A group of pinafored urchins who were hanging about outside told us that it was the fiesta of the master of the house.
It was rude, inquisitive, and wholly inexcusable, of course, but, incited thereto by curiosity, we drew nearer and nearer until we could see into the room which opened directly from the street, and wherein a young girl and a grey-haired man were seated, mandolines on knees, playing a duet. They performed without music but in perfect harmony.
The girl, who was dark-eyed and pretty, was attired gaily in honour of the festivity. She wore a red skirt, a pale-green bodice, and an elaborately embroidered white apron. Blue ribbons adorned her well-oiled hair, silver bracelets and rings decorated her slender wrists and skilful fingers. The man was evidently her father. In the background we got an impression of guests and of a presiding matronly presence.
With a final flourish the melody ceased.
"Bravo!" we cried, and clapped our hands.
It was no longer possible to ignore the presence of the impertinent foreigners. Indeed, it almost seemed as though the sociable Majorcans welcomed the opportunity of recognizing our uninvited appearance. For, as we turned to go, the mistress of the house hurried out, a hastily vacated chair in either hand, to urge us to enter, and would take no refusal.
Within, the guests had rearranged themselves. Retiring further into the room, they had left space for us. It would have been discourteous to reject the hospitality so unaffectedly offered.
Our little party was soon grouped inside the doorway, and the father, whose fiesta it was, laying aside his mandoline, seated himself at an old piano, and the concert began afresh, the daughter playing the mandoline to her father's accompaniment on the venerable instrument. The company, which included two priests, smoked as it listened appreciatively.
On the centre table was a liqueur-stand, two decanters of red wine, and a large round dish holding a giant enciamada. When the music ended and we rose to go, the hostess advanced carrying the liqueur-stand, and, doing the honours with an ease of manner and dignity of bearing that might have adorned any social rank, she insisted on pouring out a little glass of aniset for each of us. Having drunk to the health of the hero of the fiesta, we made our farewells and departed, delighted with this chance glimpse of placid and happy home-life, and wondering what manner of reception a party of curious intrusive foreigners who disturbed the peace of a family gathering would have met in our own conservative country.
That afternoon at Fornalutx was fated to be one of those that stand clearly out in the memory, not because of any special adventure or of any great occurrence, but simply because it held a succession of captivating little incidents, of happy chances.