“Have the caterer notified that we give a reception to-morrow. Maria must get ready for her marriage at once. When Señor Linares is our son-in-law, all the palaces will be open to us; and every one will die of envy.”
And so, toward eight o’clock the next evening, the house of Captain Tiago was once more full. This time, however, he had invited only Spaniards, peninsular and Philippine, and Chinese. Yet many of our acquaintances were there. Father Sibyla and Father Salvi, among numerous Franciscans and Dominicans; the old lieutenant of the Municipal Guard, more sombre than ever; the alférez, recounting his victory for the thousandth time, looking over the heads of everybody, now that he is lieutenant with grade of commandant; Dr. Espadaña, who looks upon him with respect and fear, and avoids his glance; Doña Victorina, who cannot see him without anger. Linares had not yet arrived; as a person of importance, he must arouse expectation. There are beings so simple, that an hour’s waiting for a man suffices to make him great in their eyes.
Maria Clara was the object of interest to all the women, and the subject of unveiled comments. She had received these ceremoniously, without losing her air of sadness.
“Bah! the proud little thing!” said one.
“Rather pretty,” said another, “but he might have chosen some one with a more intelligent face.”
“But the money, my dear! The good fellow is selling himself.”
In another group some one was saying:
“To marry when one’s first fiancé is going to be hung!”
“That is what is called prudent; having a substitute at hand.”
“Then, when one becomes a widow——”