“I do not wish, even for an instant, to give you cause for such displeasure. Tell me what I ought to do to make amends for my censurable conduct, as you think it.”
“That’s much better. Don’t you want me to love her as much as I do you?”
“Certainly, Señora; and you do, don’t you?”
“So I do, and would, even if I could forget that she has no mother but me; for she fully deserves it. Well, the doctor says that María’s disease is not the same that Sara had.”
“Did he say that?”
“Yes; and your father, in his own great relief, wanted me to tell you.”
“Then can I be with her as before?” asked I, feverishly.
“Almost.”
“Oh, she will forgive me, don’t you think so? The doctor has said there is no danger? Carlos must know this,” I added.
My mother looked at me in amazement.
“Why should it be hidden from him? I’ll tell you what you must do, since the M⸺s are coming tomorrow—so they send word. You tell María this afternoon—but what can you say to her to explain your indifference, without disobeying your father? And even if you could speak of what he asked of you, you would not be able to clear yourself, since the cause of your actions during the past few days is something that pride and delicacy should keep you from revealing. This, then, is the result: I myself shall have to tell María the true reason of your unhappiness.”
“But if you do that, and if I have been foolish to believe what I did, what will she think of me?”
“She will not think so badly of you as to suppose you capable of a willfulness and vacillation which are more despicable than anything else.”
“You are right, up to a certain point; but I beg you not to tell María of what we have been talking about. I have done wrong, though perhaps I have suffered for it more than she has, and I must make amends. I promise you that I will make amends. Only, I ask two days to do it in the right way.”
“Very well,” said she, rising to go. “Shall you go out today?”
“Yes, Señora.”
“Where are you going?”
“To pay Emigdio a visit; it is unavoidable, for I sent word yesterday to his father’s overseer that they might expect me today at breakfast.”
“But you will return early?”
“At four or five.”
“Come to dinner here.”
“Yes. And now are you satisfied with me again?”
“To be sure,” said she, smiling. “Well, till afternoon, then. Give my best regards, and the girls’, to the ladies.”
XVII
I was all ready to set out when Emma came to my room. She was surprised to find me in a happy mood.
“Where are you going in such a good humor?” she asked.
“Would that I did not have to go anywhere! Why, to see Emigdio, who complains incessantly of my unfaithfulness whenever I meet him.”
“How unfair he is!” she exclaimed, laughing. “You, inconstant!”
“What are you laughing at?”
“Oh, at the unfairness of your friend, poor fellow.”
“No, no, you are laughing at something else.”
“It’s about this,” she said, taking up a small comb from my washstand, and coming up to me. “You must let me comb your hair, for you must know, O faithful sir, that one of your friend’s sisters is a monstrous pretty girl. What a pity it is,” she went on, combing my hair in her graceful way—“what a pity it is that our little gentleman has grown a trifle pale these days, for the dear girls can’t conceive of manly beauty without fresh color in the cheeks. But if Emigdio’s sister were well acquainted with—”
“You are a great chatterbox today.”
“Is that so. Well, you are quite joyful, anyway. Just look in the glass and tell me if I haven’t fixed you up splendidly.”
“What a visit it will be!” I exclaimed. Just then I heard María’s voice calling my sister.
“It will indeed. How much pleasanter it would be to take a walk among the rocks in the canyon of the Amaime, and enjoy the magnificent and lovely view, or to wander through the mountains like a wounded bullock, frightening zancudos and letting Mayo get covered with vermin, poor thing!”
“María is calling you.” I interrupted.
“I know what for.”
“What?”
“To help her do something which she ought not to.”
“May one know what it is?”
“No objection; she is waiting for me to go with her to gather flowers to take the place of these,” she said, pointing to the vase on my table. “If I were she I wouldn’t put a single bud there again.”
“If you knew …”
“If you knew.”
My father put an end to our talk by calling me from his room.
As I went to him I found him by the window, examining the works of a beautiful watch, and saying, “It is an admirable piece of work, well worth thirty pounds.”
He turned to me and added, “This is the watch I ordered from London; just look at it.”
“It is much finer than the one you carry,” said I, scrutinizing it.
“But mine keeps excellent time; yours, however, is too small; you must give that to one of the girls, and take this one for yourself.”
Without giving me time to thank him, he continued: “Are you going to Emigdio’s house? Tell his father to get the field ready for our common pasture; his cattle must be ready, without fail, by the fifteenth of next month.”
I went back to my room to get my pistols. María was in the garden just under my window, and was handing to Emma a handful of montenegros, sweet-marjoram, and pinks; the most beautiful of all the pinks, for size and coloring, she held between her
