Chapter VII

The life of Rivera and his wife had gradually come into regular channels; the house was now entirely furnished. Miguel arose early and went to his library to work. Maximina stayed some time longer in her room, making up for the trials which she had been obliged to undergo both at the convent and at her aunt's house. Her constitution required much sleep, and she had never been able to satisfy this necessity. Once she had asked her aunt as a special favor:--

"Aunt, when will you let me sleep as long as I should like?"

"Some day, some day, I will let you."

But the day never came. She had been obliged to be up at half-past five in the winter, and at five in summer, and there was no help for it. Now that there was no one to torment her, since Miguel dressed as quietly as possible so as not to wake her, she was able to indulge in her slothfulness. When at last she got up she would go straight to the library, and always greet her husband with a timid--

"What will you say to me?"

"What am I going to say to you, _tonta_? It must have been terrible to get up so early! It is not yet quarter-past nine!"

Maximina, who had noticed in passing, that the clock said that it was almost ten, was delighted with her husband's equivocation, and would kiss him affectionately.

"Listen; you must call me to-morrow when you get up."

"All right, I will."

"On your word?"

"On my word of honor."

It is safe to say that Miguel did not fulfil this promise: he felt that it was too great a pity to do so.

During the first months of their married life they made various calls, and received an equal number; among others, one from the Galician senoritas whose acquaintance they had made on the train; and they showed Maximina a warm and boisterous affection, appropriate to such maidens. Everywhere the young wife left a charming impression by her simple and natural manners.

"What a good woman your wife must be!" said Miguel's friends, when they found him alone.

The young man would smile with ill-repressed pride, and exclaim:--

"She is just a mere child!"

But he would say to himself:--

"God gave me light."

Marriage had not caused him to lose any of his independence, nor any of those bachelor habits which are so hard to overcome at a certain age. Maximina never demanded, or even asked, any sacrifice of him. She felt herself absolutely happy to be the wife of the man whom she adored; and the daily and commonplace actions of life were to her a source of unspeakable delight.

When breakfast time came, she would lightly lift the latch of the library door, step noiselessly up to her husband, and say:--

"It is half-past twelve now."

While they were breakfasting, the conversation which they kept up was full of affectionate trifles; when their eyes met, they expressed mute caresses; and many times Miguel reached across the table to get his wife's hand and kiss it, much to the young woman's terror and apprehension; she would instantly snatch it away by main force, glancing at the door as though there were danger of some dragon making its appearance.

The dragon was Juana, who was likely to appear with the waiter in her hands.

After breakfast came the happiest hour of the day for Maximina: she would go with her husband to the library, and he, settling himself comfortably in an easy-chair, would take her on his knees, fold her to him, and whisper in her ears the sweetest things she ever heard. Sometimes it happened that he would fall into a doze, and Maximina would not lift a finger for fear of waking him; and even though her position were uncomfortable, she would endure it until Miguel opened his eyes.

"There now, I must be going!" he would say, getting up. "What! so soon?" she would exclaim sadly.

Miguel would fondle her, and smile, and take leave of her at the door. It seemed as though these leave-takings would never end.

"They might see us from the opposite side," Maximina would say, tearing herself out of his arms.

"But the door is closed!"

"That makes no difference; they might see us through the _ventanilla_.[20]"

Sometimes, as a little joke on his wife, he would start to go without saying good by; but as soon as she heard him raise the latch, she would drop whatever she was engaged in doing, whether in the dining-room, the kitchen, or in her own room, and fly to the door. When she did not hear the latch, he would do his best to make her hear it.

Maximina spent her afternoons with the servants. Besides Juana, they had hired two others,--a cook, and another maid, who had a better idea of laundry work than the maid from Pasajes.

When Miguel came in at dusk, and rang the bell, the young woman's heart would give a leap, and she herself would run to open the door for him. Sometimes she would let the maid open it; but then she would hide behind the door or in the next room. The maid's smiling face would betray the secret to the young man, that his wife was somewhere near, and he would say, sniffing in a comical way:--

"I smell Maximina here."

And then he would go straight to where she was hiding, and catch her by the arm.

"I don't see how you found me so quick," she would say, with simulated disappointment. At other times she would open the _ventanilla_, and ask:--

"What is it you want?"

"Does Don Miguel Rivera live here?" he would ask.

"Yes, senor; but he is not at home."

"Is the senora in?"

"The senora is in, but she cannot receive you."

"Tell her that there is a gentleman here who wants to give her a hug and a kiss."

They laughed and amused themselves with these trifles, and the young wife never thought of asking her husband to give her an account of his time. She would go with him to the library. Miguel would take a book and sit down, saying:--

"There now, leave me alone a few minutes; I want to read."

