Nancy first and last

by Amy Ella Blanchard

This way of putting it amused Mrs. Beltrán and she laughed. "Well, dear, that is one way of curing me of my doldrums. Come, we must freshen up a bit and get something to eat, then we shall feel more fit. What a wonderful old town this is. We must get out and see what we can of it while we have the chance."

But even the ancient cathedral of La Seo and the marvels of the Virgen del Pilar did not serve to detain them beyond the next morning which saw them on the final stage of their journey to Barcelona, and by night they were established in a modest pension away from the rush and welter of the city, and in the pretty suburb of Le Gracia.

Even the excitement, the suspense, the expectation arising from the thought of why they had come did not prevent Anita from taking note of those whom she met at the evening meal. A half dozen or so, of boarders were all there were. Her vis-a-vis was an art student, American, of uncertain age, rather attractive if she had been clean, apparently something of a poseur, and very confident of herself. A young Russian, with tense face and deep-set eyes, looking as if he might be an anarchist, sat next. On the other side of the American was a young Spanish student at the University. He had fine eyes which he used upon all occasions especially on the art student. Two ladies who were once young, and who bravely made desperate efforts to keep up the delusion that they were still youthful, were next in order. Their name was Perley, and were plainly American from one of the New England states. A man and his wife, of whom Anita could not get a good view, because they sat at her side the table, completed the number at table. Anita wondered how long she would be in daily contact with these persons; if she would ever come to know any of them well and if so which it would be. The girl was disposed to be friendly. The Perley sisters were feverishly gay in their effort to appear enthusiastic. The Russian glowered. The Spanish student cast languishing glances. Anita thought them all rather amusing. The meal was good, though simple. Their hostess, a bright-eyed, stout little woman, evidently superintended the cooking herself, and was anxious to please. The house was attractively set in a garden with views of mountains right and left, villages dropped in between the green, and a nearer outlook upon the villas of the suburb.

"I think we shall like it," Anita said, looking out from the window of their room upon the lights of the city. There was more life in this place than in the pastoral villages they had just left. As she listened to the distant rumble, saw the stacks of various factories belching forth columns of smoke, or sending up a sudden glare from inward fires, she felt that here life's issues loomed bigger, problems appeared vaster, hopes more illusive. She had less certainty about attaining the ends for which they had come. The future seemed a vague and shimmering thing whose outlines eluded her perceptions.

However she awoke the next morning confident of purpose as was the shining day and went forth with her mother feeling all the excitement of an adventure.

Leaving pleasant Gracia they set their faces toward the old town in one of whose tortuous streets they hoped to find some news of Pepé. Through the squalor and dirt of a winding lane-like course they picked their way, passing groups of men whose evil eyes looked after them, raising the curiosity of children who paused for a moment in their rope skipping to the monotonous measure of "Arroz, con leche, con canela, con limon," or who, dancing with fervid abandon to the wheezing of a hand organ, suddenly glanced up from under dark lashes at the strangers.

At last they stopped palpitatingly before one of the meaner of the mean houses in this ancient part of the town whose narrow twisting streets housed the poorer classes. "Poor little lad, poor little lad," murmured Mrs. Beltrán, looking around and gathering her skirt from contact with the door before she knocked.

A slattern, over-stout woman came to the door, but she knew no such person as Pepé Beltrán, and her dialect was so unfamiliar to the two inquirers that it was some time before they could make out what she said. Mrs. Beltrán suggested that some one else in the house might know of a Pepé or José Beltrán and finally the woman moved off clumsily, though whether to take a message or not they could not be sure.

"What language is it she speaks?" whispered Anita, as the woman moved away. "Surely it isn't Spanish."

"It is Catalan. It is the language most spoken here you will soon learn, and is quite different from the Castilian."