Volume I Part 23 (1/2)
At the end of two minutes the youth followed her, found the door ajar, and entered. Venturita's room was like its mistress, small, pretty, and seductive.
There was a sandalwood bedstead hung with brocaded silk hangings and covered with a blue silk coverlet; an ebony cabinet inlaid with ivory, which formed a desk when opened; a comfortable blue velvet armchair; a toilet table and looking-gla.s.s, also hung with silk; a mirrored wardrobe of sandalwood, like the bedstead; and a few gilt chairs completed the furniture; and the room was as redolent of sweet perfume as the sanctum of an odalisque.
”Oh, this is better than Cecilia's room!” said Gonzalo.
”When did you see that?” asked Venturita.
”A few days ago she showed it to me; bare walls, with a few second-rate pictures, a curtainless bed, a common wardrobe.”
”Well, if she doesn't have it as I do, it is because she doesn't care to. I certainly had to get around papa at first. But my sister is so--well, she is as G.o.d made her. It is all alike to her. Everything pleases a commonplace person, doesn't it?”
”In this room there is so much taste and so much coquetry, and that there always is about you.”
”Why do you accuse me of coquetry, you silly?” she asked, in her old mocking tone.
”Because it is true, and quite right so. Coquetry, when not excessive, adds attraction to beauty as spice adds flavor to food.”
”And so I suit your taste! Well, look here; although coquetry may give attraction, or flavor, or what you like, I am not coquettish. You at least have no right to say so. I say--it seems to me--”
”It is true; you are right; you are quite right. I can not call you coquettish, because the coquetry I was speaking of is quite different.”
”Do me the favor to sit down, for I think you have grown enough--and let us leave abstract questions.”
Gonzalo dropped into the chair the girl offered him, still under the spell of her brilliant, mischievous eyes. From the minute he entered the room he experienced a delight, half physical, half spiritual, which dominated his senses and his spirit. The perfume that he inhaled mounted to his brain, and the magnetic glance of Venturita hypnotized him.
”You did wrong in bringing me to your room,” he said, as he pa.s.sed his handkerchief over his forehead.
”Why?” she asked, opening and shutting her eyes several times, which were like stars at the close of a hot day in summer.
”Because I don't feel well,” he returned, with the same smile.
”You really feel ill?” replied the girl, opening her eyes wide with an innocent expression.
”A little.”
”Shall I call some one?”
”No; it is your eyes that hurt me.”
”Oh, come!” she exclaimed, with a laugh, as if that were of no consequence; ”then I will shut them.”
”Oh, no; don't shut them, or I shall be much worse.”
”Then I will go,” she said, rising from her chair.
”That would kill me, my girl! Do you know why I am ill? It is because it kills me not to be able to kiss your eyes.”
”Goodness!” exclaimed Venturita, with a burst of laughter. ”How bad it must be! I am sorry not to be able to cure you.”
”Will you let me die?”