Ricardo, likewise moved and overwhelmed by great dejection, remained with bent head, and silent. Marta kept on busily with her task, as though she felt no interest in what was going on. She did not once lift her head during the conversation, nor even when her father left the room. Ricardo looked at her fixedly a long time. The girl's impassive attitude began to mortify him. He had presumptuously imagined that it would affect Martita very deeply to hear the announcement of his departure, for she had always given evidence of being fond of him. He had blind confidence in the goodness of her heart and the strength of her affections; but when he saw her so serene, moving the ivory needle between her slender rosy fingers, without asking him anything about it, without urging him to postpone his journey for a few days, without speaking a word, he felt a new and painful disenchantment. And he allowed himself, by the weight of his gloomy thoughts, to be drawn away into a desperate, pessimistic philosophy.
"Then, sir," he said to himself tearfully, "you must accept the world and humanity as they are.... This girl whom I believed to be so tender-hearted.... What is to be done about it?... In woman exists only one true affection.... Can it possibly be that this child is in love with some one?"
Ricardo had no reason to be indignant at such a thought. But it is certain that he was indignant, and not a little. He tried to drive it away as an absurdity, and succeeded only in convincing himself that, not only it would not be an absurdity, but would not even be strange. But as he was downcast, indignation very soon gave way to sadness; deep, painful sadness.
"Aren't you sorry that I am going away?" he asked, with a sort of melancholy smile creeping over his face.
"Not if it is your pleasure to go...." replied the girl, not lifting her head.
Confound the pleasure! Ricardo had no longer any desire to go away; he was furious with himself for having asked to be sent. Gladly would he give everything to exchange.... But he did not say a word of what he thought.
His sadness and depression kept increasing. He felt a cruel desire to weep. He dared not say a word to Marta, lest she should notice his emotion. Besides, what reason had he to speak to her?... Such an unfeeling child!
He found himself in one of those moments of dejection in which everything appears clad in black, and he took a certain bitter delight in it; moment, in which one (if the expression be permissible) wallows voluptuously in sadness, endeavoring to add to it by unhappy recollections and expectations. He dropped his head on the pillow of the sofa, and shut his eyes, as though he were meditating. Our hero had been meditating deeply, deeply, for many hours. His nerves had been on the strain for a long time, and he began to feel the attack of a languor akin to faintness. He lifted his head a little, to prove to himself that he still had the power of motion, and he looked once more at Martita, who was still in the same position; but very soon he let it fall again. It seemed to him as if he were seized against his will, and kept lying there, without the possibility of moving a finger. He still had his eyes open, but they were as heavy as if the lids had been made of lead. At last he closed them, and fell asleep. That is, we cannot say that he slept, or only napped. It is certain, however, that the Marqués de Peñalta, thus stretched out, with eyes closed, seemed to be asleep, and his face looked so pale, there were such dark rings under his eyes, and his whole appearance was so lifeless that it inspired alarm.
In the space of a few moments one can dream of many and very different things. All have experienced this phenomenon. Ricardo had not as yet entirely lost the idea of reality, when he found himself in a room like the one in which he really was. However, there was this difference, that in the new one the window had very thick iron gratings, like lattices, and one of the walls was likewise grated, through which there could be seen in the background, gilded altars, images of saints, lamps hung from the ceiling; in fact, a real church. Looking attentively from the sofa, he perceived that a great throng was pouring into the church, causing a low, but disagreeable noise, until they filled it entirely, and there was no more room. Then he began to hear the tones of an organ playing the waltzes of the Queen of Scotland, which made him suspect that the organist was Fray Saturnino, the capellane of San Felipe. Then, rising above the heads of the people, he saw the gilded points of a mitre. The organ ceased, and he heard the nasal voice of a preacher delivering a long sermon, although he could not understand a word of what he said. When the sermon was over, he heard a sweet song which made him tremble with delight; it was Maria's sweet voice, singing with more sweetness than ever, the aria from Traviata: "Gran Dio morir si giovane." When this was finished, prolonged applause rang through the church. Then all the people crowded up to the great altar, leaving the spaces near the grating free. Something was going on there, for he clearly heard some voices saying,—
"Now he gives her the benediction ... now ... now."