I seemed to excite the loquacity of the newly-married couple, as Carmen, in her turn, would tell me all the gossip of Pontevedra; the simple tales her friends would write to her; as well as a thousand details regarding the neighbors on the first floor and on the floor above, whom she used to visit evenings, according to the prevalent fashion in Madrid among the middle classes, who improvise every evening a neighborhood party.
In the afternoon my uncle would go out, sometimes alone, and sometimes with his wife. I employed my time in studying or in roaming around with Luis, and so we would not see each other until dinner time. This was a more melancholy affair than luncheon; my aunt would be nervous or excited, or depressed or absent-minded, without being able to disguise it. In the evening she would go up to visit her neighbors, or would do some fancy-work by the fireside, and my uncle would take me out, sometimes to some small theater. So there was no danger there. My close confinement to my studies saved me from the suggestions of idleness. The devil did not know when to tempt me.
You may easily surmise to whom I used to unbosom myself. What are sensible and discreet people like Portal put into the world for, except to listen to the confidential disclosures of lunatics? I believe that my greatest inducement to make a full confession to him was the very fact of the irritation with which Portal would listen to me. His harsh censures were like strokes of the lash or sword thrusts which stimulated me, making me reflect on my situation, and scratch deeper down there in the corners of my spirit.
“My boy,” said my sedate friend one day, “I have discovered now what ails you. I know the medicine for your disease. Take my advice, and you will be well in a quarter of an hour. Your trouble has this technical name: repressed ardor of youth. And the remedy,—guess what the name of that is? It is named Belén.”
“Belén?”
“What? Have you forgotten her already? Belén, that houri with radiant black eyes, who used to paste little angels on cardboard boxes? So you had forgotten all about her? Degenerate one! Well, I have followed the trail. Old fellow, a magic transformation has occurred. You shall behold that creature now at her apogee. She does not drive in her own carriage yet, but she will do so in time.”
“Is that so? Has she found a gran Paganini?” I asked, without the slightest interest.
“I wont tell you anything, so that you may judge for yourself. You will be amazed.”
A few days later my friend conducted me to a fine dwelling in a street both central and retired at the same time. The porch was respectable, the staircase broad and light, and the door of the second story, at which we knocked, had a remarkably serious and discreet air, with its hinges and knobs all shining.
A middle-aged woman, half servant, half housekeeper, dressed in black, opened the door, and, as soon as Luis spoke, invited us into the parlor, saying that she would tell “the Señora.”