"Listen, child. I cannot live much longer, and I shall leave all I have to you. Half of your father's fortune is mine, as I understand from the family lawyer."
Clementina felt a thrill, a shock, which a psychologist would find it hard to define—a mixture of sorrow and surprise, with an undercurrent of satisfaction. However, sorrow predominated; she kissed her stepmother again and again.
"What are you saying? Die! No, you are not to die! I want you much, much more than your money. But for you I should have been a very wicked woman—and I shall be, I fear, the day you cease to live. The only moments when I feel any goodness in me are those I spend with you. I fancy, mamma, that you infect me with some of your exquisite virtue."
"There, there—flatter me no more," said Doña Carmen, again stopping her mouth. "You think yourself worse than you are. You have a good heart. What sometimes makes you seem bad is your pride. Is not that the truth?"
"Yes, mamma, quite true. You do not know what pride is, or the miseries it brings to those who feel it as I do. To be constantly thinking of things which hurt me—to see enemies on all sides—to feel a look as though it were the point of a dagger in my heart—to catch a word, and turn it over and over in my brain till it almost makes me sick—to live with my heart sore, my mind full of alarms—oh! how often have I envied those who are as good and as humble as you. How happy should I be if I had not a gloomy and suspicious temper and the pride which devours my soul! And who knows," she went on after a pause, "that I might not have been happier in some other sphere of life? If I had been poor, and had married some hard-working and intelligent young fellow, my lot might have been better. Obliged to help my husband, to take care of a business, or attend to the details of the house, like other women who labour and struggle, I might, perhaps, not have come to this. I ought to have had a loving and patient husband—a man of talent, who could guide me. As it is, mamma, accustomed as I am to luxury and the fashionable world, I would gladly give it all up this very day and go to live in some pleasant spot in the country, far from Madrid. I only want a little love, and to keep you with me to teach me to feel and be good."
Clementina's present mood was idyllic; she had been pleasantly impressed by the simple home in the Calle de Serrano. In every woman, however hardened, however immersed in love adventures, there remains an eclogue in some corner of her brain which now and again comes to the surface. Good Doña Carmen listened to her and encouraged her by her smiles, and the younger lady's confidences lasted long. She recalled her early life, when she came to tell her stepmother of the declarations made to her at the ball of the night before, and to read her the billets-doux of her adorers. These reminiscences of the past made her happy. She was even tempted to talk about Pepe Castro and Raimundo, and confess the childish feelings which stirred her soul; but a feeling of respect withheld her. Doña Carmen's leniency was indeed so excessive as to verge on folly; it is very possible that, even if her stepdaughter had confessed her worst sins, she would hardly have been scandalised.
They breakfasted together, the Duke having gone to breakfast with a Minister. Afterwards, having relieved and refreshed their spirits with this long chat, they went together in the carriage to San Pascual's, where they prayed a while; and then they drove to the Avenue of the Retiro. They went home before dark, as the evening air was bad for Doña Carmen, and Clementina must be home in good time.
It was Saturday, the day on which the Osorios kept open house for dinner and cards. Before going up to dress, Clementina looked round the dining-room, studied the arrangement of the table, and ordered some little alterations in the dishes of fruit which decked it. She sent for the packet of menus—written on parchment paper with the Duke's monogram stamped in gold—begged her husband's secretary to write the name of a guest on each, and herself laid them in order on the table napkins: herself and her husband opposite each other in the middle; to the right and left of Osorio, two ladies in the seats of honour; to her own right and left, two gentlemen; and then the rest of the party in order of dignity, age, or her own preference for her guests. Then she spoke a few words with the butler, and after giving him her instructions, she went away. At the door she turned to look once more at the table, and added:
"Remove those strong-smelling flowers from the Marquesa de Alcudia's place and give her camellias, or something else which has no scent."
The pious Marquesa could not endure strong perfumes, being liable to headache. Clementina, who hated her, showed more consideration for her than for any of her friends; her ancient title, severe judgment, and even her bigotry, made her respected, and her presence in a drawing-room lent it prestige.