Maximina Part 18

She had not suffered any harm, but the heart-rending cry uttered by Miguel had gone to the very depths of her soul.

Then, also for the first time, Miguel realized how this gentle creature had taken possession of his heart.

She had been greatly troubled at a slight ailment from which her husband suffered during the early months of their marriage: severe rheumatic pains kept him housed for several days; he grew pale and thin, and, worse than all, was in a very unhappy frame of mind, for he was not a man to endure adversities patiently.

Maximina was deeply troubled, and do the best she could, it was impossible for her to hide her grief. She sat all day long beside the bed, and did not take her eyes from her husband; from time to time, almost overcome with grief, and making great efforts to control herself, she would say:--

"You feel better, you _do_ feel better, don't you? Yes, yes, you must feel better!"

"Since you say so, you must be very sure of it," he would say slyly, with an ironical smile.

And then seeing her great, timid, innocent eyes fill with tears, he would repent of his unseasonable words, and add, caressing her hand:--

"Don't mind about me. I am doing well. To-morrow I shall be all right; truly I shall."

And the young wife was happy for a few moments, until she would be alarmed again by some new complaint from the sick man.

How delightful when he got well again! It was the first time that her husband ever heard her sing at the top of her voice. She ran and jumped, jested with the maids, and was even quite successful in mimicking the Madrid accent which Juana had been recently acquiring. This sudden attack of obstreperous joy formed a lovely contrast with the usual seriousness of her character. Miguel, who knew the reason of it, looked at her with delight.

When he was entirely recovered, it was inc.u.mbent upon them to attend ma.s.s at San Sebastian. Maximina suggested it, and asked him with so much humility that he hadn't the heart to object.

The former _colegiala_ of the convent of Vergara could not help mixing religion with all the acts of her life. Miguel, in spite of his own lack of faith, found his wife's piety so poetical, so innocent, that it never once pa.s.sed through his mind to disaffect her of it. "If ever it became hypocritical, it would be quite another thing," he said to himself.

Consequently he was not at all averse to going with her every Sunday to ma.s.s; besides, Maximina for many months could not bring herself to set foot in the street alone.

After a while, however, the brigadier's son began to forget his duty, and under the pretext that San Sebastian was near at hand, he would stay at home Sunday mornings, while Maximina, with heroic courage, would a.s.sume the terrible risk of going to church all by herself.

Still she suffered greatly; she imagined that everybody despised her, that they were going to say impudent things to her; the unfriendly glances so much in fas.h.i.+on among the natives of Madrid filled her with terror; she could have wished to be invisible!

But she did not venture to tell her fears to Miguel, lest she should vex him, and cause him to go to ma.s.s with her against his inclinations.

One morning, a little while after she had started out for church, Miguel heard the bell ring violently; then the library door was flung open, and Maximina came in, pale as a sheet.

"What has happened?" he demanded, rising.

Maximina dropped into a chair, hid her face in her hands, and began to weep.

Miguel anxiously insisted: "Did you feel ill?"

The young wife made an affirmative gesture.

"How was it? Tell me."

"I don't know," she replied, in a weak and hesitating voice. "I had been in church but a few minutes.... I begun to feel sick. Then the pictures of the saints began to waver before my eyes.... I felt as though my sight were leaving me.... And without knowing what I was doing I started to run.... And before I knew it I found myself near the grand altar....

I heard the people saying: 'What is it? what is it?' and that there was a confusion.... I turned around, and without looking at any one, I crossed the church again, and came out...."

Miguel succeeded in calming her; he made the servant bring her a cup of lime juice, and promised that he would not let her go to church again alone.

After a while, when she was entirely recovered, he asked her a question in a whisper, which she, dropping her eyes, answered in the negative.

Then with a smiling face he whispered a few words in her ear.... The young wife, when she heard them, trembled, fastened her eyes on him with an anxious expression for a moment, and, confused and blus.h.i.+ng, threw herself into his arms, murmuring:--

"Oh, don't deceive me! Don't deceive me, for Heaven's sake!"

