“Dear aunt, it is not the custom in Murcia.”
“Murcia, indeed! Holy St. Barbara, what does that signify? You are always putting me in mind of that villainous province. If it is the custom in Madrid, that is all that we ought to mind, and therefore I desire you to take off your veil immediately. Obey me this moment, Antonia, for you know that I cannot bear contradiction—”
Her niece was silent, but made no further opposition to Don Lorenzo’s efforts, who, armed with the aunt’s sanction hastened to remove the gauze. What a seraph’s head presented itself to his admiration! Yet it was rather bewitching than beautiful; it was not so lovely from regularity of features as from sweetness and sensibility of countenance. The several parts of her face considered separately, many of them were far from handsome; but when examined together, the whole was adorable. Her skin though fair was not entirely without freckles; her eyes were not very large, nor their lashes particularly long. But then her lips were of the most rosy freshness; her fair and undulating hair, confined by a simple ribbon, poured itself below her waist in a profusion of ringlets; her throat was full and beautiful in the extreme; her hand and arm were formed with the most perfect symmetry; her mild blue eyes seemed an heaven of sweetness, and the crystal in which they moved sparkled with all the brilliance of diamonds: she appeared to be scarcely fifteen; an arch smile, playing round her mouth, declared her to be possessed of liveliness, which excess of timidity at present repressed; she looked round her with a bashful glance; and whenever her eyes accidentally met Lorenzo’s, she dropped them hastily upon her rosary; her cheek was immediately suffused with blushes, and she began to tell her beads; though her manner evidently showed that she knew not what she was about.
Lorenzo gazed upon her with mingled surprise and admiration; but the aunt thought it necessary to apologize for Antonia’s mauvaise honte.
“ ’Tis a young creature,” said she, “who is totally ignorant of the world. She has been brought up in an old castle in Murcia; with no other society than her mother’s, who, God help her! has no more sense, good soul, than is necessary to carry her soup to her mouth. Yet she is my own sister, both by father and mother.”
“And has so little sense?” said Don Christoval with feigned astonishment; “How very extraordinary!”
“Very true, señor; is it not strange? However, such is the fact; and yet only to see the luck of some people! A young nobleman, of the very first quality, took it into his head that Elvira had some pretensions to beauty. As to pretensions, in truth, she had always enough of them; but as to beauty. … ! If I had only taken half the pains to set myself off which she did. … ! But this is neither here nor there. As I was saying, señor, a young nobleman fell in love with her, and married her unknown to his father. Their union remained a secret near three years, but at last it came to the ears of the old marquis, who, as you may well suppose, was not much pleased with the intelligence. Away he posted in all haste to Cordova, determined to seize Elvira, and send her away to some place or other, where she would never be heard of more. Holy St. Paul! How he stormed on finding that she had escaped him, had joined her husband, and that they had embarked together for the Indies. He swore at us all, as if the evil spirit had possessed him; he threw my father into prison, as honest a painstaking shoemaker as any in Cordova; and when he went away, he had the cruelty to take from us my sister’s little boy, then scarcely two years old, and whom in the abruptness of her flight, she had been obliged to leave behind her. I suppose, that the poor little wretch met with bitter bad treatment from him, for in a few months after, we received intelligence of his death.”
“Why, this was a most terrible old fellow, señora!”
“Oh! shocking! and a man so totally devoid of taste! Why, would you believe it, señor? When I attempted to pacify him, he cursed me for a witch, and wished that to punish the count, my sister might become as ugly as myself! Ugly indeed! I like him for that.”
“Ridiculous,” cried Don Christoval; “Doubtless the count would have thought himself fortunate, had he been permitted to exchange the one sister for the other.”
“Oh! Christ! Señor, you are really too polite. However, I am heartily glad that the Condé was of a different way of thinking. A mighty pretty piece of business, to be sure, Elvira has made of it! After broiling and stewing in the Indies for thirteen long years, her husband dies, and she returns to Spain, without an house to hide her head, or money to procure her one! This Antonia was then but an infant, and her only remaining child. She found that her father-in-law had married again, that he was irreconcileable to the Condé, and that his second wife had produced him a son, who is reported to be a very fine young man. The old marquis refused to see my sister or her child; but sent her word that on condition of never hearing any more of her, he would assign her a small pension,
