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diff --git a/25726-h/25726-h.htm b/25726-h/25726-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b563f3e --- /dev/null +++ b/25726-h/25726-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3159 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="iso-8859-1"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + The Pretty Sister of José, by Frances Hodgson Burnett + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +Project Gutenberg's The Pretty Sister Of José, by Frances Hodgson Burnett + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Pretty Sister Of José + 1889 + +Author: Frances Hodgson Burnett + +Release Date: June 8, 2008 [EBook #25726] +Last Updated: September 17, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PRETTY SISTER OF JOSÉ *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + + <p> + <br /><br /> <br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img alt="010 (94K)" src="images/010.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img alt="titlepage (22K)" src="images/titlepage.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE PRETTY SISTER OF JOSÉ + </h1> + <h2> + By Frances Hodgson Burnett + </h2> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h4> + Charles Scribner’s Sons - 1889 + </h4> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + Contents + </h2> + <h2> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> THE PRETTY SISTER OF JOSÉ </a> + </h2> + <table summary=""> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + List of Illustrations + </h2> + <table summary=""> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#linkimage-0001"> And then She Would Take the Guitar </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#linkimage-0002"> Took Her to the Public Gardens </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#linkimage-0003"> Shook the Small Stray Blossoms out of Her + Hair </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#linkpresident"> Addressing the President of the Games </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#linkimage-0004"> We Will Make It More Amusing </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#linkimage-0005"> She Leaned Against the Side of The Well + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#linkimage-0006"> Her Hands Still Clasped Behind Her Head + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#linkimage-0007"> Pepita Sat Down on the Threshold </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#linkimage-0008"> Shuddering and Sobbing Like a Beaten + Child </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#linkimage-0009"> The Slender Body Breathless and Panting + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#linkimage-0010"> She is a Pretty Young Girl </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#linkimage-0011"> Dios! Dios! he Murmured </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + THE PRETTY SISTER OF JOSÉ + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. + </h2> + <p> + It had taken him a long time, and it had cost him—José—much + hard labor, to prepare for his aged grandmother and Pepita the tiny home + outside Madrid, to which he at last brought them in great triumph one hot + summer’s day, when the very vine-leaves and orange-trees themselves were + dusty. It had been a great undertaking for him in the first place, for he + was a slow fellow—José; slow as he was dull and kind and faithful to + Pepita and the grandmother. He had a body as big as an ox, and a heart as + big as his body, but he was slow and dull in everything but one thing—that + was his carpenter work. He was well enough at that, and more than well + enough, for he had always had a fancy and a knack for it from the time + when as a boy he had worked in his uncle’s vineyards and tilled his fields + and fed his beasts. His uncle had been counted a rich man among his + neighbors, but when his sister and her husband died and left the two + children, José and Pepita, penniless, and with no protector save himself + and their grandmother, already an old woman, it was upon the grandmother + that the burden fell, for he did nothing for them except to give them, + grudgingly now and then, a few poor vegetables or a little fallen fruit. + It is true that when José was old enough to labor in the fields he gave + him work to do, but he paid him ill and treated him ill also, giving him + poor food and harsh words, and often enough blows the poor lad did not + deserve. So it came about that while he was at his work José fell into the + way of planning to escape from all this, and make another home for himself + and his pretty child-sister and the old woman. He knew there was only one + way to do it: if he could carry his one gift where it would be of more use + to him than it could possibly be in a poor small village; if he could + carry it to a market where there were more people and where work was + better paid for. Where the king and queen were, of course, there must be + more money, and one could find more to do and live better. It was Padre + Alejandro, the village priest, who had suggested this to him first. He was + a kind, jovial old fellow, the padre, and had seen something of the world, + too, long ago, which was perhaps why he was never very hard upon a simple + sinner who went to confession, and could give a bit of unecclesiastical + advice now and then. He had always been kind to José, and as Pepita had + grown prettier and prettier every