VIII.

From this day forth the serenity and sweetness which we have said was characteristic of Maximina's face began to gain a more concentrated, more delicate aspect, like the mystic expression of saints a.s.sured of heaven. She did not speak of the occurrence with her husband again, and when he alluded to it, she dropped her smiling eyes, and her face flushed a little.

But Miguel understood perfectly that she was thinking of nothing else; that the bliss of coming maternity filled her whole nature, her life, and her being. He also was delighted, not so much at the new trust with which nature was going to honor him, as at the spectacle of his wife's happiness, and in secretly watching in her eyes, and in all her movements, the adorable mystery that was taking place in her soul.

When they walked along the street, he noticed that she cast quick and anxious glances at the linen shops, where baby-caps and children's wardrobes were on exhibition. And divining that she would enjoy stopping, he would make some excuse for asking the price of s.h.i.+rts or handkerchiefs, and let her amuse herself looking at infant wardrobes.

"Do you know," she would say afterwards, "do you know how much baby s.h.i.+rts cost a dozen?"

"No," he would answer, laughing.

"I do, though!"

One day, as he was pa.s.sing by the chamber door into the library, he caught sight of her looking into the wardrobe mirror; and he was surprised, because no woman was ever freer from vanity and coquetry than she; but his surprise was changed into amus.e.m.e.nt when he saw that she was looking at her profile to see whether her form had changed. But lest he should embarra.s.s her he went out on his tiptoes.

Another day, as they were walking in the neighborhood of the Retiro, they happened to see a white hea.r.s.e in which was a child's coffin.

Maximina looked at it with an expression of deep pain, and watched it until it disappeared from sight; then, with a gentle sigh, she exclaimed;--

"Oh, how sorry it makes me feel for children that die!"

Miguel smiled and made no reply, reading her thoughts.

While time glided away in this sweet and delightful manner for our young couple, Marroquin, the hairy Marroquin, was trying to accomplish his own ends; the nation was over a volcano, and the former professor of the Colegio de la Merced, secretly, and in company with our friend, Merelo y Garcia, was not behindhand in stirring the flames of civil discord.

Not a night pa.s.sed without both of them uttering b.l.o.o.d.y prognostications for the future in the Cafe de Levante; the number of times that inst.i.tutions had been crumbled into dust on the marble tables was beyond belief; the waiters, from listening to democratic discourses, served the customers badly; more then once the secret police had visited the establishment, so said the disturbers of the public peace; but there had been no arrests, and this made Marroquin desperate. He enjoyed, beyond measure, speaking so as to be heard of all who came to the table, at the same time fastening his gaze on some peaceable customer, and making tremendous boasts, so as to rouse his curiosity.

"Don Servando," he would shout to a gentlemen sitting some distance from him, "do you expect to go out for a walk to-morrow?"

"Certainly, as always, Senor Marroquin."

"You had better not take your wife and children."

"Man alive! why not?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing! That is all I have to say."

But the revolutionary professor enjoyed most one evening when he succeeded in bringing to the cafe; his old friend and colleague Don Leandro.

Don Leandro's name was still on the faculty of the Colegio de la Merced, which was no longer under the direction of the ex-captain of artillery, but of the chaplain Don Juan Vigil. Don Leandro was the only one of the old professors left, and this was because he was unhappy and patiently endured the caprices of the chaplain, who now more than ever took delight in tormenting him, and lavis.h.i.+ng upon him the tremendous gifts of sarcasm wherewith he was endowed by nature.

Marroquin met him one Sunday in the street, and after a hearty greeting, as his custom was, he began to say harsh things of the cure, which was also a habit of his. This flattered the worthy Don Leandro immensely, though he affected not to listen to him, for he detested backbiting, and was greatly afraid of h.e.l.l, though not so much of purgatory.