“Come, Pedro,” said Teresa, “you shall decide. Which do you think the handsomest cavalier?”
“Why,” answered I, “I think that your senhor is, for a fair man, the handsomest I ever saw—but still the beautiful dark eyes of the Donna Emilia’s cavalier are equally prepossessing.”
“Why, Pedro, you have mistaken the two,” said Emilia, “it is Don Perez, the fair one, who is my admirer, and the dark senhor is Don Florez, who is in love with my sister.” I perceived that I had made a mistake when I delivered the notes, and Teresa coloured up. But I had sense enough to answer:— “Very true, madam, you are right; I now recollect that I am confounding the two.”
Shortly afterwards the aunt came into the room, and Teresa quitted it, beckoning me to follow her. As soon as I had joined her, she said, “Now, Pedro, tell the truth: did you not make the mistake that you stated, and deliver my note to the fair cavalier, Don Perez?”
I answered, “that I had, as I had already delivered Emilia’s note to the dark gentleman.” Donna Teresa put her hands over her face, and wept bitterly,—“Pedro, you must now keep this secret, for it is of the greatest importance.—My God, what will become of me?” cried she; and for some time she was in the greatest distress: at last she wiped her eyes, and after much reflection, she took up paper and wrote a note. “Pedro, take this note to the direction; recollect it is for the dark cavalier that it is intended.” Teresa had read the note of Emilia to Don Perez, which had been received by Don Florez—in consequence her present note ran thus:— “You may think me harsh for having refused to see you last night, but I was afraid. Do not accuse me with trifling with your feelings, I will meet you in the saloon that leads to the garden, which was last night occupied; come at ten this evening.”
I went out with the note and gave it into the hands of Don Florez. “My dear boy, tell Donna Teresa I will not fail; I know now why she could not receive me last night; I only hope I may be as fortunate as Don Perez.” He put a doubloon in my hand, and I went away. I had not quitted the street when I met Don Perez.
“Ah! my little page, this is indeed lucky; just step to my rooms while I write a note to Donna Emilia.” I did so, and he gave me a quarter-doubloon as before. “I thank you, senhor,” replied I; “what with the doubloons of Don Florez and your quarter-doubloons, I shall soon be a rich man.”
“How say you,” replied he, “Don Florez give you doubloons—then he spoils the market; but I must not allow him to pay you better than I do, or I shall not be served so faithfully.—Here’s a doubloon and a half, which, with what you have already received, will make the accounts square.” I made my bow, and with many thanks withdrew.
Young as I was, I had an idea that something had occurred at the mistaken meeting of last night, which seriously affected Donna Teresa. As I was much more partial to her than to her sister, I resolved not to deliver the note of Don Perez to Emilia, until I had consulted Donna Teresa. On my return, I beckoned her into her chamber, and told her the answer of Don Florez, with his observation, “that he hoped he should be as fortunate as Don Perez was last night.” She coloured with shame and vexation; and I then told her how I had met Don Perez, and what had passed. I then gave her the note, and asked whether I should deliver it or not. She hastily tore it open—it ran as follows:—“How can I sufficiently express my gratitude to my adored Emilia, for her kindness to me last night? Tell me, dearest angel, when am I to have the pleasure of meeting you again in the saloon? Till you once more grant me the favour, life will be a blank.”
“Pedro,” said she, “you have indeed done me a service—you have been my preserver. How can I ever repay you?”