Volume I Part 8 (1/2)
”Tell them.”
”Then, senores, we were thinking that you might be less stiff with each other.”
The bride and bridegroom-elect hung their heads and smiled.
The good spirits of the supper party now broke forth in laughter and jokes. Pablito asked his future brother-in-law questions about horse racing, skating rinks, and other more or less enthralling topics of the kind.
Only Cecilia was silent in the intensity of her happiness, shown in the brilliant scarlet of her cheeks, the heat of which she tried in vain to cool with the back of her hand.
When she thought she was un.o.bserved she cast long, loving looks at her fiance, whose fine, insatiable appet.i.te, the sign of life and energy, surprised and captivated her; and she gazed at him in adoring admiration as a splendid type of masculine strength.
But these long, ecstatic looks did not escape Venturita, who managed by signs to draw the attention of Pablo and her mother to them. Gonzalo acknowledged the attentions of his fiancee with a rapid ”Many thanks”
without looking at her, for fear of blus.h.i.+ng. When he did look up to speak to Pablo, his eyes always encountered Venturita's, and her smiling, mocking glance somewhat disconcerted him.
At last they left the table and dispersed. Don Rosendo and Ventura, disappeared, and Pablo, after a few minutes, following their example.
Dona Paula and the engaged couple remained alone in the dining-room, and all three sat on low chairs in a corner together. Soon nothing but soft whispers were audible, as if they were at the confessional. The three chairs were close together, and with their heads almost touching, they began an animated conversation.
Dona Paula soon broached the all-important question.
”This is the twenty-eighth of April. There are only four months from now to the first of September,” and here she cast a long, knowing glance at the couple.
If it had been possible for Cecilia to get redder, she would have done so.
Gonzalo's lips wreathed in a meaningless smile, and he lowered his eyes.
After looking at them for a minute, as if enjoying their confusion, Dona Paula continued:
”It is necessary to think of the trousseau.”
”Heavens! It is early for that,” exclaimed the girl in dismay, while her heart leaped into her mouth.
”It is not so, Cecilia; you do not know the time the embroideresses take in such matters. Nieves took a month to embroider two petticoats for Dona Rosario's daughter--and Martina is slower than she.”
”Nieves embroiders very well.”
”There is no embroideress in the town to hold a candle to Martina. She has hands of gold.”
”I prefer the embroideries of Nieves.”
”Then, if you wish it, let her embroider your clothes, but I--” said Dona Paula, looking at her daughter in an offended, haughty sort of way.
”I don't say so,” returned the girl in alarm; ”I only say I like the work of Nieves better than Martina's.”
The trousseau soon became the subject of conversation. It was discussed from every point of view, and with the gravity and the care it deserved.
To whom should they entrust the hemming of the linen sheets? To whom the common ones? Who should make the underlinen? Where should the mantles be bought, etc.? All these questions were discussed, weighed, and considered. Dona Paula gave her opinion; Cecilia affected to contradict, but in reality what did she care?
Her whole soul was so filled with the thought of her approaching marriage that her voice trembled with emotion, and she could hardly speak, while her eyes glowed with rapture, and shone like two fine stars on a soft summer night.