Saturdays he always breakfasted at la brigadiera's. On the first Saturday after Miguel's departure, Julita, though she usually took breakfast with Maximina, came home in honor of her cousin, and because it was no longer possible for her to hide the passionate love which she felt for him. During breakfast time he was as jovial and amusing as ever; nevertheless, Julita's loving eyes were able to detect in his gestures a peculiar excitement, as though his mind were preoccupied. Naturally she attributed it to what most concerned her; to the love constantly growing more tender and ardent which her cousin manifested toward her. When they had finished, he asked her in a careless tone:—
"Is your piano teacher coming to-day?"
"Yes; at four."
"Then," said he, still more indifferently, if possible, "you will not return to Maximina's until you have had your lesson, I suppose."
"Of course not ... there is no need of making the journey twice," replied la brigadiera.
They went to the sitting-room, and Julita sat down at the piano with Alfonso at her side. The charming girl struck an opportune forte which drowned out the tender words which her cousin began whispering in her ear.
"Julita, your eyes shine so to-day, that if you wanted to set my heart on fire, you could do it this very instant."
"Pedal! pedal!" cried the girl, laughing; and she quenched the dandy's last words with a deafening crash.
She again put on the soft pedal, and began gently to touch the piano. Don Alfonso took advantage of the diminuendo to say:—
"Julita, I adore you; I love you more than my life...."