She bowed expressively; Raimundo saluted her with his usual respectful eagerness; but Clementina observed that the girl bowed with marked coolness. This occupied her thoughts and made her cross for the rest of the day, since she was forced to confess more than ever that this was at the bottom of her malaise and melancholy. By degrees, and owing chiefly to her fractious and capricious nature, this love-affair, which might have died still-born, occupied her mind and became the germ of a wish. Now in this lady, a wish was always a violent desire, above all if there were any obstacle in her way.
On a certain morning, after greeting Raimundo with the gesture peculiar to Spanish ladies, of opening and shutting her hand several times and going on her way, an involuntary impulse prompted her to look back once more at the corner window.
Raimundo was following her movements with a pair of opera glasses. She blushed scarlet and hurried on, ashamed at the discovery. What had made her guilty of such folly? What would the young naturalist think of her? At the very least he would fancy that she was in love with him. But in spite of the ferment in her brain, while she walked on as fast as she could to turn down the next street and escape from his gaze, she was less vexed with herself than she had been on other occasions. She was ashamed, no doubt, but when she presently slackened her pace, a pleasant emotion came over her, a light flutter at her heart such as she had not felt for a long time.
"I am going back to my girlhood," said she to herself, and she smiled. And it amused her to study her own feelings. She was happy in this return to the guileless agitations of her early youth.
She was so absorbed in her meditations, that on reaching the Fountain of Cybele, instead of going down the Calle de Alcalà, to go to Pepe Castro, with whom she had an appointment, she turned about, as though she had merely come for a walk. When she perceived it she stood still, hesitating; finally she confessed to herself that she had no great wish to keep the engagement.
"I will go to see mamma," thought she. "It is days since I spent an hour with her, poor thing."
And she went on towards the Avenue de Luchana. She was in the happiest mood. An organ was grinding out the drinking-song from Lucrezia Borgia, and she stopped to listen to it; she who was bored at the Opera by the most famous contralto! But music is the language of heaven, and can only be understood when heaven has found a way into our heart.
Coming towards her, down the Avenue de Recoletos, was Pinedo, the remarkable personage who lived with one foot in the aristocratic world and the other in the half-official world to which he really belonged. By his side was a pretty young girl, no doubt his daughter, who was unknown to Clementina: for Pinedo kept her out of the society he frequented, and hid her as carefully as Triboulet hid his. The Señora de Osorio had always treated Pinedo with some haughtiness, which, as we know, was not unusual with her. But at this moment her happy frame of mind made her expansive, and as Pinedo was passing her with his usual ceremonious bow, the lady stopped him, and addressed him, smiling:
"You, my friend, are a practical man; you too, I see, take advantage of these morning hours to breathe the fresh air and take a bath of sunshine."
Pinedo, against both his nature and habit, was somewhat out of countenance, perhaps because he had no wish to introduce his daughter to this very smart lady. However, he replied at once, with a gallant bow: