Señora de Pardiñas tried to turn the conversation, but if there is anything in the world more persistent than a child’s caprice, it is an old man’s whim. Don Gaspar played with his crutch, turning it round and round, and then, unable to restrain himself longer, said:
“Do you know, friend Aurora, if I may say so, that I have not yet taken a good look at the face of that girl? And I am curious to know if she really resembles a certain Señorita de Vivero—a lovely girl she was, by the way—that we boys used to call the little Magdelen—somewhere about the year ’24 or ’25. Could you not call her with the excuse of bringing a glass of water, or the like?”
The meaning look that passed between mother and son was observed by Lain Calvo, who exclaimed with simulated terror, and forgetting for the moment his pretended deafness:
“Caray, my dear Doña Aurora, don’t call that nymph, I beg of you; if you do, you will be responsible for the ruin of our friend Señor de Febrero. At Don Gaspar’s age, the passions make sad havoc. Prudence, Don Gasparin, remember that there is a heaven above us.”
When Esclavita, whom Doña Aurora called under some pretext, entered the room, no one could help smiling. This embarrassed the girl, who, not knowing the cause of their merriment, blushed furiously, and as a consequence, looked lovelier than ever, with that charm peculiar to her, that chaste and modest air, through which could be divined a firmness of character bordering on obstinacy. Señor de Febrero devoured her with his eyes. The old man’s head was turned. When Esclavita had left the room Lain Calvo whispered to Señora de Pardiñas:
“Well, the girl may be a treasure, but as for me”—and he touched his throat significantly—“I can’t swallow her. I steer clear of those girls that grow confused the moment one looks at them. Keep an eye upon her, Doña Aurora. Take care!”
“I don’t know why you should say that, Señor Candás,” said Señora de Pardiñas with displeasure, wounded in the affection she felt for the girl.
“Girls like that, that look as quiet as mice, are very limbs of Satan,” declared the malicious Asturian. “They pretend to be modest, and all they want is to be coaxed; they pretend to be innocent, and they are more full of wiles than the devil himself. They are the kind of women who say, ‘Don’t ask me for a kiss, that would be shocking! But if you steal one, why, it can’t be helped.’”
“Señor Candás, there are certain insinuations that can only be qualified as venomous,” Nuño Rasura exclaimed angrily, striking the floor with his crutch. “When the honor of the fair sex is in question, one cannot be too careful; one should consider well what one says and not speak lightly of any one.”
“So, so!” replied the Crown Solicitor, taking refuge in his deafness. “I see this class of women give you, too, something to think about. It is not for nothing that we have lived all these years, and have lost our teeth and our hair. But tell me, Doña Aurora, how this wandering princess happened to come here. Was she forsaken by some Galician Æneas? There seems to be some mystery in the affair.”