“Not at all, Señor,” exclaimed Señora de Pardiñas sharply. “Don’t fancy that by thinking evil in this case you will think right. On account of the death of—of her uncle, she was obliged to go out to service.”
“And how long has she been at service?”
“Well, for a year and a half, more or less.”
“And she has been in two situations already. Bad! bad!”
“What do you mean by bad? Nothing of the kind! You are altogether mistaken, Don Nicanor. The poor girl was affected with a sort of homesickness, the homesickness that we Galicians feel when we leave our country for the first time, and she wanted at least to be with some family from there. As you Asturians are a more mixed race, you can’t understand that. Ask the Romeras if they have any complaint to make of the girl; for it was from there she came to this house—which is very much at your service.”
“Ah! ah! homesickness, eh? Romantic notions and affectations, carapuche! Now, indeed, I can safely predict that you will be obliged to take that princess lime-leaf tea for her nerves, every morning. She has more airs than Lucifer! When she has good food and is well treated, I don’t see what the deuce it matters to her what may be the nationality of the people she is with.”
“You are mistaken,” said Señor de Febrero angrily. “This malady called homesickness is a serious affection with our country people, Señor de Candás, and I have even known persons to die of it. Don’t laugh; every one there, even to the cats, knows that, and if you don’t know it, learn it now. Sometimes it is cured by evoking in the mind of the patient a recollection of home. Have you never heard of the conscript who was dying of homesickness in the hospital at Havana? Well, how do you think he was cured, and that like magic? By hearing the muñeira played on the bagpipes of his native place. Exactly as I say, by hearing the muñeira.”
“Don’t be a fool, man, for Heaven’s sake. That conscript must have been as drunk as a fiddler. Pure drunkenness. I would soon cure him with a good flogging.”
“There is no use in talking to you, Don Nicanor. You refuse to believe what we all know to be true. It would be better to pretend to be deaf, as you do. If our little countrywoman does not suit you, Doña Aurora, for such a servant I——”
“Well, I protest! If this man doesn’t want to carry off the fair Helen that you have discovered! It is a crime against public morality. Say no, Doña Aurora; this is something serious!”