"Señorita,ñaltaMartayMarí I just saw Don César in the congregation."
The young girl's face changed slightly. The crowd began to dissolve, spreading out over the whole area of the church. The majority of the people crowded tumultuously to the door, struggling to get out. After some difficulty Maria and Genoveva succeeded in reaching the portico, and started on their homeward way. But the Señorita de Elorza kept frequently turning her head. An elderly gentleman, tall, slender, and pale, with goatee and long white mustachios, dressed in black from head to foot, was following them at a considerable distance. As they entered the arcade of a narrow and lonely street, the caballero hastened his steps, and the two women lingered for him, so that very soon they were together. The caballero turned to Maria and said in a low voice,--
"Señorita, last night I returned from where you know."
"I have prayed God to bring you back in safety, Don César."
"Thanks, thanks.[11] Have you finished embroidering the banner?"
"That is good, señorita; I shall not forget your diligence and enthusiasm."
Don César did not move a line of his vigorous face during this conversation. His eyes, which were of a strange intensity gleaming with ferocity, did not for a moment leave the girl's face. He said nothing for a time, having something in his mind, and then he broke the silence, speaking in the curt tone of command,--
"To-morrow at this time be on hand again. We have some commissions to give you."
Don César noticed that two young men had just turned the corner and were coming toward them; thereupon, without saying farewell, he left the women, crossing to the opposite sidewalk.
HOW THE MARQUIS OF PEÑALTA WAS CONVERTED INTO DUKE OF THURINGEN.
A few days later Ricardo set forth from home as usual about ten o'clock in the morning and turned his steps toward the house of his betrothed. It was not love alone that impelled him to walk the street so early, but as much the melancholy solitude that reigned at the present time in the vast seignorial mansion where he lived: for our hero had been alone in the world a little more than a year. His father, the old Marqués de Peñalta, had died when he was under six, and he had scarcely more than a vague remembrance of his pale face between the sheets of the bed when they raised him up to give him a kiss a few hours before he died. He remembered also how on that same day every one had hugged him and kissed him, with tears, and this had attracted his attention and made him ask, "Why are you all crying to-day?"