being by the sacred
tie of landed estate, and registered a vow to fight for it heroically,
and resist the passing of any law which, directly or indirectly, might
affect its integrity.

When he ended he was rewarded by smiles of approbation and repressed
murmurs of enthusiasm. Every one spoke in a whisper, out of respect to
the sanctity of the spot. The bold damsel who just now had asked Father
Ortega what she could do without him, flew to kiss his hand, with a
succession of sounding smacks which made the rest of the company
exchange meaning smiles of amusement, and the priest drew it away with
evident annoyance. Once more, some ladies and gentlemen went up into the
gallery and executed, in every sense of the word, some religious music
by Gounod. Finally, all the saintly souls left the little chapel and
returned to the drawing-room.

The Marquesa de Alcudia, a restless nature that knew no peace, at once
proceeded to carry out her promise to her nephew. He saw her take
Mariana aside; they quitted the room together. By-and-by they returned,
and Castro could see that he had been the subject of their parley by the
timid and affectionate glance bestowed on him by Esperancita's mother.
Then he saw his aunt retire with Padre Ortega into a corner where they
had a private consultation, and again he suspected that he was their
theme. The priest looked towards him two or three times with his vague,
short-sighted eyes. He had taken care not to go near Esperanza, but they
had exchanged smiles and looks from afar. The girl seemed surprised at
his sudden reserve; for the last few days Pepe had been assiduous. She
was beginning to be uneasy, and at last crossed the room to speak to
him.

"You were not at the Opera last night; are you keeping Lent?"

"Oh, no!" said he, with a laugh. "I had a little headache and went to
bed early."

"I do not wonder. What could you expect? You were riding a horse in the
afternoon that did nothing but shy. He is a handsome beast, but much too
lively. At one moment I thought he would have you off."

Castro smiled with a superior air, and the girl hastened to add: "I know
you are a fine horseman; but an accident may happen to any one."

"What would you have done if I had been thrown?" he asked, looking her
straight in the face.

"How do I know!" exclaimed the girl with a shrug, but she blushed
deeply.

"Would you have screamed?"

"What strange things you ask me," said Esperanza, getting hotter and
hotter. "I might perhaps--or I might not."

Just then the Marquesa de Alcudia addressed her.

"Esperanza, I want to speak to you."

And as she passed her nephew she said in a low voice:

"Prudence, Pepe! Asides are not in your part."

Any less superior soul would have felt some anxiety at seeing the two
women leave the room together, some uneasiness as to the issue of this
all-important interview; but our friend was so far above the common
herd in this, as in other matters, that he could chatter with the
company with as much tranquillity as though his aunt and Esperanza had
gone to discuss the fashions. When they presently returned, Esperanza's
little face was in a glow, her eyes beaming with an expression of
submission and happiness, which, but for fear of committing a deadly sin
in Lent, we might compare to that of the Virgin Mary on the occasion
when she was visited by the Angel Gabriel.

The meeting still preserved a sanctimonious tone. These chastened souls
could not forget that they were celebrating the Fasting in the
Wilderness. The young ladies round the piano piously abstained from
singing anything frivolous; their voices were modulated to the _Ave
Marias_ of Schubert and Gounod, and other songs no less redolent of
sacred emotion. They talked and laughed in subdued tones. If one of the
young men spoke a little recklessly the ladies would call him to order,
reminding him that on a Friday in Lent certain subjects were prohibited.
The Spirit of God must indeed have been present with the meeting if we
may judge from the resignation, the intense serenity, with which they
all seemed to endure existence in this vale of tears. A placid smile was
on every lip; the afternoon waned amid sacred song, mellifluous
exhortation, and subdued mirth. The newspapers reported next day, with
perfect truth, that these pious Fridays were quite delightful, and that
the Marquesa de Alcudia did the honours in the name of the Almighty with
exquisite grace.

The party at length dispersed. All these souls, so blessed and refreshed
by faith, trooped out of the Alcudia Palace and made their way home,
where they sat down to dine on hot turtle soup, mayonnaise of salmon,
and salads of Brussels sprouts, beginning with prawns to sharpen their
appetites. But, indeed, the hours of silent prayer and communion with
the Divinity had already done this. Nothing is more effectual in giving
tone to the stomach than the sense of union with the Omnipotent, and the
hope that, albeit there are fire and eternal torments for pickpockets
and those misguided souls who do not believe in them, for all Christian
families--those, that is to say, who believe in property and in their
ancestors--there are certainly comfortable quarters in reserve, with an
eternity of salmon mayonnaise and prawns _à la Parisienne_.

CHAPTER XIV

AN EXCURSION TO RIOSA.

The Duke de Requena had given the last shake to the tree; the orange
dropped into his hands golden and juicy. At a given moment his agents in
Paris, London, and Madrid, bought up more than half of the Riosa shares.
Thus the management, or, which was the same thing, the mine, was
practically his. Some who had suspected his game, declined to sell,
especially in Madrid, where the banker was well-known; and if he had not
made haste to take the decisive step, the price would undoubtedly have
become firmer. Llera scented the danger and gave the signal. It was a
happy day for the Asturian when he received the telegrams from Paris and
London. His hatchet-face was as radiant as that of a general who has
just won a great battle. His clumsy arms waved in the air like the sails
of a windmill, as he told the tale to the various men of business who
had come to the Duke's counting-house to ask the news. Loud Homeric
laughter shook his pigeon-breasted frame, he hugged his friends tightly
enough to choke them; and when the Duke asked him a question, he
answered even him with a touch of scorn from the heights of his triumph.

And yet he was not to get the smallest percentage on this immense
transaction; not a single dollar of all the millions which were to come
out of that mine would remain in his hands. But what matter! His
calculations had proved correct; the scheme he had worked out with such
secrecy, perseverance, and wonderful energy and skill, had come to the
desired issue. His joy was that of the artist who has succeeded--a joy
compared with which all the other delights on earth are not worth a
straw.

The Duke's satisfaction was of a different stamp. His vanity was indeed
flattered by this brilliant success; he honestly thought that he had
achieved an undertaking worthy to be recorded on marble and sung by
poets. A proceeding which was in truth no more than a swindling trick,
within the letter of the law, was by some strange aberration of the
moral faculty transfigured into a glorious display of intellectual
power--and that not alone in his own eyes, but in those of society at
large. To celebrate his success, and at the same time to see for himself
what improvements must be effected in the working of the mine to make it
as productive as he intended it should become, he planned an excursion
thither with the engineers and a party of his friends. At first they
were to be eight or ten; by degrees the number grew, and when the day
came round they formed a party of above fifty guests. This was chiefly
owing to Clementina, who was greatly fascinated by the notion of this
journey. Thus what had been in the Duke's mind a little friendly "day
out," had, under her manipulation, acquired the proportions of a public
event, a much talked-of and ostentatious progress, which for some days
absorbed the attention of the fashionable world.

Salabert had a special train made up for his party; the servants and
provisions were despatched the day before. Everything was to be arranged
to receive them worthily. It was the middle of May, and beginning to be
hot. By nine in the morning the station of Las Delicias was crowded with
carriages, out of which stepped ladies and gentlemen, dressed for the
occasion; the women in smart costumes considered appropriate for a day
in the country, the men in morning suits and felt hats. But to these
apparently unpretending garments they had contrived to give a stamp of
individual caprice, distinguishing them, as was but right, from all the
shooting coats and wide-awakes hitherto invented. One had a flannel
suit, as white as snow, with black gloves and a black hat; another was
in the inconspicuous motley of the lizard, crowned by a blue hat with a
microscopic brim; a third had thought it an opportunity for turning out
in a black jersey suit, with a white hat, white gloves, and boots. Many
had hung a noble field-glass about their shoulders, by a leather strap,
that they might not miss the smallest details of the landscape, and
several flourished Alpine sticks, as if they were contemplating a
perilous clamber over cliffs and rocks.

The special train included two saloon cars, a sleeping car, and a
luggage van. The cream of Madrid society proceeded to settle itself,
with the noisy glee befitting the occasion. There were more men than
women; the ladies had, indeed, for the most part, excused themselves,
not caring particularly for the prospect of visiting a mine. Still there
were enough to lend grace to the expedition, and at the same time to
subdue its tone a little. There were some whose fathers or husbands were
connected with the business: Calderón's wife and daughter, Mrs. Biggs,
Clementina, and others. There were some who had come out of friendship
for these--Mercedes and Paz Alcudia, for instance, who were inseparable
from Esperanza. There were more again who could never bear to be absent
from any ploy: Pepa Frias, Lola, and a few more. Among the men were
politicians, men of business, and titles new and old. As they got into
the train the servile assiduity of the station-clerks betrayed how great
an excitement was produced by the mere passage through the office of
these potentates and grandees.

Last of all, and most potent of all, came the Duke de Requena, who,
taking out his handkerchief, waved it from a window as a signal for
departure. A whistle sounded, the engine responded with a long and noisy
yell, then, puffing and snorting, the train began to move its metallic
segments, and slowly quitted the station. The travellers waved their
hands from the windows in farewell greetings to those who had come to
see them off.

Great was the excitement and clatter as the train flew across the
barren plains around Madrid. Every one talked and laughed at once, as
loud as possible, and what with this and the noise of the train, no one
could hear. By degrees a sort of chemical diffusion or elective affinity
took place. The Duke, seated in a coupé or compartment at the back of
the train, found himself the centre of a group of financial and
political magnates. Clementina, Pepa Frias, Lola, and some other women
formed another party, with such men as preferred a lighter and more
highly spiced style: Pinedo, Fuentes, and Calderón. The young men and
maidens were exchanging witticisms which seemed to afford them infinite
amusement. One of the incidents which most enchanted them was the
appearance of Cobo Ramirez at the window, in a guard's coat and cap,
demanding the tickets. Cobo, who had been in the foremost carriage, had
clambered along by the foot-board, not without some risk, since the
train was going at a tremendous speed. He was hailed with applause.

Then the young people sent notes to their friends in the other saloon,
the young men inditing love-letters. The heir of Casa-Ramirez took
charge of them all, and went to and fro between the cars very nimbly,
considering his obesity. This amused them greatly for some time. The
love-letters, written in pencil, were read aloud, with much applause and
laughter.

Raimundo was content to talk to the Mexican and Osorio. Osorio had
really taken a liking to him. Though but a boy in looks the banker
discerned that he was intelligent and well-educated, and among the
"Savages" such endowments as these conferred pre-eminence. The young man
had, too, succeeded in adapting himself very sufficiently to the
atmosphere which for the time he breathed. Not only was his dress
visibly modified by the refinements of fashion and good taste, but his
tone and manners had undergone a very perceptible change. In his
behaviour to Clementina he was still the timid lad, the submissive
slave, who hung on every word and gesture of his mistress; his love was
taking deeper root in his heart every day. But in social intercourse he
had accommodated himself to what he saw around him. He did all in his
power to repress the impulses of his loving and expansive nature. He
assumed a grave indifference, an almost disdainful calm; ridiculed
everything that was said in his hearing, unless it bore on the manners
and customs of the Savage Club; learned to speak in a joking, ironical
voice, like his fellow "Savages," and above all was on his guard against
ever uttering any scientific or philosophical notions, for he knew by
experience that this was the one unpardonable sin. He even kept his own
counsel when one of his new associates roused him to a feeling of warmer
sympathy and regard than the others. Affection is in itself so absurd
that it is wise to bury it in the depths of your soul, or you expose
yourself to some rebuff, even from the object of your affection. Such
things have been known. Thanks to his diligence, and to an
apprenticeship, which to him was a very cruel one, he extorted much more
respect, and was looked on as a man of consummate _chic_, a height of
happiness which it is given to few to attain to in this weary world
beneath the stars.

