The Splendid Idle Forties Part 25

Don Carmelo indicated Eulogia with a grand sweep of his hand.

"That little thing? Why, there are a dozen prettier girls in the room than she, and I have not cared to meet any of them!"

"But she has commanded me to take you to her, senor, and--look at the men crowding about her--do you think I dare to disobey?"

The stranger's dark gray eyes became less insensible. He was a handsome man, with a tall figure, and a smooth strong face; but about him hung the indolence of the Californian.

"Very well," he said, "take me to her."

He asked her to dance, and after a waltz Eulogia said she was tired, and they sat down within a proper distance of Dona Pomposa's eagle eye.

"What do you think of the women of San Luis Obispo?" asked Eulogia, innocently. "Are not they handsome?"

"They are not to be compared with the women of Monterey--since you ask me."

"Because they find the men of San Luis more gallant than the Senor Don Pablo Ignestria!"

"Do they? One, I believe, asked to have me introduced to her!"

"True, senor. I wished to meet you that you might fall in love with me, and that the ladies of San Luis might have their vengeance."

He stared at her.

"Truly, senorita, but you do not hide your cards. And why, then, should I fall in love with you?"

"Because I am different from the women of Monterey."

"A good reason why I should not. I have been in every town in California, and I admire no women but those of my city."

"And because you will hate me first."

"And if I hate you, how can I love you?"

"It is the same. You hate one woman and love another. Each is the same pa.s.sion, only to a different person out goes a different side. Let the person loved or hated change his nature, and the pa.s.sion will change."

He looked at her with more interest.

"In truth I think I shall begin with love and end with hate, senorita.

But that wisdom was not born in your little head; for sixteen years, I think, have not sped over it, no? It went in, if I mistake not, through those bright eyes."

"Yes, senor, that is true. I am not content to be just like other girls of sixteen. I want to _know_--_to know._ Have you ever read any books, senor?"

"Many." He looked at her with a lively interest now. "What ones have you read?"

"Only the beautiful romances of the Senor Dumas. I have seen no others, for there are not many books in San Luis. Have you read others?"

"A great many others. Two wonderful Spanish books--'Don Quixote de la Mancha' and 'Gil Blas,' and the romances of Sir Waltere Scote--a man of England, and some lives of famous men, senorita. A great man lent them to me--the greatest of our Governors--Alvarado."

"And you will lend them to me?" cried Eulogia, forgetting her coquetry, "I want to read them."

"Aha! Those cool eyes can flash. That even little voice can break in two. By the holy Evangelists, senorita, thou shalt have every book I possess."

"Will the Senorita Dona Eulogia favour us with a song?"

Don Carmelo was bowing before her, a guitar in his hand, his wrathful eyes fixed upon Don Pablo.

"Yes," said Eulogia.

She took the guitar and sang a love-song in a manner which can best be described as no manner at all; her expression never changed, her voice never warmed. At first the effect was flat, then the subtle fascination of it grew until the very memory of impa.s.sioned tones was florid and surfeiting. When she finished, Ignestria's heart was hammering upon the steel in which he fancied he had prisoned it.

IV

"Well," said Eulogia to Padre Moraga two weeks later, "am I not La Favorita?"

"Thou art, thou little coquette. Thou hast a power over men which thou must use with discretion, my Eulogia. Tell thy beads three times a day and pray that thou mayest do no harm."

"I wish to do harm, my father, for men have broken the hearts of women for ages--"

"Chut, chut, thou baby! Men are not so black as they are painted. Harm no one, and the world will be better that thou hast lived in it."

"If I scratch, fewer women will be scratched," and she raised her shoulders beneath the flowered muslin of her gown, swung her guitar under her arm, and walked down the grove, the silver leaves s.h.i.+ning above her smoky hair.

The padre had bidden all the young people of the upper cla.s.s to a picnic in the old mission garden. Girls in gay muslins and silk rebosos were sitting beneath the arches of the corridor or flitting under the trees where the yellow apricots hung among the green leaves. Languid and sparkling faces coquetted with caballeros in bright calico jackets and knee-breeches laced with silken cord, their slender waists girt with long sashes hanging gracefully over the left hip. The water rilled in the winding creek, the birds carolled in the trees; but above all rose the sound of light laughter and sweet strong voices.

They took their dinner behind the arches, at a table the length of the corridor, and two of the young men played the guitar and sang, whilst the others delighted their keen palates with the goods the padre had provided.

Don Pablo sat by Eulogia, a place he very often managed to fill; but he never had seen her for a moment alone.

"I must go soon, Eulogia," he murmured, as the voices waxed louder.

"Duty calls me back to Monterey."

"I am glad to know thou hast a sense of thy duty."

"Nothing but that would take me away from San Luis Obispo. But both my mother and--and--a dear friend are ill, and wish to see me."

"Thou must go to-night. How canst thou eat and be gay when thy mother and--and--a dear friend are ill?"

"Ay, Eulogia! wouldst thou scoff over my grave? I go, but it is for thee to say if I return."

"Do not tell me that thou adorest me here at the table. I shall blush, and all will be about my smarting ears like the bees down in the padre's hive."

"I shall not tell thee that before all the world, Eulogia. All I ask is this little favour: I shall send thee a letter the night I leave.

Promise me that thou wilt answer it--to Monterey."

"No, sir! Long ago, when I was twelve, I made a vow I would never write to a man. I never break that vow."

"Thou wilt break it for me, Eulogia."