None could tell. Hermosa herself could not, perhaps, have given an explanation.
This was the reason: without accounting to herself for the change she was undergoing, Hermosa awoke as from a long slumber; her heart beat more quickly, her blood coursed more rapidly in her veins, a flood of unknown thoughts rushed from her heart to her brain, making it whirl. In one word, the girl felt she had become a woman.
A vague uneasiness without apparent cause, a feverish irritability, agitated her by turns; sometimes a stifled sob would rend her bosom, and a burning tear show like a pearl on her eyelashes; then her purple lips would part under the influence of a charming smile, the reflection of thoughts she could not define, beseeching her to drive them away, and return to the calm and heedless joys she was losing forever.
"Yes!" she cried suddenly, bounding from her couch with the grace of a startled fawn; "Yes: I will discover who he is."
Hermosa had involuntarily allowed the key of the riddle to escape her. Possessed by the spirit whose voice was evoking her inward agitation, she loved—or at least Love was on the point of revealing himself to her.
Scarcely had she uttered the words we have reported, than she blushed deeply, and, urged by a charming impulse of maiden modesty, ran to draw before the image of the Virgin the curtain used to conceal it.
The Virgin, the habitual confidante of the girl, was not to know the secrets of the woman. Full of holy fervour, Hermosa had immediately seized upon this delicate distinction; perhaps she mistrusted herself; perhaps the feeling which had been so suddenly and violently awakened in her heart did not seem pure enough to be confided, with all its longings and desires, to her at whose feet she had hitherto deposited all her hopes and aspirations.
Feeling calmer after this action, which, in her superstitious ignorance, she fancied would shroud her from the piercing eye of her heavenly protectress, Doña Hermosa regained her couch, and touched a silver bell standing beside her. At the sound, the door softly opened half way, and the arch face of a charming chola (maid) appeared at the opening with a look of inquiry.
"Come in, chica" (girl), said her mistress, making a sign for her to approach.
The chola, a slim maiden, of lithe figure, and whose skin was slightly tawny, like that of all half-breeds kneeled gracefully at the feet of her mistress, fixed her great black eyes upon her, and smilingly asked what she wanted.