When Cobo had made several journeys from one car to the other, in no
small danger, as the train was flying onwards, Lola, with a mischievous
look, first at Clementina and then at Alcázar, said to the young man:

"Alcázar, will you venture to go to the next carriage, and ask the
Condesa de Cotorraso for her bottle of salts? I feel rather sea-sick."

Now Raimundo was, as we know, but a frail creature, who had never gone
through the athletic training of these young aristocrats, his friends.
The scramble along the foot-boards at the pace at which the train was
going, which was to them mere child's play, was to him a service of real
danger. He was apt to turn giddy when only crossing a bridge or climbing
a tower. He was fully aware of this, and hesitated a moment; still, for
very shame he could but reply:

"I will go at once, Señora," and he was about to act on her orders.

But Clementina, whose brows had knit at her friend's preposterous
demand, stopped him, exclaiming:

"You certainly shall not go, Alcázar. We will make Cobo go for it next
time he returns."

The young man stood doubtful with his hand on the door; but Clementina
repeated more positively, colouring as she spoke:

"You are not to go--not on any account."

Raimundo turned to Lola with a bow.

"Forgive me, Señora, to-day I am sworn to this lady's service. I will be
your slave some other day."

And neither Lola's noisy laugh, nor the sarcastic smiles of the others,
could spoil the grateful emotion he experienced at his mistress's eager
interest.

Ramon Maldonado was in the other saloon, where also were Esperanza and
her mother with some other ladies, whom he deliberately laid himself out
to charm by his discourse. He was giving them a full and particular
report, in the most parliamentary style he could command, of some
curious incidents in the last sitting. He was already master of all the
commonplace of civic oratory, and knew the technical cant very
thoroughly. He could talk of the order of the day, votes of confidence,
private bills, committees of supply, the previous question, obstruction,
suspension, and closure as if he himself were the patentee of this
elaborate outcome of human ingenuity. He knew the municipal bye-laws as
well as if he had invented them, and discussed questions of city dues,
sewage, weights and measures, and seizure of contraband, so that it was
a marvel to hear him. Finally, being a man of unfathomable ambition, he
had joined a party in opposition to the Mayor, a step which he hoped
might lead to his nomination as a member of the board of highways.

For a long time past he had been waging a covert but determined struggle
against one Perez, another deputy not less ambitious than himself, for
this very appointment, in which he believed that his great gifts as an
innovator would shine with peculiar splendour. The various public
places of Madrid were awaiting the redeeming hand which might give them
fresh life and splendour, and the hand could be none other than that of
Maldonado. In the recesses of his brain, among a thousand other
portentous schemes, there was one so audacious that he dared not
communicate it to any one, while he was incubating it with the fondest
care, determined to fight for this child of his genius till his dying
day. This was no less than a plan for moving the fountain of Apollo from
the Prado to the Puerta del Sol. And a whippersnapper fellow like Perez,
a narrow-minded slow-coach, with no taste or spirit, dared to dispute
the place with him!

At the moment when he was most absorbed in his narrative of how he had
concocted the most ingenious intrigue to secure a vote of censure on the
Mayor, Cobo--that inevitable spoilsport--came up, and after listening
for a minute, roughly attacked him, saying:

"Come, Ramoncito, do not give yourself airs. We know very well that you
are a mere nobody in the House. Gonzalez can lead you by the nose
wherever he wants you to go."

This was a cruel thrust at Maldonado, considering that it was before
Esperancita and several other ladies, old and young. Indeed it stunned
him as completely as if it had been a blow on the head with a cudgel. He
turned pale, his lips quivered, and he could not utter a word. At last
he gasped out:

"I? Gonzalez? Leads me by the nose? Are you crazy? No one leads me by
the nose, much less Gonzalez, of all men!"

He spoke the last words with intense scorn; he denied Gonzalez as Peter
denied his Master, out of base pride. His conscience told him that he
was not speaking truly, though no cock crew. Gonzalez was the
acknowledged leader of the civic minority, and at the bottom of his
heart, Ramon held him in great veneration.

"Pooh! nonsense! Do you mean to tell me that Gonzalez cannot make you
work and dance like a puppet? Much good you dissidents would do if it
were not for him."

On this Ramon recovered the use of his tongue, and to such good purpose,
that he poured out above a thousand words in the course of a few
minutes, with fierce vehemence, foaming and sputtering with rage. He
rebuked with indignation the monstrous comparison of himself with a
puppet, and fully explained the precise position held by Gonzalez in the
city council and that which he himself occupied. But he did it with such
frenzied excitement and gesticulation that the ladies looked at him in
amused surprise.

"How eloquent he is! Who would have believed it of Ramoncito? Come,
Cobo, do not tease him any more; you will make him ill!"

This compassionate tone stung Ramon to the quick. He was instantly
speechless, and for at least an hour he wrapped himself in silent
dignity.

The train drew up at a small station in the midst of a wide stretch of
open moor, looking like a petrified sea; here the travellers were to
take their mid-day meal. The Duke's servants, sent on the day before,
had everything ready. Ramon devoted himself to the service of Esperanza,
and she allowed him to wait on her with a placid smile which turned his
head with joy. The reason of her condescension was that, by his aunt's
particular desire, Pepe Castro had not joined the party. The matrimonial
overtures, made under the greatest secrecy, required the utmost
prudence. As Maldonado was so intimate with the lord of her heart,
Esperanza felt a certain pleasure in keeping him at her side; at the
same time she avoided comment by talking to the Conde de Agreda or to
Cobo. Poor Ramon! How far he was from understanding these psychological
complications.

They took their seats in the train once more, and went on their way
across interminable sunburnt plains, no one dreaming of examining the
landscape through those ponderous fieldglasses. They reached Riosa
shortly before dusk.

The famous mines of Riosa are situated in a hollow between two low
ranges of hills, the spurs of a great mountain-chain, and are surrounded
on all sides by broken ground, knolls and downs of no great height, but
scarred and ravined in such a way as to look peculiarly barren and
melancholy. In the hollow stands a town dating from the remotest
antiquity. Our travellers did not invade it, they stopped about two
kilometres short of it, at a village named Villalegre, where the
engineers and miners have settled themselves with a view to avoiding the
mercurial and sulphurous fumes which slowly poison not the miners only,
but all the inhabitants of the neighbourhood. It is divided from the
mines by a ridge, and is a striking contrast to the mining town itself.
It is watered by a stream which makes it blossom like a garden, gay with
wild lilies, jasmine, and heliotrope, and, above all, with damask roses,
which have naturalised themselves there more completely than in any
other region of Spain. The aromatic fragrance of thyme and fennel
perfumes and purifies the air.

The most flowery plot in all the settlement belonged to the company, at
about three hundred yards from the village. A handsome stone building
stood in the midst of a garden, this was the residence of the
head-manager, and the central office of the mines; round it, at some
little distance, were several smaller dwellings, each with its little
garden, occupied by clerks, and by some of the operatives; but most of
these lived at Riosa.

There was no station at Villalegre, the train stopped where it crossed
the road leading to the chief town of the province. Here carriages were
in waiting to convey them to the head office, a drive of about ten
minutes. At the park gate, and along the road, a crowd had gathered,
which hailed the visitors with very faint enthusiasm. These were the men
off their turn of work, whom the director had sent for from Riosa for
the purpose. They were all pallid and earth-stained, their eyes were
dull, and even from a distance it was easy to detect in their movements
a certain indecision, which, when seen closer, was a very perceptible
trembling. The smart party of visitors drove close past this mob of
ghosts--for such they seemed in the fading evening grey--the eyes of
beauty and fashion met those of the miners, and from that contact not a
spark of sympathy was struck. Behind the forced and melancholy smile of
the labourers, a keen eye could very plainly detect hostility. Requena's
little procession drove by in silence; these fine folks were visibly
uneasy; they were very grave, not without a touch of alarm. The ladies
involuntarily shrunk closer to the men, and as they turned in at the
gates there was a murmur of "Good heavens! what faces!" and a sigh of
relief at having escaped from the deep mysterious gaze of those haggard
eyes. Rafael Alcantara alone was so bold as to utter a jesting remark.

"Well," said he, "the sovereign people are not attractive looking in
these parts."

The manager introduced the clerks to Salabert, each by name. They were
almost all natives of other parts of the country, healthy, smiling young
fellows, with nothing noticeable about them, and the superintendents no
less so. The only man of them all who attracted any attention was a
delicate-looking man, with a pale face, and thin black moustache, whose
steady dark eyes looked at the fashionable visitors with such piercing
determination as bordered on insolence. Without knowing why, those who
met his gaze felt vaguely uncomfortable, and were glad to look away. The
manager introduced him as the doctor attached to the mines.

Rooms had been found for all the party, some in the director's house,
and others in those of the humbler residents. When they had taken a
little rest, they all met in the director's drawing-room, and from
thence they marched arm-in-arm, in solemn procession, to the office
board-room, which had been transformed into a dining-room. Here the Duke
gave them a magnificent dinner. Nothing was missing of the most refined
and aristocratic entertainment; the plate and china, the cooking, and
the service were all perfection. While they dined the grounds were
lighted up with Venetian lamps, and on rising from table, every one
rushed to the window to admire the effect, which was dazzlingly
beautiful. An orchestra, concealed in an arbour, played national airs
with great spirit. The whole party, panting from the heat of the room,
which was intense, and tempted by the brilliant spectacle, went out to
wander about the gardens; the younger men carried off the girls to a
grass-plot, close to the band, and there began to dance. Cobo Ramirez
presently joined the group.

"Do you know what you remind me of?" he shouted. "A party of commercial
travellers in some suburban café!"

This comparison seemed to hurt their feelings deeply; the dancing lost
its attractions for the fashionable juveniles, and soon ceased
altogether. However, as their hearts were set on Terpsichorean delights,
it occurred to them to transfer the music to the board room, where they
continued their devotions to the Muse, free from the dreadful burden
which Cobo had laid on their conscience.

The festivities were carried on till late. Fireworks were presently let
off, having been brought expressly from Madrid. The various couples
wandered about the gravelled paths, enjoying the coolness of the night,
made fragrant by the scent of flowers. There was but one dark blot on
their perfect enjoyment. When they went near the gate, they saw a crowd
outside, of labourers, women, and children, who had come from Riosa, on
hearing of the great doings--the same haggard creatures, hollow-eyed and
gloomy, as they had met on arriving. So they took care not to go too
near the fence, but to remain in the paths and alleys near the middle of
the garden. Lola, only, who prided herself on being charitable, and who
was president, secretary, and treasurer of no less than three societies,
was brave enough to speak to them, and even to distribute some small
silver money; but out of the darkness came obscene abuse and insults,
which compelled her to retreat. Cotorraso, when he heard of it, was in a
great rage.

"And these Bedouin savages are to have rights and liberties! Let them
first be made decent, civil, and well-behaved, and then we will talk
about it."

