CHAPTER IX.
MARISALADA was already convalescent, as if nature had desired to recompense the excellent treatment of Stein, and the charitable care of the good Maria. She was decently dressed; and her hair, well combed and gathered behind her neck, bore evidence of the attention which Dolores had shown in putting her coiffure in order.
One day when Stein was reading in his chamber, whose window overlooked the grand court where the children amused themselves in company with Marisalada, he heard her imitate the songs of various birds with such rare perfection, that he closed his book to admire this really extraordinary talent.
Soon after commenced one of those recitations so common in Spain, and which consist of playing and singing at the same time. Marisalada took the part of the mother; Pepe that of a young cavalier who came to demand of her the hand of her daughter; the mother refused him; the young man would take possession of her by force of his love; and all this dialogue, composed of couplets, was sung with exquisite melody.
The book fell from the hands of Stein, who, like all good Germans, passionately loved music.
Never had so beautiful a voice struck his ear. It was a metal pure and ringing like crystal, smooth and flexible as silk. Stein hardly dared to breathe, so much did he fear to lose a single note.
“You are there, all ears,” said Maria, who entered the chamber unknown to Stein. “Have I not warned you that she is a canary set free?”
And upon this she descended to the court and asked Marisalada to sing her a song.
She refused, with her accustomed tartness.
At this moment Momo entered, singularly dressed and driving before him the ass laden with charcoal. He had his hands and face bedaubed and black as ink.