"Will you help me take down this basket and put it there, near that clothes-press?"
"Why didn't you put it a little further off?"
The basket was a huge one, and it was a tug to carry it to the place designated: while they were carrying it, they got into such a frolic that more than once they had to set it down. Ricardo with his efforts grew very red in the face, and this made the girl laugh until she had no strength left. She rarely laughed; but when the floodgates were opened, nobody could stop it. Ricardo, with his inclination to make fun, puffed out his cheeks and grew redder yet. All ill humor had completely disappeared. The basket made very little progress, and both stood bending over it and struggling with it, being unable to lift it an inch from the ground, the one splitting with laughter, and the other affecting a comic desperation.
"What a valiant soldier, to be vanquished by a basket of clothes!" exclaimed the girl, in the height of glee.
"I should like to see Prim or Espartero or even Napoleon himself here! This isn't a basket at all! There is linen enough here for an army!"
"Let go, then! If you didn't make me laugh, I could lift it by myself."
After much laughter, and no little bantering, the basket reached its destination. Marta opened the clothes-press, from which came the distinctive, fresh, penetrating odor of fresh linen. The girl for several moments breathed it in with delight, while she was transferring the pieces from one shelf to another in order to make room for the clean clothes that she was going to put away. Then she started to call Carmen—one of the maids—to help her, but Ricardo asked timidly,—
"Listen, child, couldn't I help to do it?"
"Oh! if you would like—"
"But it isn't for me to like. Pure gold though I were, preciosa, it is for you to command me, as queen and mistress."