The law of elective affinity had drawn together Raimundo Alcázar and a
man who was somewhat out of his element in this riotous company. This
gentleman, with whom he was walking, was between fifty and sixty years
of age, short and thin, with a white moustache and beard, and prominent
eyes, with a somewhat absent gaze through his spectacles. His name was
Don Juan Peñalver; he held a chair of philosophy at the University, and
had been in the Ministry. He enjoyed a high and deserved reputation for
learning, and for a dignity of character rare in Spain. This naturally
brought him into ill-odour with the "Savages," who affected to treat him
with contemptuous familiarity. It is obvious that nothing can be more
offensive to the average "Savage" than Philosophy. Peñalver's
intellectual superiority and fame was a stab to their pride. Their scorn
did not trouble him; he was by nature cheerful, warm-hearted, and
absent-minded; he was incapable of discriminating the various shades of
social manner, and, in fact, had not been much seen in the world since
retiring from political life to devote himself exclusively to science.
He had joined this expedition to oblige his brother-in-law, Escosura,
who held a large number of shares in the Riosa mines. Of late years he
had been an ardent student of natural science, as the surest way of
combatting the metaphysical idealism to which he had devoted his early
life. It was with real pleasure that he found himself accidentally
thrown into the company of a youth so well-informed on scientific
matters as Raimundo. The rest of the party bored him past endurance, so
taking Alcázar by the arm, without inquiring whether he wanted him or
no, he began discussing physiology.

Raimundo was in a fit of despondency and gloom. He had observed that
this Escosura had been definitively making love to Clementina; he was
quite shameless in his attentions to her wherever he happened to meet
her, and affected to ignore her connection with Raimundo. Both in mind
and person Escosura was the exact opposite of his brother-in-law
Peñalver. He was tall and stout, with a burly person and noisy manners;
rich, of some influence politically, a vehement orator, with a voice so
unusually sonorous that, according to his enemies, it was to that he
owed his parliamentary successes. He was a man of about forty, and had
never been Minister, though he asserted that he should soon be in
office. Clementina had already repelled his addresses several times, and
this Raimundo knew, and was proud of his own triumph. At the same time
he could not divest himself of some anxiety whenever, as at this moment,
he saw them talking together.

They were sitting in a summer-house with several other persons, but
conversing apart with great animation. Each time he and Peñalver went
past them, his heart swelled with a pang; he scarcely heard, or even
tried to hear, the learned disquisition his companion was pouring into
his ear. Clementina could read in his anxious gaze how much he was
suffering, and after watching him for a little while she rose and joined
the two men, saying with a smile:

"And what plot are you two sages hatching?"

"You flatter me," said the younger with a modest bow. "The only sage
here is Señor Peñalver."

"Well, Señor Peñalver can bestow a lecture on the Condesa de Cotorraso,
who is anxious to make his acquaintance, while you come with me to see a
Gothic cathedral which is about to explode in fireworks," and she put
her hand through her lover's arm.

Alcázar was happy again. He did not even speak to her of the anguish he
had suffered but a moment ago; on other occasions when he had made such
a confession it had only led to double pain, for Clementina would answer
him in a tone of light banter which wounded him to the heart. They
watched the wonderful, blazing cathedral till it was burnt out; the
gentle pressure of her hand, the scent--always the same--which hung
about her sweet person were too much for the young man, who was
predisposed to be overcome by the proof of affection his beloved had
just given him. She, who knew him well, as she felt him press her arm
more closely, looked in his face, sure that she should see tears in his
eyes. In fact, Raimundo was silently weeping. On finding himself
detected, he smiled in a shamefaced way.

"Still such a baby!" she exclaimed, giving him a caressing little pinch.
"Pepa is right when she says you are like a school-girl in a convent.
Come, let us walk about; some one might see your face."

They went into a more retired part of the garden. From one spot in the
grounds they could see a very curious landscape. The full moon lighted
up the crest of the nearest hill, which divided Villalegre from Riosa,
making it look like the ruins of a castle. Clementina wished to see it
closer, so they went out by one of the side-gates, where no one was to
be seen, and slowly wandered on--the knoll was barren of vegetation, a
pile of boulders, in fact, of fantastic shapes, looking precisely like a
mass of ruins. It was not till they were close to it that they could
convince themselves of the truth.

When the lady had satisfied her curiosity, they returned round the
outside of the park, to enter by the opposite gate. On this side there
were still a few knots of people. Before reaching the gate, at a corner
of the road darkened by the shade of some trees, Clementina stumbled
over an object, and nearly fell. She screamed aloud, for on looking down
she saw a human creature lying at her feet. Raimundo took out a match,
and found that it was a boy of ten or twelve fast asleep. They picked
him up, and set him on his feet. The little fellow opened his eyes and
stared at them in alarm. Then, as if by a sudden inspiration, he
snatched the stick Raimundo was carrying, and began to move it slowly up
and down, as though he were fulfilling some very difficult task.
Clementina and her lover looked on in amazement, unable to guess what
this could mean. A few workmen collected round them, and one with a
horse-laugh exclaimed:

"It is one of the boys from the pumps! Go it, my boy, work away! A tough
job, isn't it?"

And his companions burst into brutal laughter, crying out to the poor
little somnambulist:

"Go at it! Keep it up! Harder, boy, harder, the water is rising!"

And the unhappy boy redoubled his imaginary efforts with more and more
energy. He was a weakly creature, with a white face, quite
expressionless with sleep, and his ragged rough hair gave him the look
of a wraith. The savage glee of the workmen, who looked on at the
pitiable scene, made a very painful impression on Raimundo. He took the
child in his arms, shook him gently to wake him, kissed him kindly on
the forehead, and taking a dollar out of his purse, gave it to the lad,
and then went on with Clementina. The working men ceased their laughter,
and one of them said in a tone of envy:

"Well, you have not worked hard for your day's pay."

CHAPTER XV.

LIFE UNDERGROUND.

At one in the morning the party broke up.

They were to reassemble at nine, to set out in a body on a visit of
inspection to the mines; and the programme was carried out, not indeed
with punctuality, which in Spain is an impossibility, but with no more
than an hour's delay. They set out for Riosa, in carriages, at ten; of
course a diminished party. They alighted at the outskirts of the town
and crossed it on foot, producing, as may be supposed, no small
excitement. The women crowded to the doors and windows, staring with
eager curiosity at this splendid procession of ladies and gentlemen,
arrayed in clothes such as they had never seen in their lives. Like
their husbands, brothers, and sons, these women were pale and
sickly-looking, their features pinched, their eyes dull, their hands and
feet stunted. The visitors also saw a few men suffering from constant
trembling.

"What is the matter? Why do those men tremble so?" asked Esperancita
anxiously.

"They have the palsy," said one of the clerks.

"What is the palsy?"

"They get it by working in the mines."

"Do many of them get it?"

"All of them," said the doctor, who had heard the question. "Mercurial
palsy attacks all who work in the mines."

"And why do they work there, then?" asked the girl, with much
simplicity.

"It is their mania!" said the doctor, with a peculiar smile.

"For my part I think the fresh air up here is much better to breathe
than the foul air down below."

"Why, of course. I would be anything rather than a miner."

They came out at length on a small open space, where some workmen were
busy erecting an artistic pedestal of marble.

"This is the pedestal for the statue of the Duke," said the manager of
the mines, in a loud voice.

"Ah, ah! They are going to put up a statue to you?" said one and
another, gathering round the great man. He shrugged his shoulders with a
deprecating gesture.

"I am sure I don't know. Some absurd notion that has been started in the
miners' wine-shops, I suppose."

"No, indeed, Señor Duque," exclaimed the manager, whose duty it had been
to start the idea which Llera had suggested to him at a hint from
Salabert himself. "No, indeed. The town of Riosa is anxious to erect a
monument of its gratitude and respect to a noble patron who, in the most
critical circumstances, did not hesitate to risk an enormous sum in the
purchase of a half-ruined undertaking, and so to save it from utter
disaster."

"What a beautiful thing it is to do good!" exclaimed Lola, in a voice
full of feeling; and her pretty eyes rested admiringly on Requena.

Every one complimented him; though many of those present knew the
meaning of this magnificent sacrifice. They looked at the work for a
minute or two, and then proceeded on their way. The mines were close to
the town, on the further side. Outwardly they looked like a manufactory
on a small scale, with a few tall chimneys vomiting black smoke. There
was nothing to betray their colossal value. The party went into the
buildings and over the premises where the subsidiary processes of the
works were carried on, and which included carpenters' sheds and forges,
the engineers' office and private room, &c. But what impressed them all
was the sad and sickly appearance of the operatives. They were all
broken with decrepitude, and the Condesa de Cotorraso could not help
saying:

"Only old men seem to be employed."

The manager smiled. "They are not old, though they look so, Señora."

"But they are all wrinkled, and their eyes are sunken and dim."

"There is not a man of forty among them. Those whom you see at work here
are too far gone to work underground. We employ them up here, but they
get less wages."

"And does it take long in the mines to reduce them to this condition?"
asked Ramon.

"Not long, not long," murmured the manager, and he went on: "Such as you
see them, they are always eager to get back to the mine again. The pay
for outside work is so small."

"What do they get?"

"A peseta a day; six reales at most."[F]

They next visited the smelting-houses. The Duke had gone on first with
the English engineer, whom he had engaged to report on the improvements
needed to make the works pay. In these sheds they saw huge furnaces,
piles of cinnabar and stores of mercury.

The furnaces consist of a retort in which the cinnabar is placed with
the combustibles for calcining it. From this retort earthenware
condensers rise, branching off into pipes communicating with each other.
In these pipes the vapours of mercury which rise from the furnace are
reduced by condensation to the liquid state; and the quicksilver is
precipitated and flows out by holes in the lower face of the pipes. But
as a large amount of sooty matter remains, containing particles of
metal, it is necessary to remove and clean the condensers one by one.
This is the work of boys, of from ten to fifteen, who, for seven or
eight hours at a time, breathe an atmosphere charged with mercurial
poison. They next visited the stores and the shed where the mineral is
weighed for sale. And everywhere the operatives wore the same appearance
of decrepitude.

The manager now proposed that they should inspect the hospital. Some
refused, but Lola, who never missed an opportunity of displaying her
benevolent sentiments, set the example, and most of the ladies followed
her, with a few of the men. The Duke excused himself, as he was busy
with the engineers, who were giving him their opinion on the state of
the furnaces.

The hospital was outside the precincts of the mines, near the
burial-ground--no doubt to accustom the inmates to the idea of death,
and also, perhaps, that if the mercurial vapours proved ineffectual to
kill them, those of the graveyard might finish the task. It was an old
building, tumble-down, damp, and gloomy. It was only sheer shame which
hindered the ladies from turning back from the threshold. The doctor,
who had undertaken to guide them, showed them into the different rooms,
and displayed the dreadful panorama of human suffering. Most of the poor
wretches were dressed, and sitting on their beds or on chairs. Their
drawn, corpse-like faces were objects of terror; their bodies shook with
incessant trembling, as though they were stricken with a common panic.
Fear and pity were painted on the fresh faces of their visitors; and the
doctor smiled his peculiar smile, looking at them boldly with his large,
black eyes.

"Not a pleasing picture, is it?" said he.

"Poor creatures! And are they all miners?"

"Yes, all. The atmosphere they live in, vitiated by mercurial vapours,
and the insufficient supply of fresh air, inevitably produce not only
this trembling from acute or chronic mercurial poisoning--which is the
most conspicuous result--but pulmonary catarrh of an aggravated type,
dysentery, tuberculosis, mercurial irritation of the stomach, and many
other diseases which either shorten their lives or render them incapable
of labour after a few years spent under ground."

"Poor things--poor creatures!" repeated his hearers.

The little party who had followed his guidance listened to him with
attention and sympathy. Never had they seen anything so terrible.
Labour--a penalty in itself--was here complicated with poisoning; and
with sincere emotion, full of the best intentions, they suggested means
of alleviating the misery of the sufferers. Some declared that a good
hospital ought to be erected; others suggested a shop, on charitable
principles, where the workmen could obtain good food at a cheap rate;
others urged that the children should not be employed at all; others
again that the labourers should be allowed to work for only a very
limited time.

The doctor smiled and shook his head.

