And Marta could not help saying this "I lose you; I lose you forever"—she could not because it was the only thought that filled her heart at that instant, her heart that never was untrue; she was accustomed to speak freely her beliefs and opinions. Marta accepted without resistance the idea that her sister was doing well to enter the convent, but she was absolute mistress of her heart; there no one held sway but herself, and her heart told her that she had no longer any sister, that all Maria's love, all her tenderness was about to evaporate like a divine essence in the depths of a mysterious, vague something, totally incomprehensible to her.
Just as Maria's toilet was almost completed, a young man came rushing into the room with the violence of a gust of wind. It was that youth with the banged hair, who gradually had made himself indispensable in all festivals, solemnities, ceremonies, and merry-makings of the town.
"Mariíta! the secretary of the señor bishop sends me to tell you that his eminence is ready, and is at this moment starting for the church."
"Very well, I shall be right out."
"I have attended to the organ-loft. I notified Don Serapio and the organist.... Preciosa, Mariíta preciosa.... Do notice the blue hangings which I put on the picture of the Virgin...."
"Thanks, Ernesto, many thanks; I am deeply grateful to you."
At a sign from Maria all the ladies arose, and hastened behind her down the stairs, but for all that there was no cessation of their impertinent chatter. The young woman went straight to her father's room, and remained shut in it for some time. No one knew what passed within. Those who were waiting at the door heard the sound of sobs, confused sentences spoken in angry tones, the movement of chairs. The ladies, waiting in the anteroom, whispered to those who came in, "She is taking farewell, farewell of her father.... Don Mariano will not attend the ceremony."
Shortly afterward, Maria re-appeared, smiling and serene as before, saying, "Come, ladies, let us go!"
With the same serenity she passed through the great room of the mansion without giving a glance at the furniture, and descended the broad, stone stairway without showing the slightest trepidation, as she walked along in her dainty white satin shoes.
And yet what recollections she left behind her! How many hours of light and joy! The prattle of her childish lips, sweet as the trilling of a bird; her father's somewhat gruff but, for that very reason, all the sweeter singing, as he rocked her to sleep in his arms; the dreams, the fresh laughter of her girlhood; the lovely sun of April mornings, filling her room with light; the constant caresses of her mother, the warmth of home; in short, that warmth which all the treasures of earth cannot buy; all this remained behind her, imprinted on the walls, ingrained in the furniture. And she left it all without a tear!