"You naughty, naughty boy!" she would retort with innocent vexation. "You are very naughty to send me away!"

Miguel would relent, and pull her back by the hand.

After dinner they used to spend another little while together, and then he would go to the cafe, and from there to his editorial rooms, returning at twelve or one. His wife used to try to wait for him, either by reading a book or by taking a nap. Saturdays they always went to the theatre, for _La Independencia_ was not published on Sundays, and so there was one day in the seven when he was not driven with work.

One evening, as she was coming down stairs, Maximina, who was occupied in putting on her gloves, tripped and fell, rolling down several steps.

"Oh! my wife!" cried Miguel, hastening to her aid.

The young woman got up with a smile, though she, was flushed with alarm. She had not suffered any harm, but the heart-rending cry uttered by Miguel had gone to the very depths of her soul.

Then, also for the first time, Miguel realized how this gentle creature had taken possession of his heart.

She had been greatly troubled at a slight ailment from which her husband suffered during the early months of their marriage: severe rheumatic pains kept him housed for several days; he grew pale and thin, and, worse than all, was in a very unhappy frame of mind, for he was not a man to endure adversities patiently.

Maximina was deeply troubled, and do the best she could, it was impossible for her to hide her grief. She sat all day long beside the bed, and did not take her eyes from her husband; from time to time, almost overcome with grief, and making great efforts to control herself, she would say:--

"You feel better, you _do_ feel better, don't you? Yes, yes, you must feel better!"

"Since you say so, you must be very sure of it," he would say slyly, with an ironical smile.

And then seeing her great, timid, innocent eyes fill with tears, he would repent of his unseasonable words, and add, caressing her hand:--

"Don't mind about me. I am doing well. To-morrow I shall be all right; truly I shall."

And the young wife was happy for a few moments, until she would be alarmed again by some new complaint from the sick man.

How delightful when he got well again! It was the first time that her husband ever heard her sing at the top of her voice. She ran and jumped, jested with the maids, and was even quite successful in mimicking the Madrid accent which Juana had been recently acquiring. This sudden attack of obstreperous joy formed a lovely contrast with the usual seriousness of her character. Miguel, who knew the reason of it, looked at her with delight.

When he was entirely recovered, it was incumbent upon them to attend mass at San Sebastian. Maximina suggested it, and asked him with so much humility that he hadn't the heart to object.

The former _colegiala_ of the convent of Vergara could not help mixing religion with all the acts of her life. Miguel, in spite of his own lack of faith, found his wife's piety so poetical, so innocent, that it never once passed through his mind to disaffect her of it. "If ever it became hypocritical, it would be quite another thing," he said to himself.

Consequently he was not at all averse to going with her every Sunday to mass; besides, Maximina for many months could not bring herself to set foot in the street alone.

After a while, however, the brigadier's son began to forget his duty, and under the pretext that San Sebastian was near at hand, he would stay at home Sunday mornings, while Maximina, with heroic courage, would assume the terrible risk of going to church all by herself.

Still she suffered greatly; she imagined that everybody despised her, that they were going to say impudent things to her; the unfriendly glances so much in fashion among the natives of Madrid filled her with terror; she could have wished to be invisible!

But she did not venture to tell her fears to Miguel, lest she should vex him, and cause him to go to mass with her against his inclinations.

One morning, a little while after she had started out for church, Miguel heard the bell ring violently; then the library door was flung open, and Maximina came in, pale as a sheet.

"What has happened?" he demanded, rising.

Maximina dropped into a chair, hid her face in her hands, and began to weep.

Miguel anxiously insisted: "Did you feel ill?"

The young wife made an affirmative gesture.

"How was it? Tell me."

"I don't know," she replied, in a weak and hesitating voice. "I had been in church but a few minutes.... I begun to feel sick. Then the pictures of the saints began to waver before my eyes.... I felt as though my sight were leaving me.... And without knowing what I was doing I started to run.... And before I knew it I found myself near the grand altar.... I heard the people saying: 'What is it? what is it?' and that there was a confusion.... I turned around, and without looking at any one, I crossed the church again, and came out...."

Miguel succeeded in calming her; he made the servant bring her a cup of lime juice, and promised that he would not let her go to church again alone.

After a while, when she was entirely recovered, he asked her a question in a whisper, which she, dropping her eyes, answered in the negative. Then with a smiling face he whispered a few words in her ear.... The young wife, when she heard them, trembled, fastened her eyes on him with an anxious expression for a moment, and, confused and blushing, threw herself into his arms, murmuring:--

"Oh, don't deceive me! Don't deceive me, for Heaven's sake!"