The consent being given, Gonzalo presented himself one afternoon at Belinchon's house. It was a fortnight since he had been there, and his heart sank at the prospect in spite of his wishes having been so fully and promptly realized. He dreaded the first interview, and not without reason. Doña Paula received him with marked coldness, and even the servants' manners were tinged with a hostility which hurt him.
Then the idea of seeing Cecilia made him tremble. But when Venturita came into the room all his fear and all his depression vanished. Her sprightly chatter, the bright sparkle of her eyes, and her graceful, mocking coquetry quickly raised his spirits and transported him into the seventh heaven. The enchanting enthraldom of her voice and manners had lulled him into an indifference to all else by the time Cecilia entered the room.
The sight of his victim exercised a strange and sudden effect upon him; he automatically rose from his seat, and his face changed color.
"How do you do, Gonzalo?"
This was said by Cecilia, as if she had seen him the preceding day and nothing particular had happened, only she was a shade paler than usual. But the young man was so overwhelmed with confusion that he could not reply to this simple question without stuttering. The clear and tranquil glance of Cecilia affected him like an electric current, and he turned to Doña Paula, whose face was overshadowed with a severe and melancholy expression, while Venturita looked out of the window with assumed indifference. At last he resumed his seat, trembling violently, and Cecilia, who had come to ask her mother for the keys of the cupboards, gave him a quiet smile of farewell as she left the room.
The preparations for the marriage began. Doña Paula had the delicacy, rare in a low-born woman, not to allow a single article of wearing apparel made for Cecilia to serve for her sister.
So a fresh trousseau was quickly put in hand. To the great surprise of the needlewomen, Cecilia joined in the work. Some attributed this concession to kindness, others to want of feeling. It is true that, although a little thin, her face expressed the same quiet cheerfulness as ever, and her fingers worked at her sister's initials with the same dexterity as when she embroidered her own. But the cutting of the scissors and the sewing of the needles seemed to say horrible things, ah! very horrible things, instead of those pretty ones which used to make her tremble with joy.
They remained buried in her heart, however, and the keenest observer would have read nothing in those large, liquid, beautiful eyes but the usual quiet smile.
"Didn't I tell you so, girl?" whispered Teresa in Valentina's ear as she looked at our young friend.
"Yes, Señorita Cecilia is incapable of loving anybody."