The major, who wore the blue uniform and massive silver epaulettes of "the noble Regiment of St. Anthony," and who had the order of St. John of Portugal on his breast, hurried forward to meet and to present us. Then the younger donna blushed crimson, while the elder wished very much to do so too, and dropping her eyelids, fanned herself, and affected to be much agitated. We bowed very low and then stepped back, as it is not the custom in Spain to shake hands. After a few of those complimentary remarks and those commonplaces, which are customary in every country, we should have withdrawn a little to make way for other tertulianos, had not Donna Dominga especially invited us to remain beside her; and while the presentation continued, and all that were noble (being rich or beautiful went for nought in Seville) appeared in succession, and while caballeros and grave and solemn hidalgos, with the red cross of Calatrava, and the little sword of San Jago dangling at their button-holes, advanced slowly, and with a faint smile and courtly bow laid a hand on their heart and lisped the usual and invariable "A los pies de usted, señoras" (I am at your feet, ladies), and then retired; I was chatting gaily with Paulina, who had now become more assured, and who overwhelmed me with a thousand inquiries about Gibraltar and her friends. Meantime that rogue Jack Slingsby poured into her mother's ear pretended messages from MacLeechy, our doctor—messages so tender and so pitiful that the old lady relented and forgave him being married, saying it was "his misfortune, not his fault, poor man;" Jack asserted his belief that the doctor was quite of her opinion; and then the bulbous-shaped fair one made a vigorous use of her fan and snuff-box, as she conjured up the image of the "gay deceiver."
The saloon was a large apartment; the floor was of polished oak, and was varnished until it shone like glass; the ceiling was of cedar, and divided into deep, dark panels; the walls were painted white, and were hung with several dusky pictures, principally of religious subjects; one of these was by Roelas; another by Murillo, and both had narrowly escaped abstraction by the French, during the War of Independence, for Messrs. Soult, Suchet, and Co., made everything march over the Pyrenees that was neither too hot nor too heavy.
Our garrison evening parties in Gibraltar had shown Donna Dominga that considerable improvements might be made upon the solemn gravity of the Spanish tertulia; thus the company were pressed to stay longer than usual in honour of us; we had a few airs on the piano—a very antique instrument, said to have been found among Joseph's baggage at Vittoria, and in no way calculated to give full effect to the compositions of Donizetti, Verdi, or Orsini, which Paulina and her companions attempted to give us; but then they had their guitars, and the lively songs of old Spain, and legendary ballads of the brave Avalos of the Ronda, which if destitute of science, had at least the merit of being full of music and melody.
Every sound was hushed as Paulina sang the song which was wont to turn the heads of half Her Majesty's garrison.
"Since for kissing thee, Minguillo,
Mother's ever scolding me;
Give me swiftly back, O dear one,
Give the kiss I gave to thee!"
Either by chance, or an irresistible inclination, our eyes met just as she sang these very tender and pointed words, and a soft tinge shot over her pure white cheek. My own heart filled with a tumult of emotion, for the aspect of this noble Spanish girl, as she sat on the low tabourette, in an attitude full of grace, with her high proud head and the long veil of black lace that fell from it over her back and shoulders, was so bewildering, that I felt convinced my peace of mind would require an explanation with her before my bantering mentor and I turned our horses' heads once more towards Gibraltar.
We had now a little waltzing, and a quadrille or two, with plenty of groseille and fleur d'orange.
I had a thousand things to tell Paulina; but when she was the centre of almost every eye in the room, it was no easy matter to be tender; besides, whenever I looked round, the comical eye of Jack Slingsby, with a glass stuck in it, was sure to meet mine; for whatever he was about, in the waltz, the quadrille, in a quiet two-handed flirtation (which, by the way, made the old hidalgos of Seville, who are not wont to tolerate such things, shrug their shoulders and elevate their eyebrows) in the middle of a tender speech, when handing fleur d'orange, restoring a fallen fan, or reclasping a bracelet, he seemed to watch all my proceedings with a species of amused interest—so that nothing passed between Paulina and me but the merest commonplaces.
"The moment so ardently wished for has arrived at last," thought I; "she is beside me, and I have not one word of interest for her."
"And you leave Seville to-morrow?" said she, to break an awkward pause.