But here the coldness of doña Dolores toward him—a coldness which had never once thawed—the preference which after the last night's scene she seemed to give to another person, all combined to deprive this interview of the slightest supposition of love. Was it his renunciation of her hand, and immediate retirement, that doña Dolores was about to request of him?
Singular contradiction of the human mind! The count, who felt for this marriage a repulsion more and more marked, whose formal intention it was to have, as soon as possible, an explanation on this subject with don Andrés de la Cruz, and whose firm resolution it was to withdraw, and renounce the alliance so long prepared, and which displeased him the more because it was forced on him—revolted at the supposition of this renunciation, which, without doubt, doña Dolores was going to ask him; his wounded self-esteem made him regard this question under a perfectly new light, and the contempt which the young lady seemed to feel for his hand, filled him with shame and anger.
He, Count Ludovic de la Saulay, young, handsome, rich, renowned for his wit and elegance, one of the most distinguished members of the jockey club, one of the gods of fashion, whose conquests occupied every mouth in Paris, had produced on a half wild girl no other impression but that of repulsion, had inspired no other feeling but a cold indifference. There was certainly something desperate about this; for an instant he went so far as to fancy—for anger blinded him to such an extent—that he was really in love with his cousin, and he was on the point of swearing to remain deaf to the tears and supplications of doña Dolores, and insisting on the completion of the marriage within the shortest period possible. But fortunately the pride which had urged him to this determination suddenly suggested to him a more simple, and assuredly more agreeable way to escape from the embarrassment.
After taking a complacent glance at his person, a smile of haughty satisfaction lit up his face; he found himself both physically and morally so immeasurably above his surroundings, that he only felt a sort of merciful pity for the poor girl whom the bad education she had received prevented from appreciating the numberless advantages which gave him a superiority over his rivals, or understanding the happiness she would find in an alliance with him.
While revolving all these, and many other thoughts, the count left his rooms, crossed the courtyard, and proceeded to the apartments of doña Dolores. He remarked, though without attaching much importance to the fact, that several saddle horses were waiting in the court, held by peons. At the door of the apartments stood a young Indian girl with pretty face, and sparkling eyes, who greeted him with a smile and a profound courtesy, as she made him a sign to enter. The count followed her; the waiting maid passed through several elegantly furnished rooms, and finally raised a curtain of white China crape, embroidered with large flowers of every hue, and introduced the count, without saying a word, into a delightful boudoir, furnished throughout with China lace.
Doña Dolores, half-reclining on a hammock of aloe fibre, was amusing herself with teasing a pretty parrot half the size of her hand, and was laughing heartily at the little creature's cries of fury.
The young lady was charming, thus: the count had never seen her so lovely. After bowing deeply to her, he stopped in the door, experiencing an admiration mingled with such great stupefaction, that doña Dolores after looking at him for a moment, could not retain her seriousness, but burst out into a silvery peal of laughter.
"Forgive me, cousin," she said to him, "but you look so singular at this moment, that I could not help—"
"Laugh, laugh, my fair cousin," the young man replied, resolved to share this gaiety which he was so far from expecting, "I am delighted to find you in such good humour."
"Do not stay there, cousin," she continued, "set down here near me in this butaca," and with her pink finger she pointed to an armchair.