"No, let it be. I am not thirsty now; it was a whim."
I was very much crestfallen, and even more saddened than humiliated. I cut short my visit and retired. That afternoon I stayed at the fonda and did not go to Cabañal as usual.
At night I went to the house when they were finishing supper, entered with a stern countenance, and did not try to glance at her. But I saw plainly that she looked at me, and I wished her to keep on until I saw a humble expression on her face.
In a few moments she addressed me with unusual amiability, seeking to make amends. I stood my ground rigidly. Then she said in a clear voice and with a gracious smile that I can never forget:
"Captain Ribot, will you do me the favor to pour a little water into one of those goblets and bring it to me?"
I served her, smiling. She smiled a little too before drinking it, and my resentment was melted like ice in the warmth of that smile.
Castell was always one of the party on our excursions to Cabañal. Sometimes, though rarely, he drove out alone in one of his traps.
I no longer doubted that he paid court to Cristina and had also observed the love that I felt for her. But he owed it to his immeasurable pride not to seem to notice a rival so little formidable; I could not see the slightest change in him. He continued to treat me with the same refined courtesy, not exempt from patronage, and—why should I not say it?—with also a sort of benevolent compassion. It is true that Castell extended this compassion towards all created beings, and I think I should not be wrong in affirming that it went beyond our planet and diffused itself among other and distant stars. As a general rule, he listened to nobody but himself; but at times, if he were in the humor, he would invite us to express our opinions, making us talk with the complacency shown to children; listening, smiling sweetly at our nonsensical chatter and our little mistakes. It was a regular secondary-school examination. When he deigned to pry into my limited field of knowledge I could not help fancying myself a microscopic insect that had by chance fallen into his hands, that he twirled and tortured between his encircling fingers.
They all listened to him with great deference. Martí ever showed himself proud of having such a friend, and believed in good faith that neither in Spain nor in foreign lands existed a man to compare with him—in the world of theory, of course, because in practical matters, Martí was all there, as I knew.
But Isabelita, Cristina's cousin, listened to him with even more absorption. It is impossible to imagine a more complete attention, an attitude more submissive and devoted than that of this girl with a profile like an angel, when Castell held forth. Her pure and pearl-like face was turned towards him; she sat perfectly still as if in ecstasy; the lashes of her innocent eyes did not move.