“What was most fragrant of all was a bed of mint growing by the pond. I am sorry I did not bring a few of the plants with me.”
“Shall I go get you some? I would be back directly.”
“Heavens! What nonsense, Don Ignacio, to think of going for them now,” said Lucía; but the pleasure caused by the offer dyed her cheeks with crimson. “Do you hear how it is raining?” she added, to change the subject.
“The morning gave no indication of the coming storm,” replied Artegui. “France has, in general, a moist climate, and this basin of the Adour is no exception to the rule. It was a pity not to have been able to drive through Biarritz! There are many fine palaces and agreeable places of resort there. I would have taken you to see the Virgin, who, from her station on a rock, seems to command the troubled waters to be still. There could not be a more artistic idea.”
“How! the Virgin!” said Lucía, greatly interested.
“A statue of the Virgin, standing among the rocks; at sunset the effect is marvelous; the statue seems made of gold and is surrounded by a sea of fire. It is like an apparition.”
“Oh, Don Ignacio, will you take me there to-morrow?” cried Lucía, with, eager, wide-open eyes and clasped hands.
“To-morrow”—Artegui again relapsed into thought. “But, Señora,” he said presently, in a changed voice, “your husband will probably arrive to-day.”
“True.”
The conversation ceased of itself and both sat gazing silently into the fire. Artegui added fresh logs, for the embers were now burning low. The blazing brands crackled and occasionally one would burst open like a ripe pomegranate, sending forth a shower of sparks. The fiery edifice sank under the weight of the fresh materials. The flames gently licked their new prey and then began to dart into it their asp-like tongues, drawing from it with each ardent kiss a cry of pain. Although it was scarcely past the meridian hour, the apartment was almost dark, so black was the sky outside and so fierce the storm.