In reality, Rogelio was extraordinarily flattered and pleased by Esclavita’s complaint. If his coldness and indifference touched her so profoundly, it was because the girl did not regard him as a child, or, as she said, a boy. Is any one vexed or troubled by what a child does or says? There was not a doubt but that she looked on him as a man, and a man on whose conduct her peace of mind depended; she took it so much to heart that her spirits and even her health were affected by it. Rogelio allowed his mind to dwell with pleasure on this thought. During breakfast, however, notwithstanding his mother’s repeated signals, he made no change in his manner toward the girl. Without knowing why, he felt ashamed of making this alteration in Doña Aurora’s presence. However, he glanced furtively from time to time at Esclavita, who—no doubt from the excited state of his imagination—seemed to him thin and pale and drooping like a willow. As this idea took possession of him his noble youthful heart overflowed with compassion, but his vanity, youthful also, thrilled with sweet satisfaction. “And it is on my account that she suffers thus,” he thought. “To judge by the respectful attention with which she serves me one might almost think her afraid of me.”
Rogelio was washing his hands in his room when he heard a light tap at the door, and in answer to his summons, “Come in,” Esclavita entered carrying a shallow willow basket containing half a dozen ironed shirts. Holding her burden in her uplifted hands, the girl’s fine figure and her graceful and rhythmic gait were displayed to advantage. She was going to lay the shirts upon the bed and leave the room again without speaking, when Rogelio, going up to her and shaking his hand threateningly at her, cried:
“Let us see how these cuffs are ironed. If I find a single scorch on them, woe be to you!”
On hearing the young man’s voice,
“Holding her burden in her uplifted hands.”
Esclavita started, imagining at first that he was scolding her in earnest; but when she raised her eyes and noticed the expression on his countenance, she saw that he was jesting. Her glance revealed such sincere joy, she was so visibly relieved, so delighted, in a word, that the young man’s kind heart was once more pleasurably thrilled, and in order to conceal his emotion he went on with the jest.
“Is it right that I should go about like a half-pay government official with my shirts looking like the face of the worthy Señor Don Prudencio Rojas? Let me see; lift up that snowy gauze and show me those inner garments. If my togæ pretextæ display the wrinkles of old age, fly, I warn you, beyond the reach of my avenging wrath.”
Esclavita’s face, that had been gradually clearing up, brightened as she lifted up the cloth with a look of affectionate mischievousness.
“Let us see, Señorito,” she said, “let us see what fault you have to find with these bosoms. Not even the king himself wears finer ones.”