XIX
My mother and Emma came out to the corridor to welcome me. My father had mounted his horse and gone to oversee the farm-work.
Very soon they called me to the dining-room, and I promptly went there because I thought I should meet María; but I was disappointed. When I asked my mother for her, she said, “As those people are coming tomorrow, the girls are very anxious to have some fine dishes ready; but I think that they must have finished by this time, and that they will soon be here.”
Just as I was rising from the table, José, who was going up the mountain, driving two mules loaded with cane, paused at a point from which he could see into the house, and called to me:
“Good afternoon! I can’t stop, because I have a big load and night is coming on. I’ve left a little present for you with the children. Get up early tomorrow, for it will be a sure thing.”
“Very well,” I replied, “I will start very early. My regards to all.”
“Don’t forget the buckshot.”
He waved his hat to me, and passed on.
I went to my room to get my rifle ready; not that it really needed cleaning, but I wanted a pretext for leaving the dining-room, since María was not to be found there. I had opened and held in my hand a little box of cartridges, when I saw María coming, bringing me my coffee, which she was stirring with a spoon. My cartridges fell all over the floor as soon as she drew near. Without looking at me, she said, “Good afternoon,” and put down the cup with a rather unsteady hand; then for an instant she let her timid eyes rest upon mine; she smiled, and dropping to her knees, began to pick up the cartridges.
“Don’t you do that,” said I; “I will do it afterwards.”
“I have good sharp eyes,” she replied, “to find little things like these. Where is the box?”
She reached out her hand to take it, and exclaimed, as she saw it, “What! every one dropped!”
“It wasn’t full,” I said, beginning to help her.
“And what do you want of these tomorrow?” she asked, blowing the dust off some of the cartridges which she held in one of her pink hands.
“What do you know about tomorrow and about these things?”
“Well, I know that this hunting is dangerous, and I imagine that it is a dreadful thing to miss a shot, and, besides, I know by the box that these are the cartridges which the doctor gave you, and said that they were English, and very good ones.”
“You hear everything.”
“Sometimes I would have given a good deal not to hear. Perhaps you had better give up this hunt—José left a present with us for you.”
“Do you wish me not to go?”
“How could I ask that?”
“Why not?”
She looked at me, but did not reply.
“I think that must be all,” said she, rising to her feet, and looking around the floor. “I must go now. Your coffee will be cold.”
“You taste it.”
“But don’t stop to load your rifle now. It’s good,” she added, handing me the cup.
“Well, I’ll leave the rifle now, and take the coffee; but don’t go away.” I had gone into my room and come out again.
“Is there much for you to do in there?”
“Oh yes,” I answered, “getting ready for tomorrow. But must you go?”
She shrugged her shoulders, and leaned her head on one side, as if to say, “As you wish.”
“I owe you an explanation,” said I, going nearer to her. “Will you hear me?”
“Didn’t I tell you that there are things which I do not want to hear?” she replied, rattling the box of cartridges.
“But I thought that I …”
“It’s surely that you are going to speak of … what you thought.”
“What?”
“That I ought to listen to you; but I ought not this time.”
“How bad an opinion you must have had of me lately!”
She did not reply, and busied herself reading the lettering on the box.
“I’ll say nothing, then. But tell me, what did you think?”
“Why should I tell you now?”
“Won’t you allow me to apologize to you?”
“What I should like to know is why you did that; yet I dread to know it, because I can’t imagine what motive you had, and I have always thought that you must have had one which I ought not to know. But, as it seems that you are happy again, why, I am happy too.”
“I don’t deserve that you should be so good to me.”
“Perhaps I am the one who do not deserve …”
“I treated you unfairly, and if you will allow it, I will go down on my knees to ask your pardon.”
Her eyes, which had been veiled for a few moments, now shone with all their beauty, and she exclaimed: “Good heavens! no. I have forgotten it all; do you hear? All.”
“But on one condition,” she added, after a short pause.
“Whatever you wish.”
“If ever I say or do anything that displeases you, you are to tell me of it; and I will not say or do it again. That’s very easy, isn’t it?”
“And I, can’t I ask the same thing of you?”
“No, because I am not able to give you advice, nor always to know if what I think is best; besides, you know what I am going to say to you before I say it.”
“Is that true? Then you must be sure that I love you with all my heart,” said I, in a low voice, and strongly moved.
“Yes, yes,” she replied, softly, and almost touching my lips with her hand to tell me I must be silent took a few steps towards the parlor.
“What are you going to do?” I asked.
“Don’t you hear Juan calling me, and crying because he can’t find me?”
“Hesitating for a moment, there was in her smile such sweetness and amorous languor that after she was gone I could still see her face.