And all three rushed to the gallery. Indeed, Menino had flown away. By an incredible piece of carelessness Marta, when she fed him, and hung him up to enjoy the view of the garden and the singing of the other birds, had left the cage door open. For three years Menino had been under the young maiden's care, and during all this time he had showed no sign of cherishing plans of escape; on the contrary, hitherto the little hypocrite had always shown, as far as possible, that he did not care a straw for liberty, and that he had renounced it willingly for the sake of his dearly beloved mistress. For a long time he had been in the habit of coming out of his cage to eat chocolate with her; he would perch on her shoulder, peck softly at her hand to show his affection, hop about here and there over the furniture, and when it was time to retire, he would go back into the cage, meek as a lamb. By every presumption he was a happy canary, who regarded the loss of liberty as compensated by the care and attention of such a lovely girl, and by the permission to peck her rosy cheeks whenever he pleased. And aside from these more or less spiritual enjoyments, for which more than one lad in the town would have made stupendous sacrifices, and looking only at the material aspect of existence or bodily comforts, it must be laid down as a fact that Menino lived in his cage like an archbishop, with every want satisfied, supplied with hemp-seed on one side, with canary-seed on the other, at one time treated to lettuce, at others to lumps of chocolate, at others to crumbs soaked in milk; indeed, to ask more was to offend God. And as for neatness and cleanliness of habitation, he had just as little cause for envying any one; every morning Marta herself cleaned it out, leaving the cage like a mirror. But contrary to the general belief that he found himself perfectly satisfied, and would not change places even with the director of the mint, Menino was certainly waiting impatiently for a chance to escape; he had allowed himself to be overwhelmed with melancholy, his character had been soured, and his bile excited by lack of exercise. If he had not gone out to breathe the fresh air on the day least expected, he would have dashed the top of his head against the bars of his cage.
As our young people stood under the cage, they deliberated briefly what to do. Marta was heart-broken. It was decided that Carmen, with the laundress and the gardener should scour the garden, for they thought that from lack of practice he would not fly very far at first; meanwhile Marta and Ricardo should make a thorough search through the house in case he had remained inside, flying through the halls as he had done once before. Marta acted as guide, and they immediately began to look through the suite of rooms next the corridor, a great square chamber with two sleeping-rooms leading from it, in which she and Maria, when they were children, had slept with their respective nurses. The paper on the room represented hunting-scenes, which used to make a great impression on Marta when she was small, especially one illustrating a dying stag, conquered by half a dozen ferocious hounds. Then they passed through several rooms designed for the guests who visited the house; they inspected the girls' rooms, they went down into the kitchen, which was in an entresol, and returned up stairs without any success. Then they visited Don Mariano's library, which was a magnificent room with two balconied windows facing the plaza, decorated in severe classic taste; great leather armchairs, rich tapestries, an ebony writing-desk, and bookcases of the same wood; on the walls hung a few family portraits, painted in oil. Marta always felt in this library a sensation of happiness and well-being which she did not enjoy in the other parts of the house; in this sensation there was a delicious union of reverence and tenderness wherein were blended all her childish recollections, which overflowed with this exclusive, eager, and absorbing love, such as cause the unreasonable anger of children when the nurse tears them from the paternal arms, and the yearning to go to them when they are held out to invite them. As soon as she had strength and skill enough to put his room in order, she never allowed any one else to do it. In the morning she always spent half an hour of delicious ease and comfort, dusting the huge chairs, which cost her a great effort to move from their places, and making Don Mariano's huge bed. She felt happy in that solemn patriarchal chamber. The colossal bookcases, the table, the chairs, the pictures, and the dignified figures of the tapestries fixed on her a silent, benevolent gaze in which she felt as it were alive, her father's great, protecting shadow.
Ricardo halted lazily before a portrait:—
"Is that your aunt? How much you resemble her! What a pity she died so young! She was a very fascinating woman."
"I should like to resemble her. She was very tall, and I am short."
"What difference does that make? You are like her, very much like her. And that is natural, after all, for you are like your father, and you are an Elorza from head to foot. What huge bookcases Don Mariano has! there's enough here to keep one busy a good while."
"Still, Maria has read the most of them."
"And you?"
"Oh, I don't read very much. I am very lazy. Papa says I don't like the black," replied the girl, with her frank smile, and looking a little ashamed; then she added: "But look, Ricardo, it isn't absolutely true, what papa says; though I don't care much for books, some of them please me; but one doesn't get time to take them up. I don't know how I manage not to have an hour for myself. Sometimes it's one thing, sometimes another."
"Confess, little one,[33] that you don't like them, and I won't say any more!"