"All this would be admirable, no doubt; I quite agree with you. But
then, as I can but tell you, it would not be a paying business."

They distributed some money among the sick, visited the chapel, where
again they left some money to procure a new robe for the Holy Infant,
and at last got out of the dismal place. To breathe the fresh air once
more was almost intoxicating, and they laughed and talked as they made
their way back to join the rest of the party.

The engineers were explaining to Salabert a new process of sublimation
which might be adopted, and by which not only would the production be
vastly increased, but the residue would be utilised. This was effected
by condensers formed of chambers of very thin brickwork in the lower
part of the funnel carrying off the vapour, and of wood and glass above.
A furnace to which these were fitted could be kept constantly going. The
Duke listened attentively, took notes, raised objections, mastered the
details of the business, and finally his keen nose scented enormous
profits.

As the ladies came up he gallantly postponed the discussion.

"Well, how are my sick getting on, ladies? The sun has shone on them
to-day," said he.

"Badly, Duke, very badly. The hospital leaves much to be desired."

And with one accord they complained of the defects of the building,
painting it in the blackest colours, and proposing improvements to make
it comfortable.

The Duke listened with smiling indifference and the half-ironical
attention we give to a coaxing child.

"Very well, very well; we will have it all seen to. But you will allow
me to set the business on its feet first--eh, Regnault?"

The superintendent bowed with an insinuating smile.

"And the men must work shorter hours," said the Condesa de Cebal.

"And they really must be better paid," added Lola.

"And they ought to have cottages built for them at Villalegre," said
another.

"Ha, ha, ha," shouted the Duke, with a burst of coarse laughter. "And
why not bring Gayarre and Tosti here to entertain them in the evening?
They must be dreadfully dull here, I should think, in the evenings!"

The ladies smiled timidly.

"But really, Duke, you should not make fun of it; it is a serious
matter," said the Condesa de Cebal.

"Serious! I believe you, Condesa. It has cost me three million dollars
already. Do you think three millions are not a serious matter?"

His fair advisers looked at each other, dazzled by the enormous sums
this man could handle.

"But do you not expect to get some interest on your millions?" asked
Lola, who flattered herself she knew something of business.

The Duke again roared with laughter.

"Oh no, Señora, of course not. I shall leave that in the road for the
first passer by. Interest indeed!" Then suddenly turning serious, he
went on: "Who the devil has been putting this nonsense into your heads?
I tell you, ladies, that what is lacking here--sadly lacking--is sound
morality. Make the workman soundly moral, and all the evils you have
seen will disappear. Let him give up drink, give up gambling, give up
wasting his wages, and all these effects of the mercury will disappear.
It is self-evident,"--and he appealed to some of the gentlemen who had
joined the group--"How can a man resist the effects of mining when his
body, instead of food, be it what it may, contains a gallon of bad
brandy? I am perfectly convinced that the majority of those on the sick
list are confirmed drunkards. Do you know, gentlemen, that in Riosa
thrift is a thing unknown--thrift, without which prosperity and comfort
are an impossibility?"

This was a maxim the Duke had frequently heard in the senate; he
reiterated it with much emphasis and conviction.

"But how do you expect thrift on two pesetas[G] a day?" the Condesa
ventured to demur.

"There is no difficulty at all," said the Duke. "Thrift is a matter of
principle, the principle of saving something out of to-day's enjoyment
to avoid the needs of to-morrow. Two pesetas to a workman are like two
thousand to you. Cannot you save something out of two thousand? Well, so
can he out of two. Say he has less, fifteen centimes, ten, five. The
point is to put something aside, and that, however little, is to the
good."

"Merciful Heaven!" the Condesa sighed, "What I do not understand is how
any one can live on two pesetas, much less save."

The engineers of the works invited the party to inspect the machine-room
and laboratory. There was here a remarkably fine microscope, which
attracted general attention. The doctor was the person who used it most,
devoting much of his time to investigations in histology. The manager
requested him to show the Duke's guests some of his preparations. First
he exhibited some diatoms--the ladies were charmed by their various
forms; he also showed them specimens of the animalcule which wrought
the destruction of the famous bridge at Milan; they could not cease
marvelling that so minute a creature should be able to demolish so huge
a structure.

"And think of the myriads of these creatures which must have laboured to
produce such an effect," said an engineer.

Quiroga, so the doctor was called, ended by showing them a drop of
water. One by one they all looked at the invisible world revealed by the
microscope.

"I see one animal larger than the others," said the Duke, as he applied
one of his prominent eyes to the tube of the instrument.

"And you will see all the others fly before him," said the doctor.

"Very true."

"That is a rotifer. He is the shark of the drop of water."

"Look yourself a minute, it seems to me that he is hiding behind
something that looks like seaweed."

"You may call it seaweed. Perhaps he is hiding to catch his prey."

"Yes, yes. Now he has rushed out on a much smaller creature. It is gone,
he must have eaten it."

And the Duke looked up, beaming with satisfaction at having seen this
strange microscopic tragedy.

Quiroga looked at him with his bold gaze, and said with that eternal
ironical smile of his:

"It is the same all the world over. In the drop of water as in the
ocean--everywhere the big fish swallow the small fry."

The Duke's smile faded away. He gave a side glance at the doctor, whose
mysterious countenance showed no change, and said abruptly:

"You must all be tired of science. Let us go to luncheon."

The crowning attraction of the expedition which had brought all this gay
company away from their luxurious homes to so comfortless and barren a
region, was a plan for breakfasting, or rather lunching, at the bottom
of the mine. When Clementina had mentioned this at one of her card
parties it gave rise to a perfect burst of enthusiasm.

"How very original! How odd! How delightful!" The ladies especially were
most eager about it.

By the Duke's advice, they all had provided themselves with elegant
waterproof cloaks and high boots, for water oozed into the mine in many
places, and made deep puddles. Only the evening before, however, several
had taken fright at the immediate prospect, and had given up the
expedition. The Duke had been obliged to order two meals, one in the
mine and one above ground. The braver party who persisted in their
purpose were not more than eight or ten. These had brought their
waterproofs and leggings.

The whole party now gathered round one of the mouths of the mine known
as San Gennaro's pit. Near this shaft there was a building used for
inspecting and weighing the ore, and there the ladies and gentlemen
changed their boots and put on their wrappers. On seeing them thus
prepared for the worst, almost all the ladies declared that they would
after all go down with their friends. A messenger was forthwith sent to
Villalegre for the rest of the waterproofs.

The cage, worked up and down by steam, had been prepared for the
reception of this elegant company. It had two floors, on each of which
eight persons could stand. It had been lined with baize, and a few brass
rings had been fitted to hold on by. The director, the Duke, and the
valiant ladies who had come prepared, went down first. Orders were given
to the engineer to send the lift down very slowly. It began to move, at
first rising a few inches, and then descending with a jerk; then,
suddenly, it seemed to be swallowed in the shaft. The women smothered a
cry and stood speechless and pale. The walls of the shaft were dark,
rough-hewn, and streaming with water; in each division of the cage a
miner with a palsied hand held up a lantern. All, excepting the manager
and the miners accustomed to the motion, had an uneasy feeling in the
stomach, and a vague apprehension which made them incapable of speech,
and they clenched their hands very tightly as they clung to the rings.

"The first gallery," said the manager, as they passed a black opening.

But no one made any remark. This suspension in the abyss, over the
unknown void, paralysed their tongues and almost their power of thought.

"The second gallery," said the manager again as they passed another
yawning hole. And thus he continued till they came to the ninth. There
they heard the sound of voices and saw that the gallery was lighted up.

"We shall take our luncheon here. But first we will go down to the
eleventh gallery to see the works."

When they had gone past the tenth, he shouted as loud as he could:

"Are the brakes on?"

And a voice from below replied:

"No!"

"Put them on at once," he called down.

"It cannot be done," was the answer.

"What, why? The brakes, I say; put on the brakes."

And with a very red face, almost convulsed with excitement, he still
shouted like a madman, while the cage slowly went down, down.

A cold chill fell on every heart. In the upper compartment some of the
women began to utter piercing shrieks. In the lower room a few screams
were heard and all clung tightly to the men's arms. Some fainted. It was
a moment of indescribable alarm. They all thought this was their dying
hour.

And still the manager kept shouting: "The brakes, put on the brakes."

And the voices below, more and more distinct, replying: "It cannot be
done."

When they firmly believed that they were rushing into the nether void
the cage quietly stopped. They heard a peal of loud laughter, and their
terrified eyes beheld, by the tremulous light of tallow candles, a party
of miners whose grinning faces suddenly assumed an expression of the
utmost alarm and dismay.

"What is all this? What is the meaning of this piece of foolery?" asked
the manager, jumping out of the lift in a rage and going up to them.

The men respectfully took off their hats and one of them with a
shame-faced smile stammered out:

"Begging your pardon, Señor, we thought it was a lot of the men, and we
wanted to give 'em a fright."

"Did not you know that we were coming down?" he angrily asked.

"We thought the gentlefolks were going to stop at number nine, where all
the fine doings are to be----"

"You thought, and you thought; you should not think such stupid things."

The Duke recovered the use of his tongue.

"But do you know, my good fellows, that you were playing a very rough
and ready joke on your fellow workmen! Making them fancy they were
rushing to their death!"

"Their death!" echoed the miner who had first spoken.

"No, Señor Duque," said the manager, "if they had not put the breaks on
we should only have been up to our waists in water."

"Is that all?"

"Would you have liked a bath in dirty water?"

"Well, of course it would not have been a pleasant dip. But to see you
in such a state of frenzy made us all think we were being killed
outright. What do you say, ladies?"

The ladies were relieving their minds by exclamations; some crying and
some laughing. Two who had fainted received every attention, their
temples were bathed with cold water, and the Condesa de Cotorraso's
salts were brought into requisition. At last they recovered their
senses, and the rest congratulated themselves on having escaped from
such fearful peril, for they could not bear to think that there had been
none. They looked forward to exciting the sympathy of their friends at
home by the narrative of this horrible adventure, and believed
themselves the heroines of a story in the style of Jules Verne.

The spectacle which presented itself to their eyes when they could bring
themselves to look at it, was not less grand than fantastic. Huge
vaulted arches diverged in every direction, lighted only by the pale
light of a few candles placed at wide intervals. To and fro in these
galleries, with incessant toil, a crowd of labourers were constantly
moving, their gigantic shadows dancing in the dim, flickering light.
Their shouts echoed to the accompaniment of creaking trolley-wheels, and
they seemed possessed with the idea of accomplishing some mysterious
task in a very short time. In some of the galleries the walls were lined
with crystals of native mercury, glittering as though they were covered
with silver. On the other side of these walls, dull regular blows might
be heard, and on going a few yards into the openings which had been
formed here and there, they could see at the end, in an illuminated
cavern, four or five pale, melancholy men hewing out the ore with their
pick-axes. Whenever they stopped to rest it could be seen that their
limbs shook with the palsy, characteristic of mercurial poisoning.

It would have been easy to fancy oneself translated to the world of
gnomes, and the scene of their mysterious labours. Man burrows in the
earth with incessant toil like the mole, tunnelling it in every
direction; but he poisons himself as he eats it away. The gods could get
rid of the human rat without the aid of the cat.

Suddenly Lola gave a piercing shriek, which made every one look round,
but she immediately burst out laughing. A driplet of water from the roof
had trickled down her back. Every one laughed at the accident, but the
mirth was not very genuine. At these depths every one was aware of a
vague uneasiness, even fear, which they strove to conceal. The cage
brought down another large party, but the third time it was almost
empty, for the rest of the company had preferred to be deposited in the
ninth gallery, feeling no particular interest in the mining operations.
Those who had come to the bottom were unfeignedly desirous of finding
themselves as soon as possible in more commodious quarters. They asked
the manager again and again whether they were safe, if there was no fear
of the vault falling in.

