The Joy of Captain Ribot Part 24

Cristina gazed at him without moving an eyelash. In her eyes a great anguish was visible. She seemed alarmed. Thus several minutes pa.s.sed in silence. At last, as if unable longer to endure this tension, she rose impetuously, went to her husband and put her hand on his shoulder, saying:

"Come, let us go to the house."

"As you like," he replied dryly.

We went out of the pavilion and along the avenue of acacias that led to it. I tried to walk with Marti and to talk with him. I saw that he shrank from my company, and answered with few words. Before reaching the house he took his wife's arm and went on ahead, leaving me behind. This mute rebuff made my heart ache. I followed with a sadness that presently gave way to decided impatience, thinking with what injustice I was treated. As we went along in this fas.h.i.+on, there came into my mind the strong resolution to enter into a clear and definite explanation with him, and disclose to him all that had pa.s.sed.

We arrived at the door of the house and paused under the gla.s.s portico.

Through the opened window of the dining-room I could see Isabelita, Castell, and Dona Amparo.

"Come," I said, with affected indifference, "you two are going to bed and I into the city."

"Won't you wait until we can order the carriage?" asked Cristina timidly.

"No; I have an appet.i.te for a stroll in the light of the moon. _Hasta manana._ Good-night."

I offered Emilio my hand.

"No," he said, with an unusual gravity. "I am going with you as far as the farthest gateway. I, too, feel like a stroll."

I gave my hand to Cristina. For the first time in her life she pressed it with singular force, at the same time giving me an anxious look of supplication. I, moved to the depths of the soul, answered her eyes with my own, promising her in that way that she might depend upon me.

We walked away slowly, taking the path that led to the entrance gate.

Marti walked with his hat in his hand, and preserved an obstinate silence. I waited for him to break it before we parted, promising myself to be faithful to the silent promise that I had made to Cristina. So it was he who, as we approached the boundary wall, paused and, without looking at me, spoke:

"Married men, Ribot, often have an exaggerated susceptibility. Not only do their own affections torment them, but the fear of becoming objects of ridicule sometimes obliges them to be suspicious even when they are by nature confiding. The friends of such men do well to avoid awakening this susceptibility, conducting themselves on all occasions with care and delicacy. By this means friends.h.i.+p is yoked to grat.i.tude."

"You are right," I replied. "So far in my life I have managed to fulfil this obligation towards all men with whom I have had to do, not merely towards friends, as you say, but towards men of my general acquaintance.

An unfortunate accident placed me in a situation that wounds your _amor proprio_, if not your honor. Understand, however, that Cristina----"

"We will not talk of Cristina," he interrupted, gazing firmly into my eyes. "Every night of the year before going to sleep I give thanks to G.o.d for having united me to her. To-night will be the same as the others."

"We will talk about me, then. An unfortunate accident, I repeat, placed me in a situation to hurt the susceptibility that has been mentioned. I deplore this with all my soul, although I do not find myself to blame.

In any case, it would have been an indiscretion. However, these matters are of such peculiar delicacy that a recent friends.h.i.+p cannot risk the consequences of the slightest annoyance. If you feel any such annoyance, I am resolved to take myself away from here, and never again set foot in your house."

There was no response. We pursued in silence the remaining distance to the gate. When we reached it, he paused and, without looking at me, said in a trembling voice:

"Although I feel it very much, I cannot do less than accept your resolution. Perhaps I am making myself ridiculous in your eyes and in those of anyone who might know of what has pa.s.sed; but what would you? I prefer to be considered absurd rather than see disturbed in the slightest degree the tranquillity that until now I have enjoyed."

"You are right," I said. "In your place I should do the same. To-morrow morning early I shall leave Valencia, and it may be that we shall never meet again. I desire you to know, none the less, that this is one of the profoundest griefs of my whole life. I appreciate your friends.h.i.+p more than you realize. I am grateful for your affectionate hospitality, and I shall never console myself for having unintentionally caused you the least trouble. If some day you have need of me, all that I have is yours."

