"Holá! little one," said the caballero, in a condescending tone, giving her a little pat on the cheek; "your master in?"
"But don't you know that the señorito went last Monday to Galicia? It is plain enough that you don't often soil the staircase of this house with the dust of your boots."
"La señorita?" asked the fine gentleman, with an absent-minded gesture, at the same time depositing his cane and hat on the rack.
"She is sewing in her boudoir.... Shall I take up your card?"
"There is no need," he replied, starting with a firm step toward the parlor, and opening the boudoir door.
Maximina was sewing on some article of clothing for the baby, who, absolutely removed from the political struggles in which his papa was engaged, was sleeping in the bedroom, and occupying a good half of the bed. The young mother's thoughts were flying over the white peaks of the Guadarrama, traversing the desert plains of Castille, and losing themselves among the leafy groves of Galicia.
"Will he have socks enough?" she was asking herself, at that moment. This had been a serious anxiety to Maximina ever since her husband's departure. "Eight pairs aren't sufficient, can't be sufficient, if he changes them every day, as he usually does. In that country I believe they don't wash clothes very often. Ay! Diós mio! and if it should rain, and he get his feet wet! how could he change them two or three times a day as he does here?... I am sure that it would never occur to him to buy some new ones.... He is very thoughtless!"
The door-bell rang. As she raised her head, her eyes met Don Alfonso's.
It is difficult to conceive the surprise that Maximina felt at that sudden apparition, and the surprise and terror that took possession of her. She turned pale, even livid, then her face grew crimson, then once more pale; all in the space of a few seconds.
Saavedra shut the door, and offered her his hand with perfect ease and self-possession.