"Thieves!" returned the fugitive, without ceasing flight.
Two watchmen joined the column of attack, and ran, brandishing their pikes, by the side of the mayor.
The thief seemed, at all cost, anxious to reach the Rua Nueva, so as to gain the harbor, where he could secure himself in a boat, or cast himself into the water. But before arriving there he stumbled and fell prostrate on the ground. Thanks to this accident, the patrol gained upon him considerably, and had almost reached him when the villain jumped up with great celerity and flew off swifter than the wind. Don Roque fired off the last two shots of his revolver, still crying:
"Take that, thief!"
He disappeared round the corner of the Rua Nueva. Arrived there, the magistrate and his force, now near the Plaza de la Marina, saw no sign of the criminal anywhere. They took a few hesitating steps on to the said plaza, and there they stopped, not knowing what course to take. "To the mole! To the mole! He must be there," said a watchman.
They were just about to proceed farther when a window of one of the houses was suddenly opened and a man in night attire said in sonorous tones that resounded in the silence of the night:
"The thief has just entered the Cafe de la Marina."
These words were uttered by Don Feliciano Gomez.
When the patrol heard them it rushed to the door of the cafe and abruptly made its entrance. The sitting-room was empty. There at the end, by the side of the counter, were three or four lads in white ap.r.o.ns standing round a man who was lying, more than sitting, upon a chair.
The mayor, the officer, and the watchmen rushed at him with their pikes, swords, and sword-sticks at his chest, and all with one accord cried:
"Take that, thief!"
The criminal raised his terror-stricken face, now whiter than wax.
"Ah--if it is not Don Jaime, G.o.d bless my soul!" exclaimed a watchman, lowering his pike. All the others did the same, dumb with astonishment.
For indeed it was a fact that the villain they had so hotly pursued was no other than Don Jaime Marin, taken unawares as he was about to enter the door of his house.
They had to carry him home and bleed him. On the following day Don Roque appeared to ask his pardon, which was granted. But Dona Brigida, his severe spouse, would not grant it until she had given expression to a storm of recriminatory adjectives, among which that of "drunken" figured frequently.
Don Roque submitted meekly to the attack, and the matter dropped.
CHAPTER VIII
CECILIA"S TROUSSEAU
Preparations for the wedding had begun in the Belinchon household. They were started very cautiously. Dona Paula sent for Nieves, the embroideress, and a long conference ensued with closed doors. Then patterns were ordered from Madrid, and a few days later the senora, accompanied by Cecilia and Pablito, took a journey to the capital of the province in the family coach. The prying Don Petra, who was pa.s.sing along the Rua Nueva as Dona Paula and her children returned, saw the servant take from the carriage large, heavy parcels that looked like bales of material.
All Sarrio then soon knew that preparations for the trousseau of Don Rosendo"s eldest daughter had commenced, and Dona Paula had one of her heart attacks when she heard that it was known. The blame was cast on Nieves, but she declared that she had never breathed a word on the subject. Dona Paula declared she must have done so; the embroideress wept, and there was a regular scene.
Well, as the cat was out of the bag, there was no use making any more mystery about it. The room at the back of the house, the one that looked on to the Calle de Carborana, was the scene of operations for the staff working at the linen under Dona Paula"s orders and Nieves"s instruction.
It consisted of four persons besides the two maids of the house, when domestic duties permitted, and Venturita, and Cecilia herself. It was a merry party, as work did not prevent chatting, laughing, and singing all day long. Merriment welled from the young creatures" hearts, and bubbled forth in aimless laughter that sometimes lasted a long time. If one of them dropped the scissors--laughter; if a skein of thread caught on a neck--laughter; if the cook came with a red face to ask the senora for the money for the milkwoman--hearty laughter. Not only were those working at Cecilia"s trousseau young and merry, but, from the directress herself, they were all pretty.
Nieves was a tall, graceful, red-haired girl, with a white, transparent skin, clear blue eyes, a perfect nose and mouth, twenty years of age, and endowed with a disposition that was Heaven"s own blessing. It was impossible to be long melancholy in her company. Not that she was talkative or witty, nothing of the sort; the poor girl had little more intellect than a fish, but her boundless good-humor shone from her eyes in such a charming manner, and rang forth from her throat in such clear tones, that it was quite infectious. By the work of her hands she supported a paralytic mother, and a bad, idle brother, who treated her shamefully when she was unable to give him sufficient money with which to get intoxicated.
Her troubles, which would have been insupportable to anybody else, only momentarily disturbed her equanimity, and, rising above them, she soon recovered her habitual cheerful spirits. She enjoyed the blessing of perfect health, the only pain she ever knew being an occasional st.i.tch in the side from overmuch laughter. Valentina, also an embroideress, and also with red hair, was not so pretty; her eyes were smaller, her skin less delicate, her nose less regular, and she was smaller of stature.
On the other hand, her bright locks were curly, and cl.u.s.tered very prettily on her forehead, her hands and feet were smaller and more delicate than those of Nieves, and the striking point of her face was a constant little trick of knitting her brows, which gave a pleasant piquancy to her features, as it was not due to bad temper.