"Thank you, thank you, Ribot," he murmured, moved.

He put one hand on the latch of the gate, and with the other lifted his hat. I did not care to let him see that I knew he did this to avoid taking my hand, so, without extending my own, I went out into the road.

"_Adios_, Marti," I said, turning my head, "G.o.d keep you always as happy as you have been until now."

"_Adios_, Ribot. _Muchas gracias._"

CHAPTER XV.

The gate closed. Through its bars I could see him going farther and farther away, his uncovered head bowed, until he was lost to sight among the trees. I stood alone in the middle of the road. A profound depression filled me; it was as if I had lost something that had been the chief interest of my existence.

With slow step I began my departure from that pleasant place, believing that I should never return to tread this path again. Indeed, these latest events had followed one another so hastily and precipitately that I could scarcely realize them. One moment I had been in that house as the accepted friend about to become a member of the family. The next, I left it as a stranger whose name would soon be forgotten. Yet in the midst of my sorrow, in the mournful night that had fallen upon my heart, shone one consoling star; it was Cristina's look of supplication. In that house, perhaps, my name would now no more be spoken, but she would never forget it. This thought gave me inexpressible consolation. I went on my way with a firmer step, and when I came to the last corner of the walls surrounding the estate, I stopped beside it. I looked at it sorrowfully for a little, then, going up to the stone, I kissed it many times. Then I went on again, blus.h.i.+ng as if someone had seen me.

The moon on high bathed the country in luminous purity, transforming it into a sleeping lake. The plain stretched before me, bordered by the mountains whose crests seemed floating in the distance in a white mist.

Here and there the little groves of orange-trees and laurel stood out in the fleecy whiteness, or great cypresses rose solitary and still, casting their shadows across the road. Beyond smiled the sea, reflecting the light of the moon.

The sweetness of that night penetrated my heart, refres.h.i.+ng it. The fields, still abounding in flowers and fragrant with the odors of ripe fruits, soothed my senses and calmed the fever of my thoughts. I went on with a lighter step. Valencia already slumbered lightly upon her couch of flowers. Her street lights shone afar like stars of earth. Those of the heavens formed a rich canopy above, protecting that fortunate city.

When at some distance from the country house, I felt the need of resting a little while. I did not care yet to be among people. It was necessary to get my thoughts together and contrive some plan of life in place of that that had, in one moment, been upset. I sat down on a stone, drew out a cigar, lighted it, and calmly began smoking. I had not been sitting there long when I heard the sound of an approaching carriage. At first I did not know whether it was coming from Valencia or Caba.n.a.l.

When I was convinced it was from the latter, I felt strangely uneasy, and thought of concealing myself; but instantly changing my mind, I determined to remain where I was. Soon I descried the horses; they drew near. It was Castell's cab, as I feared.

When he was quite close I planted myself in the middle of the road and called to the coachman in an imperative voice:

"Stop!"

He made a gesture of surprise, but stopped the horses almost as they came upon me. As he was pulling them in with the reins, obliging them to stop in time, the man recognized me and said:

"Good evening, Don Julian."

Castell had been leaning half out of the window. When I approached him he looked at me in surprise, then springing up with a fiery gesture he reached for his pocket, crying:

"If this is an attack, take care!"

"No, it is not an attack," I said, lifting my hand in sign of peace; "I wish to speak with you."

"Send me your seconds and I will speak with them," he said haughtily.

"Before doing that, it is necessary to speak with you a moment," I replied.

He stared at me a little while as if trying to discern my intentions.

Convinced, doubtless, that they were not bellicose, he opened the cab door and said coolly:

"Get in!"

I sat down facing him. The carriage went onward.

"I desire to know," I said, at the end of a moment, "if it was you who let Marti know that he would find Cristina and me alone in the pavilion?"

He opened his eyes wide in no feigned surprise, and answered in an ungracious manner:

"I don't understand what you are saying to me."

I perceived that this was true, and I went on, modifying my tone.