day, he had often spoken of her to old + Jovita, and said she should be well taught and taken care of, and once + even—when she had come into the house with a basket of grapes on her + little head, rose-flushed with the hot day, her black hair curling in + moist silken rings on her forehead—he had been betrayed into the + worldly remark that such pretty young things ought to have something + brighter to look forward to than hard work and scant fare, which made them + old before their time, and left them nothing to look back upon. But he + only said it to Jovita, and Jovita only stared a little, it never having + occurred to her that there was anything much in the world but hard labor + and poverty. And what difference did it make that one was pretty, except + that it became more probable that some gay, lazy fellow would pretend to + fall in love with one, and then after marriage leave one all the work to + do and a houseful of hungry children to feed? She had seen that often + enough. Had it not been so with Pepita’s mother, who died at twenty-five + almost an old woman, worn out with trouble and hard usage? + </p> + <p> + But afterward, when Padre Alejandro saw José, he spoke of Pepita to him + also, though only as if incidentally among other things. + </p> + <p> + “She should marry some good fellow who could take care of her,” he said. + “If you go to Madrid it will also be better for her.” + </p> + <p> + And so the end of it all was that after much slow planning and many hopes + and fears, and more than one disappointment, there came a day when the + uncle was thrown into a violent rage by losing his best and most patient + worker, and the poor cottage stood empty, and José and Pepita and Jovita + found themselves in a new world. + </p> + <p> + What a new world it seemed to them all! Through the help of Padre + Alejandro and an old friend of his, José had work bringing him pay which + appeared absolute wealth to him. The cottage, with its good walls and + roof, its neat rooms and garden, being compared with the mere hut they had + left behind, seemed a palace. For the first few days, indeed, Jovita was + scarce at ease; to feel no necessity for heavy labor, to have food enough, + to be so comfortable, seemed unnatural, as if it might finally bring + disaster. But it was not so with Pepita. All the joy of youth, all its + delights and expectations filled her heart. To be so near the great, grand + city, to look forward to seeing all its splendors, to walk in its streets, + to share in the amusements she had heard of—this was rapture. If she + had been pretty before, she became now ten times prettier; her lovely eyes + grew larger with laughter and wonder and joy; her light feet almost + danced; her color was like that of a damask rose. Each day brought new + innocent happiness to her. When José came home from his work at night, she + sat by his side and asked him a thousand questions. Had he seen the palace—had + he seen the king or the queen—what were the people doing—were + the public gardens beautiful? + </p> + <p> + <a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> + <!-- IMG --></a> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img src="images/010.jpg" alt="And then She Would Take the Guitar 010 " width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + And then she would take the guitar, which had belonged to her gay father + in his gayest days, and sit out in the little garden, among the vines and + lemon-trees and oleanders, and play and sing one song after another, while + José smoked and rested, and wondered at and delighted in her. It was she + who had inherited all her father’s gayety and spirit. José had none of + them, and, being slow and simple, had always found her a wonder and a + strange pleasure. She had, indeed, been the one bright thing in his life, + and even her wilfulness had a charm for him. He always gave way to it and + was content. Had she not even once defied the uncle when no one else would + have dared to do it? holding her little head up and confronting him in + such a burst of pretty rage that the old curmudgeon had been quite quelled + for once in his life, and had ever afterward treated her with a kind of + respect, even saying to a neighbor that “the lad was a fool, but the + little devil had something in her, after all.” + </p> + <p> + In all his plannings it was Pepita José had thought of first. Madrid to + him was only a sort of setting for Pepita; the clean, comfortable cottage + a home for Pepita; the roses and lemon blossoms she would wear in her + hair; under the fine grape-vines she would sit in the evening and play on + her guitar. His wages would give her comfort and buy her pretty simple + dresses. And then every one would see her beauty, and when she went to + mass, or with himself and Jovita to the Prado or the Paseo de la Virgen + del Puerto, people would look at her and tell each other how pretty she + was, and all this would end in time in a good marriage perhaps. And she + would be loved by some nice fellow, and have a home of her own, and be as + happy as the day was long. There was only one obstacle in the way of this + excellent plan; it was only a small obstacle, but—it was Pepita + herself! Singularly enough, Pepita had a fixed antipathy to marriage. She + had early announced her intention of remaining unmarried, and those young + men who in her native village had desired to make love to her had been + treated with disapproval and disdain. Knowing as little of love as a