"Oh, no," said the manager with a smile. "Only private mines fall in.
This was a Government concern, and everything was done with lavish
security."

"I have been in mines where we have had to send a party of men down to
dig the miners out," said one of the engineers.

"How shocking!" exclaimed the ladies in chorus.

At last they got into the cage again and were carried up to number nine.
Here the scene was very different. It was a long time since this gallery
had been worked, and part of it had been enlarged to form a chamber,
which had been enclosed, boarded, and carpeted; it might have been a
room in a palace. The roof and walls were hung with waterproof cloth and
adorned with trophies of mining. A table was magnificently laid for
fifty or more, and the place was brilliantly illuminated by means of
lustres with hundreds of wax lights. In short every refinement of luxury
and elegance had been lavished here, so that it was difficult to
persuade oneself that this dining-room was in the depths of a mine,
three hundred mètres below the surface of the earth.

The guests took their seats with a sense of excitement, a combination of
pleased admiration and vague alarm, which was written on their smiling
but pale faces. The servants in livery stood in a row as if they had
been at home in Madrid. As the first course was handed round, a band,
hidden away in an adjoining gallery of the mine, struck up a charming
waltz tune, and the sounds, softened by distance, had a delightful and
soothing effect.

The ladies, their eyes glistening, tremulous with excitement, repeated
again and again: "How original, how amusing, I am so glad I came, what a
delightful idea of Clementina's!"

Then they tried to be calm and talk of indifferent subjects; but no one
succeeded. The sense of so many tons of earth overhead weighed on their
consciousness through it all. Nay, with some of the men it was the same,
though some were perfectly calm.

Raimundo was, no doubt, the man who thought least of his immediate
surroundings; he was entirely absorbed in his moral predicament.
Clementina, in spite of her professions and promises, was carrying on a
hot flirtation with Escosura. They were placed side by side, exactly
opposite to where he sat. He could see them talking eagerly, and
laughing frequently; he saw him devoted, obsequious, lavish of
compliments and attentions; he saw her complacent, smiling, and
accepting his civilities with pleasure. And though from time to time she
bestowed on Raimundo a loving look in compensation, he could only regard
it as an alms--the crust bestowed on a beggar to save him from death.
What did he care whether he were on the face or in the centre of the
earth, or even if it should fall in and crush him like a fly.

Another person to whom this geographical question was a matter of
supreme indifference was Ramoncito, though from the opposite point of
view. Esperanza was most amiable to him, perhaps because she thought she
could thus the better endure the absence of Pepe Castro. The young
deputy, beside himself with joy, never stirred an inch further from her
side, or for a moment longer than appearances demanded. Triumphantly
happy, he cast occasional glances of condescending grace on the rest of
the company, and when his eyes fell on Calderón's financial face his
emotion was visible; he could hardly forbear from addressing him as
"Papa."

As the meal progressed, the superincumbent earth weighed less heavily
on their souls. Heady wines warmed their blood, and talk revived their
spirits. Every one had forgotten the mine as completely as if they had
been sitting in an ordinary handsome dining-room. Rafael Alcantara was
amusing himself by making Peñalver drunk. Encouraged by the laughter of
his companions, who looked on, he did his utmost to befool the
philosopher, addressing him in a loud voice with extreme familiarity,
winking at his allies each time he made some blunder, taking base
advantage, in short, of the worthy gentleman's benevolent and
unsuspicious temper. He had taken upon himself to avenge the whole body
of illustrious pipe-colouring youth for the intellectual pre-eminence
for which the great thinker was noted.

When dessert was served Escosura rose to propose a toast. He was an
object of respect to the "Savages," partly from his corpulence and his
vehement temper, but chiefly by reason of his money. He considered
himself an orator. In a strong, ringing voice, he pronounced a panegyric
on the Duke, whom he repeatedly designated as "that financial genius."
He enlarged on labour, capital, and production; and went on to
politics--his strong point. From the depths of the quicksilver mine he
shot terrific darts at the Ministry, which had failed to give him a
portfolio at the last change of Cabinet.

Salabert replied with much hesitancy, thanking him with grovelling
self-abasement. "No merit of his own beyond industry and honesty had
raised him to the proud position he held (murmured applause). The
nation, the sovereign who had ennobled him, had ennobled a son of toil.
By struggling all his life against a tide of difficulties, he had
succeeded in collecting a handful of money. This money now enabled him
to maintain some thousands of workmen. This was his best reward
(applause). He begged to propose the health of the ladies, whose courage
had brought down to this subterranean hole, and who would leave behind
them, a fragrance of charity and joy, which would live for ever in the
hearts of the mining-folk."

At this instant, simultaneously with the pop of several champagne corks,
a tremendous detonation was heard, making the bravest turn pale.

"There is nothing to be alarmed at," said the manager. "They are
exploding the borings. It is always done at this hour."

It was in truth an impressive moment. The noise of each explosion,
multiplied and repeated by a thousand echoes, was enough to make the
stoutest heart quake with faint alarms. Every one was suddenly silenced,
listening for some seconds, with absorbed anxiety, to the rolling
thunders which shook the earth. The table quivered, and the glasses and
dishes rattled and tinkled.

At this moment, the doctor rose from his chair, and after steadily
eyeing the guests all round with his dark gaze, he raised his glass and
spoke:

"Our illustrious host, the Duke of Requena, has just told us, with a
modesty which does him credit, that the whole secret of his great
fortune lies in industry and honesty. He must permit me to doubt it. The
Duke de Requena represents something more than those vulgar qualities;
he represents force. Force! the sustaining factor of the Universe.

"Force is very unequally distributed among organic beings; some have a
larger and others a smaller share. And in the ceaseless struggle which
goes on among them, the weakest perish, the fittest and strongest
survive. Let us, then, adore in our Amphitryon the incarnation of Force.
Thanks to the force with which Nature has endowed him, he has been able
to subjugate and utilise the smaller share of thousands of individuals
who unconsciously serve his ends; thanks to that force, he has
accumulated his vast capital.

"As I look round on this distinguished company, I observe with pleasure
that all who compose it have also been endowed with a good proportion of
this force, either congenital or inherited, and I can but congratulate
them with all my heart. The only essential thing in the world we live
in, is to have been born fit for the struggle. We must crush if we
would escape being crushed. And, I may add, I also congratulate myself
on standing here face to face with so many chosen of the gods on whom
Providence has set the seal of happiness."

"Hear him, my dear!" whispered Pepa Frias to Clementina. "This is
Mephistopheles' toast, I think."

Clementina smiled faintly. In fact, the doctor's pale, refined face,
with the black hair brushed off his forehead, and, above all, his black
eyes, in spite of an assumption of innocence, were full of a bitter
irony not unworthy of Mephistopheles.

He went on:

"Slavery has existed in every age under one form or another. There have
always been men designated by fate to live in the refined atmosphere of
intellectual enjoyments, in the cultivation of the arts, in luxury and
splendour, and the pleasure to be derived from the society of
intelligent and educated persons; while others again are fated to
procure them the means of such an existence by rude and painful toil.
The pariahs laboured for the Brahmins, the helots for the Spartans, the
slaves for the Romans, the villeins for their feudal lords. And is it
not the same to this day? Of what avail are laws to abolish slavery? The
men who work in the depths of this mine, and inhale the poison which
kills them, are slaves, though not by law--by want of bread. The result
is the same. It is the law of Nature, and so no doubt a holy and
venerable law, that some must suffer for others to enjoy life. You,
ladies, are the descendants of the noble Roman ladies who sent their
slaves to these mines to procure them vermilion to beautify their faces,
and of the Arabs, who used it to decorate the minarets of their palaces
at Cordova and Seville. Ladies, I drink to you, my soul possessed by
admiration and respect, as the representatives of all that is choicest
on earth--Love, Beauty, and Pleasure."

Though the pledge was gallant enough, it seemed uncanny; some muttered
disapproval, and the hostile feeling against the young doctor visibly
increased. There were one or two who hinted, in an undertone, that this
low fellow was making game of them. Rafael Alcantara was eager to pick a
quarrel with him, but he read in the doctor's eyes that he would not
escape without some serious annoyance, and he preferred to pocket the
affront. The ladies regarded him with more benevolence. They thought him
"quite a character." The doctor's speech had certainly left an
unpleasant impression, which Fuentes failed to dissipate, though he
brought out his most original paradoxes.

"Ladies and gentlemen," said he, "I do not propose a toast because I am
not an orator. I hope that ere long this will be recognised as an
honourable distinction in Spain; that when such an individual goes by in
the street it will be said of him with respect: 'he is not an orator;'
as we already say: 'he wears no order of merit.'"

The ladies applauded and laughed at the joke. But whether from the
doctor's words, or whether they were again oppressed by vague fears,
they were all conscious of an uneasy feeling. Every one was cheered when
it was announced that the cage was ready to carry them up. Those who
remained to the last, heard, as they started, a distant chorus, which
came nearer as they rose, till it sounded close by them, and then
mysteriously died away below them without their having seen any one. The
effect was most whimsical. The words they heard were those of an
Andalucian boat song:

    Up the river, and up the river,
      Water will never run up to the town;
    Down the river, and down the river,
      All the world is bound to run down.

The engineer remarked in explanation:

"A party of miners, going down in the cage which serves as a
counterpoise to this one."

"I told you so, Condesa," exclaimed Salabert in a triumphant tone. "If
they are in spirits to sing, they cannot be so miserable as you fancy."

The lady was silent for a moment, then she said, with a melancholy
smile:

"It is not a very mirthful ditty, Duke."

This was going on in the upper compartment. In the lower division,
Escosura observed in a scornful tone to the chief engineer:

"Do you know that your young doctor was so rash as to give us a taste of
his materialistic views?"

"Materialistic! I do not know that he is a Materialist. What he prides
himself on being--and the miners worship him for it--is a Socialist."

"Worse and worse."

"To tell the truth," said Peñalver, with a sigh, "it is impossible to
come up from the bottom of a mine without having caught a little of the
infection."

At nine in the evening, after dining at Villalegre, the party returned
to Madrid, by special train. They all set out well content with the
excursion. They hoped to amaze their friends by their account of the
underground banquet. The only unhappy person was Raimundo. The
alternations of joy and anguish which Clementina's flirtation occasioned
him had quite quenched his spirit. At last, seeing him so sad and
exhausted, his mistress was merciful. She made him sit by her in the
train, and without scandalising a party who were cured of all such
weakness, she talked to him all the evening, and finally dropped asleep
with her head on his shoulder.

Though a sleeping-car formed part of the train, it was not in favour.
Most of the travellers preferred remaining in the saloons. Towards
morning, however, sleep overcame them all, and they succumbed where they
sat, in a variety of attitudes, some of them by no means graceful.

Ramon Maldonado was on a pinnacle of triumph and happiness. Esperancita,
to judge by appearances, must certainly love him. He felt lifted above
the earth, not merely by the natural superiority of his soul, but by the
ecstasy of joy. His ugly little face was as radiant as a god's. Farewell
for ever to the struggles and obstacles which had hitherto embittered
his life. Free henceforth from the service of sorrow, as are the
immortals, he gloried in his apotheosis, majestically serene.

He, too, had seated himself next the idol of his heroic heart, and for
some hours sat talking to her in dulcet tones--of English cobs, and of
the great pitched battles which were being constantly fought in the
municipal council, and in which he bore an active part; till the
innocent child, soothed by the monotonous and insinuating discourse,
closed her eyes, with her head thrown back against the cushion.

