CHAPTER X.
We took a sea-bath the following morning; we walked about in San Andrés, feeling our importance, for our presence was an event in the little village; we visited the parochial church; we gathered shells on the beach; and yet were back at Tejo at nine o’clock, ready for our chocolate. Father Moreno did not accompany us; he preferred to take his bath in the afternoon, because he did not like to omit his mass. My uncle had not yet made his appearance, nor would he come until one o’clock in the afternoon, our dinner hour; so Carmen was free from the duty of entertaining her lover, and had time to devote to me, even showing herself affectionate and unreserved.
“You retired early last night because you felt bored. Really we do not know how to entertain you, and it will be hard for you if you do not try to find some amusement for yourself in the country.”
“Don’t worry yourself on that account. I like the country very much, and I never feel bored there. This place is beautiful; this morning I had a splendid bath.”
“And how is my ungrateful friend Benigna? How sorry I am that she will not come! Your mother is very agreeable, and I always liked her—now with all the more reason.”
“You see it is not easy to make my mother stir. She always has so much to do.”
After these commonplace remarks my prospective aunt and I sat like ninnies, without knowing what to say. At last she said courteously and very amiably:
“As you brought me such a beautiful present, would you not like to see some of the others I have received? I keep them in a room by themselves, because the girls are so curious and so fond of meddling. Come this way.”
I followed after her. She carried several keys in her pocket, which rattled prettily, with a familiar sound, as she walked along. She took out the bunch of keys, opened the mysterious door, and pulled back the curtains, displaying the splendors of the wedding gifts. When I say splendors, it should not be taken too literally, because there were plenty of articles of provincial make; and others, though they came from Madrid, were not of the finest taste—at least so far as I am able to judge of those things. The bride-elect went on telling me about them all. That black satin dress, trimmed with jet, was a present from the bridegroom, as were also the pearl ear-rings set with diamonds. Papa had squandered his money on a rich blue silk brocade; and there, too, were the little hats to correspond. Another dress seemed very beautiful to my uninitiated eyes: it was a dull white silk, with a delicate net-work of imitation pearls in front, a beautiful train, and two clusters of leaves and flowers, placed with exquisite taste.
This, Carmen said, was a thing without utility, a caprice of Señora Sotopeña’s, who had been commissioned with the selection of finery in Madrid, and who had insisted that the bride must have an evening dress. The jewels given by the father were some old family jewels reset; there was a splendid brooch, and several other things. The Sotopeña family had sent her an elegant fan, representing Fortuny’s “Vicarage,” and with shell sticks. Her brother had given her an ordinary-looking bracelet. Then followed a collection of jewel-cases, albums, useless articles,—the thousand and one trifles, as ordinary as they are worthless, which are only bought and sold on the pretext of giving a present on the occasion of a wedding or birthday. Behind them all, in one corner, as though ashamed of itself, was a most singular object—an enormous rat-trap.