young + bird unfledged, her coldness was full of innocent cruelty. She made no + effort to soften any situation. She was willing to dance and laugh and + sing, but when she found herself confronting lover-like tremors and + emotion, she was unsparing candor itself. + </p> + <p> + “Why should I listen to you?” she had said more than once. “I do not love + you. You do not please me. When you wish to marry me, I hate you. Go away, + and speak to some one else.” + </p> + <p> + “I will never marry any one,” she said to José. “I will stay with you and + be happy. Girls who marry grow ugly and are wretched. Their husbands do + not love them after they are married. They must work and slave and take + care of the house and the children. Look at Tessa! Her husband used to be + wild about her. She could make him pale with misery if she turned away + from him; he used to follow her about everywhere. Now he makes eyes at + Juanita, and beats Tessa if she complains. And don’t we both remember how + it was with our mother? I will never love any one, and never be married. + Let them love me if they are so stupid, but I will be left alone. I care + nothing for any of them.” + </p> + <p> + The truth is that José knew it was what she remembered of her mother’s + unhappiness and what Jovita had told her, which was the foundation of all + this. Did he not remember it himself, and remember, with a shudder, those + first miserable years of their childhood—the great, beautiful, + wretched eyes of their mother, their gay, handsome father, and his + careless cruelty and frequent brutality? Had not Pepita and himself clung + together hidden in the loft at night, listening to their mother’s sobs, + and often to the sound of blows and curses rained down upon her because + she was no longer a beauty, and there were beauties who had smiles to + bestow on handsome fellows who were free, and even upon those who were + not? It was enough to irritate any handsome fellow—this one had + thought—to come home to a squalid place after enjoyment, and be + forced to face poverty and children and a haggard wife with large staring + eyes, red with weeping. Yes, Pepita and José remembered all this, and upon + Pepita’s character it had left curious traces. Young as she was, she had + awakened quite grand passions in more than one heart, and on two or three + occasions the suitors had been of far better fortune than herself—one + of them, indeed, being the only son of a rich farmer, who might have + chosen a wife of much greater importance than this pretty, scornful child, + and whose family rebelled bitterly against his folly, and at last sent him + away to Seville, but not before Pepita herself had coolly trodden him + under her small feet. + </p> + <p> + “I like you less than any of them,” she said, fixing her great, direct + eyes upon him when he revealed his frenzy. “Go and marry that girl your + father chose for you—if she will have you. They have no need to be + afraid and speak ill of me. I don’t want you. I can’t bear to have you + stand near me.” + </p> + <p> + To José it never occurred to complain of her, but Jovita’s sense of + worldly advantage was outraged at this time, and she did not hesitate to + express herself with much freedom and grumbling. + </p> + <p> + “God knows, I want no haste,” she said; “but this is a chance for any + girl. And see what a fool she is. But that is as it always happens. There + will come along some worthless fellow, and she will be fooled like the + rest, and be ready enough to run after him.” + </p> + <p> + “I!” said Pepita, who stood in the doorway. “I!” And she opened her dark + eyes in genuine anger and amazement. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you,” answered Jovita. “And you will be worse than any of them. + Girls who think themselves too good to be spoken to are always easiest to + coax when they find their match. Let him come, and you’ll drop like a ripe + grape.” + </p> + <p> + “He will never come,” said Pepita. “Never!” And there was not a shade of + doubt in her look—nothing but cold indignation at Jovita’s + ill-humor. “I am not afraid of men. They are all stupid. They think they + can have anything they want, and they can have nothing. They have to ask, + and it is the girls who can say ‘No;’ and then they are miserable, and beg + and beg until one detests them. If any one said ‘No’ to me, I would not + let them see it hurt me. They should think I did not care.” + </p> + <p> + “You will not always say ‘No,’” grumbled Jovita. “Wait till the day for + ‘Yes’ comes. You’ll say it fast enough. That’s the way with women.” + </p> + <p> + A bewitching little smile slowly curved Pepita’s lips and crept into her + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I am not a woman,” she said, looking out at the sun-warmed vineyards. “He + said so himself. Felipe said, ‘You are not a woman; you are a witch, and + no one can touch your heart or conquer you.’ I will be a witch.” + </p> + <p> + Secretly she had liked those words better than any of the adoring praises + she had heard before. She liked the suggestion that she was invincible and + safe from all danger—to be a witch—to be free from all this + disastrous folly—to be unconquerable. Yes, that pleased her. It was + not her fault that they would fall in love with her. What did she do to + them? Nothing. She never allowed them to come near her or touch her; she + never gave them tender glances or words. She laughed and was Pepita—that + was all. Then it was no fault of hers. + </p> + <p> + And yet her little heart was warm enough. She loved José passionately; she + loved Jo-vita; she loved little children and animals, and they loved her + in return; old men and women adored her because of her simple, almost + childish kindness and her readiness to help those who needed her young + strength and bright spirit. It was only men who made love who were shown + no mercy. She did not know that they needed mercy. She did not understand—that + was all. It was as José had known it would be. When on the first holiday + be took her to the public gardens with Jovita, every one who passed them + gave her a second look; many turned to watch her; certainly there was not + a man who did not glance over his shoulder at the bewitching girlish + figure with the small round waist, at the piquant radiant face, at the + well-carried little head with the red rose blooming in its cloud of soft + black hair. + </p> + <p> + <a name="linkimage-0002" id="linkimage-0002"> + <!-- IMG --></a> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img src="images/035.jpg" alt="Took Her to the Public Gardens 035 " width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + It was not long before two or three who were José’s fellow-workmen sought + him out and greeted him with great warmth. They had, it appeared, a great + deal to say and many attentions to lavish upon him. Such a fine fellow, + this José—such a good fellow—such a workman as was seldom seen + in Madrid. And what a fine day for pleasure. And the Paseo de la Virgen + del Puerto—there never were such gardens for sport. And all the time + each one looked at Pepita, and lucky indeed was the man with mother and + sisters to help him to make friends. And never had old Jovita met with + such civilities, and encountered such deference. Pepita had the joy of a + young bird in its first flight. The air of gayety enlivening everything, + the people in their holiday clothes, the blue sky, the sunshine, the cheap + simple pleasures of the day, were intoxicating delights to her. She made + friends with the girls and their parents, and was even gracious to the + young men who hung about José, and somehow seemed to find his neighborhood + more attractive than any other. It was from one of these young men (his + name was Manuel) she first heard of Sebastiano—the gay, the + wonderful, the renowned Sebastiano. He had asked her, this Manuel, if she + was going to the Plaza de Toros to see the bull-fight the following week, + and when she said she did not know—that she had never seen a + bull-fight—he found a great deal to say. He described the wonders of + the great bull ring, where twelve thousand people could be accommodated, + and where grand and beautiful ladies richly dressed and surrounded by + their lovers and husbands uttered cries of joy and excitement as the fight + became more dangerous, and both bulls and toreadors showed greater courage + and fire; he described the costumes, the music, the picadors dashing in + upon their horses; the banderilleros with their darts and ribbons; the + matador with his reckless daring, his nerves and muscles of steel, and his + lightning leaps. And then he described Sebastiano. Never before, it + appeared from his enthusiasm, had Madrid known such a matador as + Sebastiano. Never one so handsome, so dashing, so universally adored. When + he appeared in the ring, what a roar of applause went up. When he made his + proud bow to the president, and said, “I go to slay this bull for the + honor of the people of Madrid and the most excellent president of this + tourney,” and threw his hat away and moved forward, waving his scarlet + cloak, what excitement there was awakened. Songs were sung about him in + the streets, fans were ornamented with pictures of his daring deeds, there + were stories of great ladies who had wept their eyes out for love of him, + and as to the women of his own class, there was not a girl in Madrid who + did not dream of him. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” said Pepita, in her cold, soft voice, and with the simply cold and + curious look in her great, richly lashed eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Because they are in love with him—all of them,” replied Manuel, + sweepingly. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” said Pepita, again. + </p> + <p> + “’ Why?’” Manuel echoed, somewhat bewildered by the frank, indifferent + ignoring of all natural reasons in this question—“‘why?’ Because he + is so tall and strong and well made, because he is handsome, because he is + more daring and graceful than any of the others—because he is + Sebastiano.” + </p> + <p> + Pepita laughed, and opened and shut her fan quickly. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you laugh?” inquired Manuel. + </p> + <p> + “I was thinking how he must despise them,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” said Manuel, who was not very clever; “he is always good to + women. There was Sarita—a poor little thing who had always lived in + the country. She saw him at her first bull-fight and was never happy + afterward. She could think of nothing else, and she was too innocent to + hide it. She used to slip away from home and contrive to follow him when + he did not see her. She found a woman who knew some one who knew him, and + she gave her all her little savings in presents to bribe her to be her + friend and talk to her about him. Once or twice she met him, and because + she was such a pretty little one, he spoke kindly to her and praised her + eyes and her dancing. He did not know she was in love with him.” + </p> + <p> + Pepita laughed again. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you do that?” Manuel asked. + </p> + <p> + “He knew,” said Pepita. “He would <i>think</i> she was, even if she cared + nothing for him, and since she did care he would know before she did and + would be proud of it, and make it as much worse as he could.” + </p> + <p> + Manuel gazed at her a moment in silence, twirling his rather small + mustacha. This beautiful, cool, mocking little person, the melting + softness of whose eyes and lips should have promised such feminine + tenderness and emotion, bewildered him greatly; it was plain that she was + wholly unmoved by the glories of Sebastiano, and saw no glamour in his + romances. What other girl would have asked “Why?”—and in that tone? + It was difficult to go on with his story. + </p> + <p> + “He could not help it that she was in love with him,” he said. “And she + could not help it.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” inquired Pepita for the third time, and with a prettier coolness + than before. + </p> + <p> + “Why,” stammered Manuel, “because—because that is the way with all + of them.” + </p> + <p> + Pepita showed all her little gleaming teeth, and then put the stem of a + rose between them and held it there like a cigarette as she looked under + her eyelashes at the people. The rose was not as red as her scornful + little mouth. + </p> + <p> + “He was always kind to her when he saw her,” continued Manuel. “Once he + gave her his <i>devisa</i>. When she died she held it in her hand and + would not let it go. It was buried with her. She was a pretty child—Sarita—but + she had always lived in the country and knew nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “I have always lived in the country and I know nothing,” said Pepita, + mocking him with her great eyes; “but <i>I</i> can help anything I choose. + It should be the others who cannot help it.” + </p> + <p> + She thought him dull and tiresome, and soon wished he would go away, but + he could not help it, and lingered about with all sorts of stupid excuses. + The more she bewildered him, the more he was fascinated. It was almost + enough to stand and stare at her and hear her voice as she talked to the + others. How pretty she was—that girl—how she held her head as + if she was some high-born lady instead of a peasant! When some passer-by, + more bold than the rest, made (loud enough to be heard) some comment upon + her beauty, it did not disturb her in the least—it was as if it were + nothing to her. Was it possible that there could live a girl who did not + care that she was so pretty? But to imagine that she did not care was to + make a great mistake—she cared very much. Ever since she had been a + tiny child, her little mirror and the water of the fountain had reflected + back to her this pretty face, with its soft rose of cheek and mouth, its + dark liquid eyes, and soft babyish rings of hair curling on the forehead. + She had always heard too that she was pretty, and as she had grown older + she had found out something else, namely, that she had a power more strong + and subtle than that of her beauty—a power people did not even try + to resist. She did not call it by any name herself or understand it in the + least. She often wondered at it, and even sometimes had a childish secret + terror lest the Evil One might have something to do with it; particularly + when without making any effort, when simply standing apart and looking on + at the rest, with a little smile she had drawn to her side the stupid + love-making for which she cared nothing. It was not so with Dolores and + Maria and Isabella, who were pretty too. Somehow, handsome as they were, + they must use their eyes on their lovers, they must laugh and dance and + talk to be adored, while she need do nothing but be Pepita. + </p> + <p> + When, late that evening, she sat with José under the vines, the air about + them heavy with jasmine and orange and lemon blossoms, she asked a great + many questions about the bull-fight. It must be a grand thing to see—so + many people, such gay colors, such music. José could describe it better + than Manuel. He must tell her all about it. + </p> + <p> + He described it as well as he could, and in spite of his slow speech made + quite an exciting picture for her; or rather she found it exciting, as she + found all things just now in their novelty. Before Jovita and she had + arrived, while he was making his small preparations for them, he had seen + a bull-fight or so, and no point of detail had escaped his deliberate + mind. He always remembered things—José. + </p> + <p> + “But you shall go,” he said; “you shall go and see for yourself the very + next time. It comes next week. We will go and take Jovita.” + </p> + <p> + Pepita clapped her hands for joy. She sprang up and danced a few steps in + her childish delight. + </p> + <p> + “That will be happiness,” she said. “What happiness! Perhaps the king and + queen will be there!” + </p> + <p> + “You will see Sebastiano,” said José, seriously. + </p> + <p> + “I do not care for Sebastiano,” cried Pepita, petulantly. + </p> + <p> + “You do not care,” said José, in blank amaze, “for Sebastiano? You do not + care?” + </p> + <p> + Pepita shrugged her shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “They talk too much of him,” she answered, “and he is too vain. He thinks + all women are