Maldonado remained awake, wide awake, thinking of his happiness.
Rosy-fingered Aurora, stepping over the ridge of the distant Sierra, and
flying swiftly across the wide plain, peeped through the blinds of the
carriages, diffusing a dim and subdued light, and still he was hugging
himself in contentment.

Esperancita opened her eyes and smiled at him with a tender smile which
thrilled the deepest fibres of his lyric soul. At this instant a lark
began to sing. In Ramoncito the god was each moment growing more
distinct from the man; intoxicated with love and happiness he murmured
into the girl's ear, in a voice tremulous with emotion, a few incoherent
and ardent phrases, the expression of the divine madness. Esperanza shut
her eyes again--to hear that music better?

When he had exhausted all the superlatives in the dictionary to describe
his passion, the poetic young civilian thought to achieve the task of
conquest by showing the damsel, as in a vision, all the glories he could
shed upon her: "He was an only son, his parents had an income of a
hundred and ten thousand reales[H] a year; at the next ensuing elections
he intended to stand as candidate for Navalperal, where his family had
estates, and if only he had the support of the Government he was certain
to succeed. Then, as the Conservative party were greatly in need of new
blood, he believed he should soon get an appointment as under secretary,
and--who could tell?--by-and-by, at a change of Ministry, find himself
entrusted with a portfolio."

The girl still kept her eyes shut. Ramoncito, more and more excited,
when he had ended this catalogue of brilliant prospects, bent over her
and whispered in impassioned tones: "Do you love me, dearest, do you
love me?"

No answer.

"Tell me, do you love me?"

Esperancita, without opening her eyes, answered curtly:

"No."

CHAPTER XVI.

A DEPARTING SOUL.

A few weeks after this excursion, Doña Carmen's disease suddenly grew
much worse. The physicians, indeed, had no doubt that her end was
drawing near. She was in a state of complete prostration. Her face was
so thin, that there seemed to be nothing left but the skin, and the
large, sad, kind eyes, which rested with strange intensity on all who
came near her, as if trying to read in theirs the terrible secret of
death. And in view of her death, a thousand sordid feelings surged up in
the minds of those who ought most to have sorrowed over it. Salabert
reflected with indignation on the inheritance which was to pass to his
daughter. He made fresh efforts to induce his wife to revoke her will,
but without success. For the first time in her life, Doña Carmen showed
great firmness of character. Though she was incapable of a revengeful
sentiment, she perhaps felt bound by her desire to close her existence
by an act of justice. A life of abject submission, during which she had
never opposed the smallest obstacle to her husband's will, to his
money-making schemes, or his illicit passions, had surely earned her the
privilege of asserting her rights on her death-bed, and gratifying the
impulses of her heart.

Osorio kept silent watch, with concealed greed, over the progress of her
malady, looking to its termination as the end of his own difficulties.
Doña Carmen would be released from her earthly husk, and he from his
creditors. Clementina herself, the object of the tender soul's devoted
affection, could not help rejoicing over the prospect of so many
millions which were to drop into her hands. She did her best to silence
her desires, and subdue her impatience; but, in spite of herself, a
tempting fiend made her heart give a little leap of gladness, every time
the anticipation flashed through her brain.

It was with infernal astuteness that Salabert set to work to infuse
distrust into his wife's mind. Sometimes by insinuation, and sometimes
by brutally broad hints, he poured the poison of suspicion into her
soul. Clementina and Osorio were looking for her death, as for flowers
in May. What airs they would give themselves when they had paid all
their debts! And then they would live and enjoy themselves on her money.

The poor woman said nothing, indignant at these base innuendoes. But,
nevertheless, in her soul, broken and saddened by suffering, the keen
point of this envenomed dart festered deeply, though she strove to
conceal her anguish. Every time Clementina came to see her--and towards
the end this was twice a day--her stepmother's eyes would rest on hers
in mute interrogation, trying to read in them the thoughts in the brain
behind. This intent gaze embarrassed the younger woman, making her feel
a perturbation, which, though slight, occasionally betrayed itself.

As her malady increased, this anxiety on Doña Carmen's part became
almost a mania. In the isolation of soul in which she lived, Clementina
represented the one link of affection which bound her to life. It was
because her stepdaughter had always been cold and haughty to every one
else, that she had never doubted the sincerity of her love for her, and
it had made her happy and proud. It had sufficed to indemnify her for
the scornful indifference with which every one else had treated her.
Now, the horrible doubt which had been forced upon her, filled her heart
with bitterness. Such a spirit of goodness and love as her own craved to
believe in goodness and love. The uprooting of this last belief made her
heart bleed with anguish.

One evening they were alone together; Doña Carmen, motionless in her
deep arm-chair, with her head thrown back on the pillows, was listening
to Clementina, who was reading aloud the pious history of the apparition
of the Virgin of la Salette. Her thoughts wandered from the narrative;
they were disturbed as usual by the fatal doubt, which tortured her more
than even her acute physical sufferings. She could not take her eyes off
Clementina's fair head, with the fixed look of divination peculiar to
dying persons, as though she could read what was passing within, but
without gaining the certainty she longed for. More than once, when the
reader glanced up, she met that dull, grief-stricken gaze, and hastily
looked down again with a sudden sense of uneasiness. A desire, a whim,
had blazed up in the sick woman's mind, a feverish yearning such as
dying creatures feel. She longed to hear her stepdaughter quench, by
some gentle word, the fearful pain of that burning doubt. Again and
again the question hovered on her lips; invincible shame kept her from
uttering it.

"Lay down the book, child, you are tired," she said at last. And her
voice came trembling from her throat, as though she had said something
very serious.

"You are, perhaps, of listening. I am not. I have a strong throat."

"God preserve it to you, my child," replied Doña Carmen tenderly, as she
looked at her.

There was a brief silence.

"Do you know what I have been told?" she asked finally, with an effort,
and her voice was so low that the last syllables were scarcely audible.

Clementina, who was about to read again, raised her head. The few drops
of blood left in Doña Carmen's emaciated body suddenly rushed to her
face and tinged it with a faint flush.

"I was told--that you wish for my death."

Clementina's rich blood now mounted in a tide to her cheeks and dyed
them crimson. The two women looked at each other for a moment in
confusion. At last it was the younger who exclaimed, with a dark frown:

"I know who told you that!"

And as she spoke the blood faded from her face again like a sudden fall
of the tide. Her stepmother's retreated to her weary heart. She bent her
head with its white hairs, and said:

"If you know, do not utter his name."

"Why not?" cried her wrathful stepdaughter. "When a father, with no
motive whatever, solely for the sake of a few dollars, can insult his
daughter and make a martyr of his wife, he has no right to claim either
affection or respect. I say it, and I do not care who hears me. It is an
infamous calumny! My father is a man who knows no God, no love but
money. I knew that your will had alienated his love for me--if indeed he
ever had any."

"Oh!"

"Yes, I knew it perfectly. But I never could have believed that it would
lead him to do anything so vile as to calumniate me so cruelly. I
confess to you that I have always loved you the most--oh, yes, much,
much the most! I have no hesitation in saying so. Nay, I will say more:
I have never really loved any one but you and my children. If this will
is the cause of your doubting my love for you, destroy it, undo it,
revoke it. Your love and your peace of mind are far dearer to me than
your money."

Her voice thrilled with indignation. Her eyes were sternly fixed on
vacancy, as though she could evoke the figure of her father and crush
him to powder. At the moment she was ardently sincere. Doña Carmen's dim
eyes grew bright with contentment as her daughter spoke. At last they
glittered through tears as she exclaimed:

"I trust you, my child--I believe you! Ah, you cannot think what good
you have done me!"

She seized her hands and kissed them fondly. Clementina exclaimed, as if
ashamed:

"No, no, mamma! It is I who----" And she threw her arms round her neck.

They held each other in a warm embrace, shedding silent tears. It was
one of the few occasions in her life when Clementina wept from tender
feeling, and not from vexation of spirit.

But during the remaining days, though the memory of this scene was
lively with them both, so, too, was that of the suspicion which had led
to it. Clementina felt herself humbled in her stepmother's presence. Her
attentions and endearments were now and then a little forced; she tried
to efface the impression she still read in Doña Carmen's eyes. Then,
again, fearing this might lead her to doubt her sincerity, she would
suddenly cut them short, and assume a cold indifference. In short, a
current of disquietude flowed between the two women, and caused them
both much suffering, though in different ways, whenever they were
together.

At last Doña Carmen took to her bed, never again to rise. Clementina
spent the whole day by her side. The terrible end was near. One morning,
between two and three, two of the Duke's servants gave the alarm to the
Osorios. The Duchess was dying, and asked repeatedly for her daughter.
Clementina hastily dressed and flew to the Requena Palace as fast as her
horses could carry her. Osorio went with her. As they alighted they met
the Duke, with an expression of scornful gloom.

"You are in time--oh, you are in time!" he growled, and he turned away
without another word.

Clementina fancied the words were spoken with a malevolent sneer, and
bit her lips with rage. The pitiable scene that met her eyes as she
approached Doña Carmen's bedside pacified her for the moment. The poor
woman's face was stamped by the hand of death; pale as a corpse, the
nose pinched and white, the eyes glassy and sunk in a livid circle.
Standing by her side was a priest, exhorting her to repentance. Of what?
Her faithful maid, Marcella, stood at the foot of the bed crying
bitterly, her face hidden in her handkerchief; and two other maids in
the background looked on at the pathetic picture, frightened rather
than sorrowful. The physician was writing a prescription at a table in
the corner.

On seeing her daughter the Duchess turned to look in her face with an
anxious expression, and held out a hand to her.

"Come close, child," she said, in a fairly strong voice. And she took
Clementina's right hand in her own thin, waxen hands, and said, with a
fearful fixity of gaze:

"I am dying, my child, dying. Do you not see it? Only so long as you are
not glad of it."

"Mamma, dear mamma!"

"Say that you are not glad," she earnestly insisted, without ceasing to
look in her daughter's eyes.

"Mamma, mamma, for God's sake!" cried Clementina, both bewildered and
alarmed.

"Say that you are not glad!" she repeated, with increased energy, even
raising her head with a great effort, and looking sternly at her.

"No, my beloved mother, no. If I could save your life at the cost of my
own I swear to you I would do so."

The dying woman's dim eyes softened; she laid her head on the pillow,
and, after a short silence, she said, in a weak, quavering voice:

"You would be very ungrateful--very ungrateful. Your poor mother has
loved you dearly. Kiss me, do not cry. I am not sorry to leave this
world. What hurt me was the thought that you, child of my
heart--you--oh, horrible to think of! How it has tortured me!"

The priest here interposed, desiring her to turn her mind from worldly
thoughts. The sick woman listened with humility, and devoutly echoed the
prayers he spoke in a loud voice. The doctor and the Duke came close to
the bed, but, seeing that Doña Carmen was breathing her last, the
physician took Requena by the arm to lead him out of the room. Doña
Carmen's glazing eye wandered round the little group till it rested on
Clementina, to whom she signed to come closer.

"God bless you, my child," she said, with a gaze fixed on the ceiling.
"You are right to be glad at my death."

"Mamma, mamma, what are you saying?" cried Clementina, in horror.

"I am glad, too, glad that my death should be an advantage to you. If I
could have given you all while I lived, I would have done it. It is sad,
is it not, that I should have to die to make you happy? I should have
liked to see you happy. Good-by; good-by. Think sometimes of your poor
mamma."

"Mother, dearest mother!" sobbed the younger woman, dropping on her
knees with a burst of tears. "I do not want you to die, no, no. I have
been very wicked, but I have always loved you, have always respected
you."