Encarnacian was a needlewoman too; she was a great, strong, bouncing girl with a vulgar face. The artisans of Sarrio thought she was the flower of the flock, but she would not have pleased the taste of a refined, intelligent person.
Teresa, also of the same trade, was perfectly Moorish in coloring; her hair was as black as jet, and her large eyes were as dark as her hair, and her nose and mouth were regular; she was considered ugly in the town on account of her swarthiness, but she was really a type of Oriental beauty. There was nothing remarkable in Generosa, one of the two maids of the house. Elvira, the other, was a pale little thing, with large, languid eyes, and very graceful figure.
The working cla.s.ses of Sarrio have never gone in for the ridiculous imitation of ladies, which is so frequent nowadays in other places in Spain. They think, and I am of the same opinion, that the fashions adopted by ladies would not enhance their natural grace; in fact, they would lessen it. And this is logical, for, in the first place, they are not accustomed to drawing their waists in, as fashion demands of its slaves, and as little towns have no good dressmakers, the imitation would be both inferior and ugly; whereas, who upon the terrestrial globe, or upon any other globe, can compete with the charm of the girls of Sarrio when they don the richly embroidered fichu, crossed in front, and tied behind? Who can equal their fascinating mode of arranging the curls on their foreheads with a studied carelessness? Who can take part in a giraldilla with more consummate grace, or give in a more coquettish way a push to a young fellow who gets out of his place, while saying with a mingled smile and frown:
"Good fellow, you are mad, or on the road to it. Look out, or I shall pinch you!"
Who can sing with more sentiment and with less ear the couplet:
"When Aben Hamet Granada left, He felt his heart of joy bereft."
There is no doubt that the artisan girls of Sarrio, whose strict ideas of taste are the admiration of both Spaniards and foreigners, especially nowadays when characteristic features are on the wane, are quite right to maintain their independence and to hold their own costume in spite of the dressed-up young ladies of the cities. Because (be it said softly, so as not to be overheard), the truth is they are much prettier. And this I say without meaning offense to anybody in particular; Heaven forbid.
There is no traveler in the Peninsula who, on thinking of Sarrio, will not echo this a.s.sertion with more of the enthusiasm natural to him.
There is no Englishman who stops for a few days at this port but who, when talking to his friends at Cardiff or Bristol of this _Spanish town_, will begin by raising his eyebrows and smacking his lips with delight, with "Oh! oh! oh! Sarrio! the young girls there are very, very, very beautiful." And if Englishmen say it, what will be said by the Spaniards, and particularly those who have lived so long under their beneficent influence?
The four workers, including Nieves, although she was rather superior, belonged to this much-admired cla.s.s of women for whose prosperity and continuance in their ways I offer daily prayers to Heaven, and advise every good Catholic to do the same.
On working days they were dressed in cotton gowns, with a little woolen fichu tied behind and a silk handkerchief falling back on the neck from the uncovered head. Nieves, as an exception, wore a black fringed fichu.
They had just sat down to work after dinner. The sun poured through the panes of the two windows despite the blinds. The workers were gathered together in one of the corners of the room to escape its rays. Teresa, the most musical of the party, started a sentimental song in sad, drawn-out cadences in a sweet, timid voice, so that the others should join in parts; and in effect Nieves soon "took second," and the rest followed suit, some taking first and others second, which resulted in a somewhat melancholy harmony, tinged with romance. Romance may vanish from customs, and be banished from the novel and the stage, but it still finds a delicious haven of rest in the hearts of the artisans of Sarrio. The music continued until Pablito saw fit to disturb it by breaking in suddenly with his bleating voice. The needlewomen stopped singing, raised their heads in alarm, and then burst out laughing.
"_Madre!_ what a fright you gave me!"
"I thought it was a cow!"
"And I thought it was a c.o.c.k crowing--and I still think so," said Venturita.
The handsome Pablito, reclining in his armchair in the other corner, laughed loudly at his own expense. He certainly was of a jocose turn of mind, as we shall have occasion to see later on. From the time of the commencement of his sister"s trousseau Pablito evinced a sudden taste for a sedentary life that had not hitherto been noticeable in him. Who had ever seen him before stop a minute in the house after dinner? Who would have thought that he could spend the morning in that armchair chatting with the workers? Nevertheless, it was a fact. For the last month he had not been out riding or driving, and he did not spend more than an hour in the stable during the course of the day.
Piscis was quite upset. He came every day to fetch him out, but it was in vain.
"Look here, Piscis, I have to clean my silver spurs, so I can not go out." "I say, Piscis, I have to go and get a bill of exchange cashed for father."
"Look here, Piscis, Linda is ill and can"t be ridden."
"She is all right now," growled Piscis.
"Have you come from the stable?"
"Yes."
"Well, anyhow, I can"t go out to-day--am out of sorts."
Sometimes Piscis entered the room and sat waiting silently; it was certainly not for long, because he was always thinking the women were making fun of him, and this prevented him being at his ease. When he thought the right moment had arrived, or when he noticed symptoms of boredom in Pablo, or when some other circ.u.mstance beyond our province occurred, he rose from his seat and made a sign with his hand to his friend as he gave a long, low whistle, for they understood each other better by whistles than by words. They both objected to articulate sounds and eschewed their use in each other"s company, but Pablito did not relish the sign at that moment.