Every noise in the street and every passing carriage made the girl tremble with anxiety and wish that she were again back in the convent among her friends. There, she thought, she could see him without trembling and with perfect equanimity.
“I believe, Maria, that the doctor is right,” said Captain Tiago. “You ought to go to the provinces. You are looking very pale and need a change of air. How does Malabon strike you, or San Diego?”
At the mere mention of the latter name, Maria Clara blushed and was unable to speak.
“Now, you and Isabel go to the convent to get your things and say good bye to your friends,” continued the Captain, without raising his head. “You will not return there. And in four or five days, when your clothes are ready we shall go to Malabon. —Your godfather, by the way, is not in San Diego at present. The priest whom you saw here last night, that young fellow, is now the priest in the town. He is a saint.”
“I think you will find San Diego better, cousin,” said Aunt Isabel. “Our house there is better than the one in Malabon, and besides, it is nearly time for the fiesta to take place.”
Maria Clara was about to embrace her aunt for these welcome words, but just then a carriage stopped in front of the house and the young girl suddenly turned pale.
“That’s so,” said the Captain, and then, in a changed tone, exclaimed, “Don Crisostomo!”
Maria Clara let fall the work which she was holding in her hands. A nervous trembling passed over her. Then steps were heard on the stairs and presently a young, manly voice. And, as if this voice had some magic power, the girl shook off her emotion, started to run, and hid herself in the oratory. Both father and aunt had to laugh at this, and even Ibarra heard the closing of the door behind her.
Pale and panting, the girl finally subdued her emotion and began to listen. She could hear his voice, that voice which for so long a time she had heard only in her dreams. Beside herself with joy, she kissed the nearest saint, which, by the way, happened to be San Antonio, the abbot. Happy saint! Whether alive or carved in wood, always tempted in the most charming manner! Becoming quite herself again, she looked about for some crack through which she might get a peep at the young man. Finally, when he came in range of the key-hole and she again saw his fine features, her face beamed with smiles. In fact, the sight filled her with such joy that when her aunt came to call her, Maria Clara fell on the old lady’s neck and kissed her repeatedly.
“You goose! What is the matter with you?” the old lady was finally able to ask, after wiping away her tears.