"Do not be foolish," said the dying woman, smiling with an effort, and
laying her hand on the fair head. "I am not sorry if you are glad. And
what does it matter? I die content to know that you will owe some
happiness to me. Remember my old women in the asylum, be kind to them,
and to Marcella, my good Marcella. Farewell, all of you. Forgive me any
faults----"

Her voice failed, her breathing was hard and painful. The sobs of
Clementina and Marcella were the only other sound. The Duke, trembling
and shocked, was at last persuaded to leave the room.

Doña Carmen spoke no more. Her eyes closed, her lips parted, she lay
quite still. Now and then she half raised her eyelids and looked fondly
at her step-daughter who remained kneeling. The priest read on in a
quavering nasal voice prayer after prayer.

Thus died the Duchess de Requena. Let her depart in peace.

For some days after, Clementina and her husband, in spite of their
inextinguishable aversion, held long and repeated conferences. The great
question of the inheritance united their interests for a while.
Clementina went every morning and evening to see her father, and Osorio
too was a frequent visitor; they both were lavish of attentions to the
old man, took pity on his loneliness, and made much of him. There was an
affectionate familiarity in their demeanour which was highly becoming in
a son and daughter who make it their duty to cherish a venerable parent
in his old age. The Duke, on his part, accepted their care, watching
them with an expression which was ironical rather than grateful. When
their backs were turned to leave him, he gazed after them, slowly
closing his eyes, and turned his cigar-stump between his teeth, while
his lips sketched a sarcastic smile, which did not die away for some few
seconds.

But everything went on as before. Although the Duchess's will was
incontrovertible, Salabert never said a word on money matters. He
continued to manage the whole of the fortune, and engaged in various
concerns with calm despotism. But his daughter and son-in-law were not
so calm. They began, on the contrary, to be greatly disturbed, to
express their opinions to each other with crude vehemence, and to lay
plots to provoke an explanation. Clementina thought that Osorio should
speak to her father. He considered it her part to apply to him in
dutiful terms for an explanation, before formulating a complaint. After
some days of hesitation the wife finally made up her mind to say a few
words to her father, though not without some embarrassment, since she
knew his temper and her own too.

"Well, papa," said she, with affected lightness, finding him alone in
his room, "when are you going to talk over money matters with me?"

"Money matters? Why should I?" he replied in a tone of surprise, and
looking at her with such an air of innocence that she longed to slap his
face.

"Why should you? Because it will have to be done, to put me in
possession of my property. Am I not mamma's sole legatee?" she answered
in the same cheerful tone, but there was a very perceptible quaver in
her voice.

"Ah, to be sure!" exclaimed the Duke, with a flourish of the hand to
dismiss the subject. "We will talk of that later--much later."

Clementina turned pale. Her blood seemed to curdle with rage. Her lips
quivered, and she was on the point of saying something violent.

"Still, it would be as well that we should come to an understanding,"
she murmured in a low voice.

"Not at all, not at all. I cannot discuss it now. When I have time and
am in the humour I will think about it."

He spoke with such decision and indifference that his daughter had no
choice but either to give the reins to her tongue and quarrel violently
with her father, or to go. After a moment's hesitation she went. She
turned on her heel, and, without a word of leave-taking, she quitted the
room and went off in her carriage, in such a state of excitement that
she was trembling from head to foot.

As soon as she reached home she shut herself up in her own room and gave
vent to her fury. She wept, she stamped, she tore her clothes, and broke
various articles of crockery. Osorio too flew into a rage, and declared
he would bring Salabert to book. But nothing came of it all, excepting a
letter, in which respectfully enough, he required his father-in-law to
give him an account of the state of his business, that the preliminaries
of an estimate might be arrived at. Salabert simply did not answer. They
wrote another; again no reply. They ceased going to the house.
Clementina would not go for fear of a scandal. Osorio, on his part,
considering the relations that subsisted between him and his wife, did
not feel that he had the moral position which would entitle him to lay
formal claim to her fortune.

In this predicament they consulted certain persons of weight, friends of
the Duke, and requested them to mediate. This was done; they had various
interviews with the old man, and after much consultation a friendly
meeting was agreed on, to avoid bringing the matter into a court of law.
The meeting was held, after some objections on Clementina's part, at
her father's house. Besides the interested parties, there were present
Father Ortega, the Conde de Cotorraso, Calderón, and Jimenez Arbos.

The proceedings were opened by Arbos--no longer in the Ministry, but a
member of the Opposition--who made a speech in a conciliatory key,
urging them to agree rather than present to the public the spectacle of
a quarrel on money matters between a father and daughter--a spectacle
which, in view of the position they held, must be both painful and
discreditable. The next to speak was Father Ortega, who, in the unctuous
and persuasive accents which characterised him, first bestowed on both
parties a plentiful lather of preposterous encomiums, and then appealed
to their Christian feelings, representing how bad an example they would
set, and painting the sweets of loving-kindness and self-sacrifice,
ending by promises of eternal life and glory.

Clementina replied. She had no wish but to continue in the same friendly
relations with her father as had hitherto subsisted, and to achieve that
end she was prepared to do all in her power. The curt, dry tone in which
she spoke, and the scowl which accompanied her words, gave no strong
evidence of sincerity. However, the Duke seemed greatly moved.

"Arbos," he began, "Father, my friends, and my children; you all know me
well. To me, without domestic life, there is no possibility of
happiness. After the terrible blow I have so lately suffered, my
daughter is all that is left to me. On her centre all my hopes, my
affections, and my pride. For her I have toiled, have struggled
indefatigably, have accumulated the capital I possess. I may say that I
have never cared for money but for the sake of my wife, now in glory,
and my daughter--to see them living in comfort and luxury. As you know,
I could always have lived on a few coppers a day. And now that I am old,
all the more so. What can I want with millions? Ere long, I too must
take the train for the other side--Eh, Julian? And you too.--Who then
can suppose that I should ever quarrel over a handful of dollars with
my dear and only daughter? The whole thing has been a mistake. I wanted
time to put my affairs in order; that was all. And if you, my child,
ever could imagine anything else, I can only tell you this: everything
in this house is yours, and always has been. Take it whenever you
choose. Take it, my child, take it. I can do with nothing."

As he pronounced the last words with visible emotion, they all were able
to shed a tear. Every one was deeply moved and eager with conciliatory
exhortation. Father Ortega gently pushed Clementina into her father's
arms; and though she was the least agitated of the party, she allowed
him to embrace her.

He clasped her to his heart for some minutes, and when he released her
dropped into his arm-chair, with his handkerchief to his eyes, quite
overcome by so much emotion.

After so pathetic a scene no one could allude to money. The meeting
broke up with fervid hand-pressing and warm mutual congratulations on
the happy issue of their diplomacy. But Osorio and his wife got into
their carriage, grave and sullen, and exchanged not a single word on the
drive home. Only as they reached their own door, Clementina said:

"Well, we shall see how the farce ends."

Osorio shrugged his shoulders.

"We have seen the end, I suspect."

And he was right.

The Duke never paid them a cent., and never again spoke of his
daughter's fortune. He was very affectionate, and constantly had them to
dine with him, complaining of his loneliness. Now and then he spoke of
transactions he was engaged in, but not a word of paying them their
share. Clementina was at last so much provoked that she suddenly ceased
going to the house. They then took to exchanging notes. Nothing was to
be got out of her father but ambiguous replies and vague hopes. Finally
they decided on taking legal steps, and a lawsuit began, which was a
source of endless satisfaction to the faculty.

This was an end of all joy or comfort for Clementina. She lived in a
state of perpetual ferment, watching the progress of the litigation with
anxious interest, communicating with the lawyers, and trying to exert
some influence which might counterbalance the Duke's. He, on his part,
took the matter much more calmly, conducted it with maddening acumen,
taking advantage of her displays of violence to represent her in the
eyes of the world as a greedy and unnatural daughter. At the same time,
among his intimate acquaintances, he would now and then give utterance
to some sarcastic or cynical speech which, when it reached her ears,
made her wild with rage. The struggle became more desperate every day,
while, on the other hand, Osorio's creditors, deceived in their hopes,
began to press him very hard, and threatened to bring him to ruin. The
torments, the tempers, the wretched state of things in the Osorio
household may be easily imagined.

This discomfort, and it might be called misery, extended to the hapless
Raimundo. Clementina, torn soul and body by a tumult of other passions,
found no leisure for the blandishments of love. The minutes she could
spare for them were every day briefer and less calm. The gay
_tête-à-têtes_ and merry devices of a former time were over for ever.
The lady no longer found any amusement in laughing at her boyish lover.
She did not seem even to remember the childish pleasures in which they
had delighted. She could talk of nothing now but the lawsuit. Her nerves
were in such a state of tension that an inadvertent word might put her
into a furious rage. And, besides all this, in her vehement desire for
triumph over her father, she flirted more than ever with Escosura, who
had just come into office; and this, as may be supposed, was what most
distressed the young naturalist.

One day, when she was rather more fond than usual, she said in loving
accents:

"You are still jealous of Escosura, Raimundo? But it is quite a mistake.
I do not care a straw for the man."

"Yes, so you have often told me, and yet----"

"There is no 'and yet' in the case, fastidious youth!" she interrupted,
gently pulling his ear. "I never loved, and never could love any one but
you. But--here comes the but--you alas! are not in power, though you
deserve to be more than any one I know. My fortune, as you know, is at
the mercy of the law, and I may be told any day that I am a beggar.
Accustomed as I am to comfort and luxury, you may imagine how much I
should relish this. And my pride, too, would suffer, for I am the object
of much invidious feeling; people hate me without knowing why. In short,
I should be laughed at, and that I could not endure. My father has a
great many supporters. Men count on him for services, though he is
utterly incapable of a kindness, and they are afraid of him too. Now I,
though on intimate terms with all the official circle of Madrid, have
not one true friend to take a real interest in my affairs, or dare to
show a bold front to my father. And so, you see, I must try to make one.
Now imagine this friend to be Escosura, and imagine me to break with you
before the eyes of the world, though still you are the one and only man
I can ever love. What do you think of the arrangement? Can you regard it
as acceptable?"

Raimundo coloured crimson at this strange and humiliating proposition.
For a minute or two he made no reply, but at last he said, between anger
and contempt:

"It strikes me as simply infamous and indecent."

The furrow, the fateful furrow, which appeared on Clementina's brow
whenever passion stirred her stormy soul, was ominously deep. She
abruptly rose, and after looking at him hard, with an expression of
scornful rage, she said in icy tones:

"You are right. Such an arrangement could not meet your views! We had
better part, once for all." And she turned to go.

Raimundo was confounded.

"Clementina!" he cried as she reached the door.

"What is it?" said she, as coldly as before, and looking round.

"Listen, one moment, for God's sake! I spoke under an impulse of
jealousy, not meaning to wound you. How could I ever mean to hurt you
when I love you, adore you as a creature of another sphere?" and he
poured out words of tenderness and worship.

Clementina listened without moving from her attitude of haughty
indifference, and would not melt till she saw him utterly humbled, on
his knees before her, beseeching for the scheme he had stigmatised as
infamous and indecent as a favour to himself.

At this time Clementina received a blow which almost made her ill. Her
father brought the audacious woman to whom he had given a card for his
ball to live in the palace, and this extraordinary proceeding became the
talk of all Madrid. Every one believed that Salabert was out of his
mind. And then a rumour got afloat that he was about to marry Amparo,
and amazement and indignation filled the soul of Society.

