Raimundo had watched this brief colloquy. Its confidential tone was a stab to him. For a moment he did not move; Esperancita passed close in front of him, but he did not see her. It was the child's first appearance at a ball. She wore a pretty Venetian dress of a rich red colour, cut low; her mother was magnificent as a Dutch burgomaster's wife, in brown, embroidered with gold and silver, with a lace ruff and necklace of diamonds and pearls. What pangs these costumes must have cost her luckless husband! In the first instance, when this ball was under discussion, he had supposed that some combination of old clothes would answer their purpose, and had made no difficulties. When he saw the dresses and the dressmaker's bill he was breathless. He was ready to cry Thief! Woe befall that miserable Salabert and the hour in which he had thought of this ball, and all the Venetian and Dutch ladies that had ever lived! And what most weighed on his soul was the reflection that these costly garments were to be worn for but one night. Four thousand pesetas thrown into the gutter! as he repeated a hundred times a day.
Esperancita looked at Alcázar, expecting him to bow; but seeing that he was gazing elsewhere, she, too, looked round at the group about Clementina, and immediately understood the situation. A cloud of distress came over her, as over Raimundo. But suddenly her eyes sparkled, and her whole ingenuous and insignificant little face was lighted up, transfigured by an indefinable charm. Pepe Castro was coming towards her.
"Charming, charming!" murmured the Adonis in an absent way, as he bowed affectedly.
The girl blushed with delight.
"Will you honour me with the first waltz?"
At this very moment she found herself the centre of a group of young men, all buzzing round Calderón's money-bags, and eager to compliment his daughter. Among these was Cobo Ramirez. They were all pressing her to give them a dance, each in turn signing the initials of his illustrious name on Esperancita's card. Ramoncito, who was standing a few yards off, did not join the little crowd—faithful to the advice given him, now above a year ago, by his friend and adviser Castro; though hitherto these tactics had proved unavailing, for Esperancita remained insensible to his devotion. Still, he would not ascribe this to any fault in the method, but to his lack of courage to follow it out with sufficient vigour, without hesitancy or backsliding. If the girl happened to look kindly at him, or speak to him more gently than usual, farewell diplomacy!
At this moment he was casting grim looks at the crowd which had gathered round her, and vaguely replying to Cotorraso, who had of late taken a most oppressive fancy to him, button-holing him wherever he met him, to explain his new methods of extracting oil. The young deputy had not gained in dignity from his showy dress and white wig, as a gentleman of the eighteenth century: he looked for all the world like a footman.
Suddenly there was a stir in the ante-room. The Royal party had arrived. The company collected about the door-ways. The Duke and Duchess, Clementina and Osorio, went to the outside steps to receive them, and the music played the Royal March. The King and Queen came in, walking slowly between the two ranks of guests, stopping now and then when they saw any one known to them to bestow a gracious greeting. The recipient of such honour bowed or curtsied to the ground, kissing the Royal hand with grateful effusiveness. The ladies especially humbled themselves with a rapture they could not conceal, and a gush of loyalty and affection which brought the blood to their cheeks.
The royal quadrille was immediately formed, and Clementina left her place by the door to dance in it. The Sovereign led out the Duchess, who made this great effort to please her husband. A triple row of spectators stood round to look on.
Salabert was in his glory. The waif, the beggar, from the market-place of Valencia, was entertaining Royalty. His dull, fish like, dissipated eyes glistened with triumph. This explosion of vanity had blown to the winds all the sordid anxieties which the cost of the ball had caused him—the deadly struggle with his own avarice. To-morrow perhaps the scatered fragments might reunite to give him fresh torment; for the moment, intoxicated with pride, he was drinking deep breaths of the atmosphere of importance and power created by his wealth; his face was flushed with a congestion of ecstatic vanity.