in love with him, and that if a girl comes from the country + she knows nothing, and will die of love if she only sees him.” + </p> + <p> + “I did not know that,” said José, staring. “I never heard them say so. + They call him a fine fellow.” + </p> + <p> + “I never heard them say so,” Pepita answered scornfully; “but I know it. I + am sure he is a fool,” which remark caused José much bewilderment, and led + him to reflect long and deeply, but did not, however, lead him to any + conclusion but that Pepita was ruled by one of her caprices. He was rather + afraid to admit that he himself had enjoyed the magnificent honor of + seeing this great hero out of the ring; that through a quite miraculous + favor he had even been allowed to speak to him and to hear him speak as he + stood, the centre of a circle of admirers in a wine-shop. He had been + saving this to tell Pepita, but now he thought it well to save it a little + longer. + </p> + <p> + But when the day of the bull-fight arrived it was not possible to conceal + it. + </p> + <p> + Ah! the wonders, the splendors of that day from the first hour! At its + very dawning Pepita was up and singing. Jovita must take her rest, that + she might be in her best humor to enjoy the festivities, and not spoil + them by grumbling. Pepita needed no rest; her little feet danced as she + moved; as she made her preparations for the morning meal she chatted + incessantly to José, asking a thousand questions. Everything conspired to + add to her joys. The sky was deep brilliant blue, but there was a light + breeze to make the heat bearable; the birds sang until their little + throats throbbed; the flowers in the garden seemed to have flung out new + masses of bloom to make the small world about them brighter. In her + chamber, near the roof, Pepita’s gala dress lay upon her bed, her new + little shoes upon the floor; she had seen them in the moonlight each time + she had awakened in the night. A year ago it would not have seemed + possible that such pretty finery could ever be hers, even in dreams; but + now almost anything seemed possible in this new and enchanting life. + </p> + <p> + And when she was dressed how bewitching she was! how her rose of a face + glowed and dimpled! how enchanting was the velvet darkness of her eyes! + how airy the poise of her little black head, with its brilliant flower + tucked in at the side of the knot of curly hair! Jovita stared at her and + made a queer half-internal sound of exclamation. It was not her way to + express approval at all freely, and she had no opinion of people who + wasted time in telling girls they were pretty. But José looked at the girl + as he might have looked at some rare tropical bird which had suddenly + flown into the house. He looked and looked again, pulling his mustache, + his not always alert face warming. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” he said, “it all looks very well; that dress is pretty. None + of the other girls will look better. Even Candida—” + </p> + <p> + Pepita laughed. Candida had been considered a great beauty in the village + they had left, but she knew she was prettier than Candida. + </p> + <p> + José laughed also, though he scarcely knew why. Then with rather a + cautious and uncertain air he produced a gay fan—a cheap one, but + brilliant with color. + </p> + <p> + “This—” he began. + </p> + <p> + Pepita caught it from him, and unfurled it with a quick turn of her wrist. + On one side was a picture—a dashing erect figure, in a richly hued + costume. + </p> + <p> + “It is Sebastiano,” said José, guiltily. + </p> + <p> + Pepita nodded her head and smiled. + </p> + <p> + “I knew it,” she said; “I knew he would look like that.” + </p> + <p> + “There is no other man who can slay a bull as he can,” said José. + </p> + <p> + “Let him slay them,” answered Pepita. And she stood and waved her fan with + the prettiest inscrutable air in the world. + </p> + <p> + The journey to the Plaza de Toros was almost as delightful as the + bull-fight itself to Pepita. The streaming crowds of people, all bent in + one direction, and all in their gayest dress and mood, laughing, jostling + each other, chatting, exchanging salutations and jokes, the grand + carriages rolling by with fine ladies and gentlemen in them, the rattling + old diligences, omnibuses, and <i>tartanes</i>, whose passengers seemed + more hilarious than the occupants of the more splendid equipages, the + ringing of mule bells, the shouts of drivers, the cracking whips, the + sunshine, the color, the very dust itself, all added to the excitement of + the hour. And as they made their way through the throng, it was again as + it had been that first Sunday at the Paseo de la Virgen del Puerto, heads + turned and exclamations were uttered when Pepita went by. And somehow it + seemed that José was better known than even he himself had imagined, he + received so many greetings. The truth was that already those who had seen + the girl had spoken of her among themselves and to others, their readily + fired Spanish natures aflame and elate. And those who had not seen, but + only heard of her, were in as susceptible a condition as the more + fortunate ones. She had been graphically and dramatically described again + and again, so that by many a one she was recognized as “the pretty sister + of José.” + </p> + <p> + That was what they called her—“the pretty sister of José.” She heard + it half a dozen times, but never once even so much as lifted her long + lashes. She was so