The Catholic World Volume Iii Part 116

"Who staid with you?"

"Mother."

"And where is she?"

"How do we know? We were in the parlor with her grace, dancing before the birth-place. Ventura came in, and mother told us to go somewhere else with the music, for it made her head ache, and when we were going out Ventura told her, I heard it, father, that she did right to put the door between, for the little angels of G.o.d were the devil's little witnesses. Is it true, father, are we the devil's little witnesses?"

To whom has it not happened, at some time in his life, in great or in less important circ.u.mstances, that a single word has been the key to open and explain; the torch to illuminate the present and the past; to bring out of oblivion and light up a train of circ.u.mstances and incidents which had transpired unperceived, but which now unite, to form an opinion, to fix a conviction or to root a belief? Such was the effect upon Perico of the words, which the decree of expiation seemed to have put into the mouth of innocence.

Late, but terrible, the truth presented itself to the eyes which good faith had kept closed, and doubt took possession of the heart so healthy and so s.h.i.+elded by honor that a suspicion had never entered it.

"Father, father!" cried the children, seeing him tremble and turn pale. Perico did not hear them.

"Mamma Anna," they exclaimed, as the latter entered, "hurry, father is sick!"

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As he heard his mother enter, Perico turned his perplexed eyes toward her, and seemed to read again in her severe countenance the terrible sentence she had once p.r.o.nounced upon a future from which her loving foresight would have preserved him: "A bad daughter will be a bad wife." Overwhelmed, he rushed out of the house, muttering a pretext for his flight which no one understood.

Anna put her head out of the window, and felt relieved as she saw that he went toward the fields.

"Could any one have told him that goats have broken into the wheat?"

"It is very likely, mother; he suspected it yesterday," answered Elvira. But dinner-time came, and Perico did not appear.

It was strange, on Christmas day; but to country people, who have no fixed hours, it was not alarming.

In the evening Maria arrived at the usual time.

"Did Ventura not come to the village to-day?" asked Anna.

"Yes," answered Pedro, "but there is an entertainment, and his friends carried him off. He has always been so fond of dancing that he would at any time leave his dinner, for a fandango."

"And Rita," said Elvira, "was she not at your house. Aunt Maria?"

"She came there, my daughter, but wanted to go with a neighbor to the entertainment. I told her she had better stay at home, but as she never minds me--"

"And you told her right, Maria," added Pedro, "an honest woman's place is in the house."

They were oppressed and silent when Perico abruptly entered.

The light was so deadened by the lamp-shade that they did not perceive the complete transformation of his face. Dark lines, which appeared the effect of long days of sickness, encircled his burning eyes, and his lips were red and parched like those of a person in a fever. He threw a rapid glance around, and abruptly asked, "Where is Rita?"

All remained silent; at length Maria said timidly,

"My son, she went for a little while to the feast with a neighbor--she must be here soon--she took it into her head--and as it was Christmas day--"

Without answering a word, Perico turned suddenly, and left the room.

His mother rose quickly and followed, but did not overtake him.

"I tell you, Maria," said Pedro, "that Perico ought to beat her well.

I would not say a word to stop him."

"Don't talk so, Pedro," answered Maria, "Perico is not the one to strike a woman. My poor little girl! we shall see. What harm is there in giving two or three hops? Old folks, Pedro, should not forget that they have been young."

At this moment Anna entered, trembling.

"Pedro," she said, "go to the feast!"

"I?" answered Pedro; "you are cool! I am out of all patience with that same feast. If Perico warms his wife's ribs, he will be well employed; she shall not dry her tears upon my pocket-handkerchief."

"Pedro, go to the feast!" said Anna again, but this time with such an accent of distress, that Pedro turned his head and sat staring at her.

Anna caught him by the arm, obliged him to rise, drew him aside, and spoke a few rapid words to him in a low voice.

The old man as he listened gave a half-suppressed cry, clasped his hands across his forehead, caught up his hat and hastily left the house.

CHAPTER XIII.

Ventura and Rita were dancing at the feast, animated by that which mounts to heads wanting in age or wanting in sense; by that which blinds the eyes of reason, silences prudence, and puts respect to flight; that is to say, wine; a love entirely material, a voluptuous dance, executed without restraint, amid foolish drunken applauses.

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In truth they were a comely pair. Rita moved her charming head, adorned with flowers, and tossed her person to and fro with that inimitable grace of her province, which is at will modest or free. Her black eyes shone like polished jet, and her fingers agitated the castanets in defiant provocation. She had in Ventura a partner well suited to her. Never was the fandango danced with more grace and sprightliness.

The excited singers improvised (according to custom) couplets in praise of the brilliant pair:

"Throw roses, red roses, The belle of the ball, For her beauty and grace She merits them all And to-night in the feast, By public acclaim.

To her and Ventura Is given the palm."

During the last changes when the clappings and cheers were redoubled, Perico arrived and stopped upon the threshold.

Occupied as all were with the dance, no one noticed his arrival, and Ventura conducting Rita to a room where there were refreshments pa.s.sed close beside him as he stood in shadow, without being aware of his presence. As they pa.s.sed he heard words between them which confirmed the whole extent of his misfortune; all the infamy of the wife he loved so fondly, of the mother of his children; all the treachery of a friend and brother.

The blow was so terrible that the unhappy man remained for a moment stunned; but recovering himself, he followed them.

Rita stood before a small mirror arranging the flowers that adorned her head.

"Withered," said Ventura, "why do you put on roses? Is it not known that they always die of envy on the head of a handsome woman?"

"Look here, Ventura," said one of his friends, "you appear to like the forbidden fruit better than any other."

"I," responded Ventura, "like good fruit though it be forbidden."

"That is an indignity," said a friend of Perico's.