"If you like, I will confess it; but it isn't true. I like some of them."
"How about Menino?"
"Ay! yes! come, come!"
They went to the next room, which was Doña Gertrudis's, and this alone was proof positive that no sign of Menino was there, though occasionally she had in her head such a singing, as of a whole nest of birds, that it prevented her from resting. Therefore they went to the next room, which was Marta's. It was a room which seemed lined with mirrors, since everything in it was polished, from the wooden floors to the railing of the balconies; whatever was not varnished by the cabinet-maker was rubbed bright with cloths. Marta's great hobby which gave her the most joy and the most trouble was keeping things bright. Her exaggerated love for cleanliness had quickly brought her to the point of trying to put a shine on all the articles of furniture in the house, and more especially those in her own room. Every day, aided by the maid, she rubbed them with a dry flannel, polishing them with unwearied zeal, until you could see your face in them. Then, all out of breath, sometimes dripping with perspiration, her hair in disorder, and her cheeks ablaze, she lifted the flannel and stood awhile contemplating her work, the lovely scintillations made by the light in the polished surface, with a genuine inward satisfaction, with almost mystic enthusiasm. The household made much fun of her, which caused her to hide herself while performing this task, and induced her to lock her room to everybody. Ricardo had never been in it. And so without any thought of Menino he began to inspect it with bold, inquisitive attention; he gazed at the pictures, halted in front of the toilet-table, opened the bottles, felt of the curtains, and even went into the bedroom to see the bed, uttering exclamations of astonishment at the perfect order which he found everywhere, and especially at the wonderful polish of all the furniture.
"What a pretty room you have, child. It's like a silver cup! What a lovely white little bed!"
"Ricardo, don't be inquisitive. Go away; come, Menino isn't here!"
The girl felt annoyed by the young man's curiosity. Every woman of gentle birth feels a certain modesty, if we may say so, in regard to her room, for the reason that there clings about it something like the essence of her very self which she hesitates to let a man approach; but in Marta's case, in addition to this modesty, there was a sense of shame in having her stubborn, childish fancies brought to light, like that of keeping things bright, that of placing the bottles of her dressing-table in a sort of symmetry worthy of an altar, and other such things which served her family as subjects for merriment at dinner time. Consequently she tried to push him out by main force.
"Come Ricardo; there's nothing to see here. Come along, come along!"
"Do let me, niña, do let me have a look at this charming room! How exquisite!" And putting his nose to the bed, he said with great seriousness, "It smells like Marta!"
"Will you be quiet, you foolish fellow!"[34]