used to admiration that it was as if they spoke of some + one else, and it moved her not in the least, as she sat watching the + bulls, to know that bold or languishing eyes dwelt upon her face, and that + efforts were being constantly made to attract her attention. + </p> + <p> + It was a magnificent day—every one said so; there were splendid + bulls and splendid dresses, and the fighters were in superb condition. The + people were in good spirits too—the little breeze tempering the heat + had, perhaps, something to do with it. Everything pleased them; they + applauded wildly, and uttered shouts of encouragement and delight to bulls + and toreadors alike. The grand people were richly attired; beautiful + ladies watched with excited eyes the bulls, wearing their colors in + rosettes of satin and glittering tinsel; the thousands of waving, + brilliantly hued fans fluttered like a swarm of butterflies; the music + filled the air. Pe-» pita sat in a dream of joy, the color coming and + going on her cheeks, her rapture glowing in her eyes. She was a Spanish + girl, and not so far in advance of her age that the terrible features of + the pastime going on before her could obscure its brilliancy and + excitement. Truth to tell, she entirely forgot Sebastiano, not even + recognizing him in the pageant of the grand entry, she was so absorbed in + its glitter and blaze of color. But at the killing of the bull, that was + different. Just a moment before she had awakened to the fact that Manuel + was near her—near enough to speak. He had been staring at her, and + growing more restless every moment, until he had at last attracted the + attention of José and Jovita, and his first words to her came amid shouts + of applause and delight. + </p> + <p> + “Sebastiano,” he said; “it is Sebastiano.” Pepita turned to look. With + what a proud and careless air he advanced; with what a strong, light step; + how he held his head and shoulders; how his gold and silver garnishings + glittered; how the people called to him with a sort of caressing ecstasy! + They adored him; he was their idol. Yes, there was a thrill in it, even + for her cold heart. She felt a quick pulsation. To be so proud and + triumphant and daring—to be the central point of everything—to + be able to awake this exultant fervor—was something after all. And + he was beautiful too, though she cared nothing for that, except as she + could see that it added to his triumphs and made them more complete. His + athletic grace of bearing, his dark, spirited face, with its passionate + Andalusian eyes, their shadows intensified by the close, long black + lashes, the very arch of his foot, and superb movement of his limbs, would + have set him apart from ordinary, less fortunate mortals; but to have all + this and be also the demi-god of these impassioned people, it must be + worth living for. If one cared for men, if one did not find them tiresome, + if one was simple enough—like Sarita—to be carried away by + things, there was at least something in all this to interest one a little. + </p> + <p> + “It is Sebastiano,” said José. + </p> + <p> + <a name="linkpresident" id="linkpresident"></a><br /> <br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img alt="057 (70K)" src="images/057.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p> + But Sebastiano was addressing the president of the games. He extended his + glittering sword, and made his announcement in a clear, rich voice. Pepita + listened as he spoke. And then the most thrilling excitement of the sport + began. It was no child’s play Sebastiano had before him. The fierce black + bull glaring at him with bent head and fiery eyes, uttering low, muttering + bellowings of rage as he tore at the earth, throwing up the dust in a + cloud, was a foe worthy of his mettle. He was a bull with vicious points + and treacherous ones. Already goaded to fury by the play of the picadors + and banderilleros, he must be watched, studied, excited, baffled; not one + of his movements must be lost, or even regarded as trifling; wariness, + quickness, magnificent daring, the subtlest forethought, all were needed. + What play it was! what a match between brute cunning, power, and ferocity, + and human courage, adroitness, and calculation! The brilliant, graceful + figure was scarcely a moment in repose; it leaped and darted, the bright + cloak waving, inviting, the bright sword glittering in the sun—it + toyed with death and peril, evading both with an exultant grace and + swiftness marvellous to behold, and rousing the on-lookers to shouts of + joy and triumph. Even old Jovita wakened to a touch of fire which seemed + like a renewal of her long-past youth. José and Manuel joined their cries + with the rest. Pepita felt again—yes, more than once—that + sudden throb and thrill. + </p> + <p> + And when at last the end was reached, with what a superb spring the last + splendid blow was given! No need of a second; the bull staggered, + shuddered, fell forward upon his knees, sank upon his side. Sebastiano + stood erect, a brilliant, careless, triumphant figure again, the air + resounding with deafening applause. + </p> + <p> + “You have seen him,” cried Manuel to Pepita—“you have seen + Sebastiano?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she answered, a little breathlessly, “I have seen him.” + </p> + <p> + And even as she spoke she knew that he had seen her; she knew it even + before Manuel spoke again in great excitement. + </p> + <p> + “He looks this way—he looks at us—at you.” + </p> + <p> + It was quite true. Something had attracted his attention to the tier of + seats in which they sat, some cry—who knows what?