But an unforeseen accident interfered with this alliance. At a meeting
of the shareholders of the Riosa mines it was the Duke's part, as
chairman, to give an account of his management, and propose certain
measures for the advantage of the company. He usually fulfilled such
functions with great brevity and lucidity; he was, above all else, a man
of business, and had no fancy for rambling speeches or more words than
were absolutely necessary. But now, to the surprise of his audience,
among whom there were many bankers and official personages, he began a
rambling address quite foreign to the matter.

He wandered from his subject and began giving explanations of his
conduct as a public character, sketched a complete biography of himself,
dwelling on a thousand insignificant details; sang his own praises in
the most barefaced way, putting himself forward as the model of a
logical politician, and of disinterested self-sacrifice; spoke of his
services to the nation by his loans to the Government in the hour of
need, and to the cause of humanity by his co-operation in the founding
of hospitals, schools, and asylums; finally having the audacity to
assert that the Home for Old Women was his work.

The shareholders looked at one another in bewilderment, muttering not
very complimentary comments on the orator's condition of mind. When he
had finished the catalogue of his own merits and proclaimed himself,
_urbi et orbi_, the greatest man in Spain, he began an invective against
his enemies, describing himself as the victim of persistent and
deliberate persecution, of a thousand intrigues plotted to discredit
him, and in which various political and financial magnates were
implicated. In confirmation of this statement he read, in loud, fierce
tones, certain articles from a paper published in the district where the
Riosa mines were situated, and which, according to him, constituted a
gross and shameful attack. What they actually said amounted to this:
That Salabert was not a man of such mark as to be worthy to have a
statue.

His hearers, more and more wearied and indignant, now said, though still
in under-tone: "The man is crazy! The man is mad!"

As he read on, his face grew purple; it was usually pale, it now looked
as if he were being strangled. Suddenly, before he had finished, he fell
back senseless in his chair.

CHAPTER XVII.

A DARKENED MIND.

After this attack Requena's mental faculties were perceptibly weakened,
as every one could discern who saw him. He suffered from strange
illusions; his speech was slow and even less intelligible than of old.
He was full of fancies and whims. It was said that he had given his
mistress vast sums of money; that he flew into a rage over the merest
trifles, and shrieked and raved like a mad creature, going so far as to
inflict bodily injuries on his servants and attendants; that he ate
voraciously, and would say the most horrible things to his daughter. His
sullen and vindictive temper had become violent and malignant.

In business matters, however, his faculties showed no signs of deserting
him, nor had the mainspring of his nature, avarice, run down. His
affairs, to be sure, for the most part went on by themselves, and he
still had Llera, whose talents as a speculator had gained in astuteness.
Where the derangement, or rather the weakness of his mind, was most
conspicuous, was in his domestic affairs. His mistress reigned supreme,
and as in Madrid there is no lack of social parasites, there were plenty
of hangers-on to sing her praises. She gave tea and card parties, and
though the society she collected left much to be desired in point of
quality, in appearance it made as good a show as that of many another
wealthy house. There were Grandees of Castile who honoured her with
their presence, among them Manolo de Davalos, as mad and as much in love
as ever.

The lawsuit between the Duke and his daughter ran its lengthy course,
each party more obstinate and more virulent every day. In fact, to
Clementina, it had resolved itself into a personal struggle with Amparo.
The thing which she and Osorio most dreaded was that her father should
commit himself to the marriage which was openly prognosticated. If he
did, this hussy, an ex-flower-girl, would flaunt the ducal coronet, and
treat with them on equal terms. Though society at first would have
nothing to say to her, everything is forgotten in time, and Amparo would
presently be regarded as a Duchess indeed. Happily for them, though
Salabert was very submissive to her vagaries, they heard that the Duke
had positively refused to marry her, and that when she endeavoured to
coerce him, there were violent scenes between them. Whether all that the
servants reported were true or no, there was no doubt that she was
urgent and he obstinate. But though her attacks continued to be
fruitless, Clementina and Osorio lived "between the devil and the deep
sea." The Duke was pronounced to be suffering from creeping paralysis.
Under these circumstances, after consulting several eminent lawyers,
they determined to petition the Court for a decree pronouncing him
incompetent or incapable of managing his own affairs. He had, lately, it
was said, had a fresh attack, which had left him quite imbecile. This
report seemed to be confirmed by his never leaving the house, and by his
most intimate friends being refused admittance to see him. It was under
these circumstances that, either from some sudden impulse of her
impetuous nature, or because some of her acquaintances had suggested it
to her, Clementina determined to deal a decisive blow, which would at
once put an end to the litigation and to all the difficulties bound up
with it.

"My father is shut up," said she, "I will go and turn that woman out of
the house."

Her husband tried to dissuade her, but in vain.

One morning, therefore, she drove to her father's palace. The porter, on
opening the gate to the Señora Clementina, was at once amazed and
pleased; for though she was neither so smooth-tongued nor so liberal as
the ex-florist, a sense of justice led the Duke's household to respect
his daughter and contemn his mistress. The haughty lady, without looking
at the man, merely said:

"Well, Rafael?" and went quickly up the steps.

"How is papa?" she asked of the servant who met her in the hall.

He was too much astonished to be able to reply.

"Well, fellow!" she repeated impatiently, "Where is papa? In the office,
or in his study?"

"I beg your pardon, Señora; the Duke is well. I think he is in his
study."

At this juncture, a waiting-maid, who had caught sight of her from the
end of a passage, and heard her inquiries, flew off to warn the Señora,
while Clementina hastened up the stairs to the first-floor. But before
she could reach her father's room, the lady in possession stood in her
path, looking straight into her face, with flashing eyes.

"Where are you going?" she asked, in a voice husky with excitement.

"Who are you?" asked Clementina, lifting her head with supreme disdain,
and looking down on her.

"I am the mistress of this house," was the reply, but the speaker turned
pale.

"The sick nurse, you should say. I never heard that there was a mistress
here."

"What! Have you come to insult me in my own house?" exclaimed Amparo,
setting her arms akimbo, as if she still were on the market-place.

"No. I have come to turn you out, before the police arrive and do it for
me."

Her antagonist made a movement, as though she would fall on her and rend
her; but she checked herself, and began to scream as loud as she could:
"Pepe, Gregorio, Anselmo! Come here, come all! Turn this insolent
creature out of the house! She is insulting me."

Some of the servants came at her call; but they stood confused and
motionless, contemplating this strange scene. At the same moment the
door of the Duke's room was opened, and Salabert stood before them in a
dressing-gown and cap. He had grown terribly old in a few weeks. His
eyes were dull, his face colourless, his cheeks pendant and flabby.

"What is all this? What is the matter?" he asked thickly. On seeing his
daughter, he staggered back a step.

"This woman," cried Amparo, in a yell of vulgar rage, "after having you
declared an idiot, comes here to insult me!"

"Papa, do not heed her," said Clementina, going up to him.

But her father drew back, and holding out his trembling hands he
exclaimed: "Go--go away! Do not come near me!"

"Listen to me, papa."

"Do not come near me, wicked, ungrateful child!" repeated the Duke, in a
quavering voice, but with melodramatic emphasis.

"Yes, leave this house, shameless creature," added the woman, encouraged
by the old man's attitude. "Dare you show your face here, after treating
your father so?"

Clementina stood petrified, colourless, staring at them with a look of
terror rather than anger. For an instant she was on the point of
fainting away; everything seemed to be whirling round her. But her pride
enabled her to make a supreme effort; she stood rooted to the spot, and
incapable of moving, as white as a marble statue. Then she turned on her
heel slowly, for fear of falling, and reached the stairs, down which she
went, almost tottering at each step. Her father, spurred by Amparo's
cries, followed her to the top of the flight, repeating with increasing
fury:

"Go--go. Leave my house!" And he held up a tremulous hand in theatrical
menace.

His mistress, meanwhile, poured forth a string of abuse with an
accompaniment of gestures, sarcastic laughter and gibes, learnt and
remembered from her early experience.

By the time Clementina had reached the garden, her cheeks were tingling.
She leaned against the pedestal of one of the lamps for a minute to
recover herself, and then ran like a mad creature to the gate, where her
carriage was waiting; she sprang into it and burst into tears. On
reaching home she was lifted out in a miserable state, and helped up to
her room by two maids. When Osorio came up, it was only in broken and
incoherent sentences that she could tell him what had occurred.

She kept her bed for eight or ten days in a state of utter prostration,
and she rose from it at last so possessed by the desire for revenge,
that she really seemed to have gone mad.

The lawsuit, under the hot breath of her malice, was fanned to an
imposing blaze. It was regarded in Madrid as a matter of public
interest. The opinions of the most distinguished physicians, Spanish and
foreign, were taken on both sides as to the Duke's mental incapacity. On
one part he was pronounced an idiot, so hopelessly childish that there
was nothing to be done with him; on the other it was asserted that he
was mending steadily, his mind clearer every day, and his intellect a
marvel of acumen and sound sense. And on one point all the authorities
concurred--namely, in requiring enormous fees. The press took sides with
one or the other party. Clementina subsidised one or two papers. Amparo
had bribed others, for the Duke, as a matter of fact, was incompetent to
direct the case. And through their columns the two women, more or less
disguised, contrived to hurl insolence at one another, reviving, in an
allegorical dress, an extensive selection of scandalous tales.

In this warfare the daughter had the worst chance. She could not be so
liberal as the mistress, who sowed bank-notes broadcast. On the other
hand, Clementina had the support of her husband's creditors, and of her
friend Pepa Frias--who was indefatigable in her visits to the doctors,
the lawyers, and the newspaper editors--the Condesa de Cotorraso, the
Marquesa de Alcudia, her brother-in-law, Calderón, General Patiño and
Jimenez Arbos; and, more helpful than all these, as in duty bound, her
lover _en titre_, Escosura. He, holding a post of high importance, had
no small influence on the course of the lawsuit.

What a life of excitement, anxiety, and misery! Clementina could not
eat, she could not sleep. She was always holding conferences with
lawyers and judges, always writing letters. Even at her parties and
dinners, nothing else was talked about, till at length the more
indifferent of her acquaintance rebelled, and ceased to come. To others,
however, she communicated some of her own flame; they became her ardent
partisans, and brought or carried reports, volunteered advice, broke out
in cries of indignation whenever Amparo was even mentioned. And although
Clementina's haughty temper prevented her being a favourite in Madrid
society, as she stood forth, after all, as the representative of justice
and decency, her cause found most supporters. To this her antagonist's
folly contributed, for she paraded herself and her splendour everywhere,
with the imbecile and degraded old man.

The Duke was in fact perishing before their eyes. After a stage of
excitement and violence, when he had behaved like a madman, came a
period of nervous prostration; by degrees he became almost idiotic. He
lost his wits so completely that he could not even understand business.
Everything was left to Llera. This would have been all right, but that
Amparo would interfere and do all kinds of mischief. She took the
greatest pains, however, to hide Salabert's condition; on days when he
was over excitable or incoherent, she kept him in his room. It was only
when he was calm and rational that she ventured to take him out, and
then never allowed him to talk to any one. But her efforts were not
always successful. Salabert went out by himself on various pretences,
and amply betrayed his deranged condition. On one occasion he was found
outside the town at four in the morning. Another time he went into a
jeweller's shop, and after ordering some trinkets he pocketed some
others, believing he had not been observed. The jeweller had seen it,
however, but he said nothing, knowing the millionaire. He sent the bill
in to Amparo, who hastened to pay it, and went in person to beg that the
matter should not be divulged. In short, before long it was established
beyond a doubt, in spite of the contending evidence of physicians, that
the Duke was absolutely _non compos_; and it was said that the lawsuit
would be decided in that sense.

Two days before the decision was made public, Amparo vanished from the