—perhaps some + subtle magnetic influence. He turned his head with a quick movement, and + his eyes fell and fastened themselves instantly upon the brilliant little + face glowing like some bright flower among those humbler and less + blooming. + </p> + <p> + “He looks at you, Pepita,” said José. + </p> + <p> + “He looks at you and at Jovita,” Pepita answered. And she laughed and + turned her face away. + </p> + <p> + But not before Sebastiano had seen it well. It was Fate. Yes, he knew + that. He had been loved often; he had had romantic adventures, but it had + always been he who had received and the others who had given; he had + always remained Sebastiano, the hero, the adored. And now he stood and + looked at a little head half concealed by a fan, and forgot for a moment + where he was, and that the people were still shouting their applause in + deafening tumult. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. + </h2> + <p> + Pepita and the others, Manuel with them, ended their gala-day with still + another festivity. They dined together at a little café, and heard the + bull-fight fought over again by those around them. At a table near them + sat three chulos, who talked together in voices loud enough to be heard + throughout their meal. And it was of Sebastiano they spoke, giving + dramatic recitals of his daring deeds, telling each other of what he had + done, of what he could do, and that Madrid had never seen his rival or + peer. And then his conquests. It was true that noble ladies—beautiful + and noble—had sent him messages and tokens. Gonsalvo, who was his + intimate friend, could tell many things if he chose. Sebastiano had + brilliant triumphs. Once he had even been in great danger because the + woman who loved and sought him was of such rank that her relatives would + have resorted to the stiletto rather than allow her infatuation to + continue. + </p> + <p> + “But it is said truly that he had no love for her—that he has little + for any of them,” said one. “They run after him too much, these women.” + </p> + <p> + “But there was one to-day—” began one of the others. “I heard it of + Alfonso—he saw her at the bull-fight—Sebastiano—and + tried to find out—” + </p> + <p> + He made a movement at this moment which brought Pepita directly within his + view. She had been hidden from him before by the figure of Jovita. He + stopped with his wine untasted and stared at her. A moment later he bent + forward and spoke in a lower tone to his companions, who turned to look + also. Alfonso had pointed her out to him as she left the Plaza de Toros, + and he had recognized her again. + </p> + <p> + “The little one is there,” was what he said, “behind you. He asked if any + of us had seen her before; if we knew her name.” + </p> + <p> + Pepita did not hear him, and did not know that from that hour they would + all know her, or that at least there would be few of them who did not. For + Sebastiano to show an interest in a woman, to even go so far as to ask her + name, was such a new thing that it must be spoken of and attract attention + to her. And that she was not a fine lady, but only a pretty unknown girl + with a rose in her hair, made the matter all the more exciting. When she + fell asleep, tired and happy, that night, already she was on the road to + fame. Sebastiano, who was the adored of his order, who in spite of his + adventures sought no woman, had asked her name, had made efforts to + discover it, and had learned that among those who had had the good fortune + to see and speak to her she was known as “the pretty sister of José.” A + week from this time José came home one evening bringing Manuel with him. + Manuel was often with him—in fact he had many friends; almost every + day some gay or grave young fellow managed to attach himself to him, and + somehow the acquaintance always shared itself soon afterward with Pepita. + But Manuel appeared oftener than the rest, having a timid obstinacy, and + seeming only puzzled and not discouraged by the indifference which + sometimes ignored his very existence. On this particular evening he was + moved from his usual calm, and so was José. They had seen Sebastiano; they + had spoken to him; in the presence of a circle of his friends and admirers + he had drunk wine with them. “We were passing the wine-shop and we saw + him,” explained Manuel, “and we went in to look on a little and hear him + talk. One of the chulos who stood near spoke to him quickly when he saw us—as + if he knew us—and presently the same chulo came and spoke to José, + and soon Sebastiano came and spoke too. The one who approached us first + was one of the three who drank at the table near us on the evening after + the bull-fight. Once, in his boyhood, Sebastiano lived near the village + you left; he knew Padre Alejandro and some others; he was pleased to see + José and speak of them—it was as if they were friends at once.” + </p> + <p> + “He has a good heart,” put in José; “they all say that of him. He + remembered everything—even old Juan, who lived to be a hundred and + was bent double. He asked if he lived yet. It seems strange that he was + once so near us, and was a little lad, ill-used and poor. He is not too + proud to remember it. He would be a good friend to one in trouble—Sebastiano—though + he is rich and spoken of by the whole world.” + </p> + <p> + So great a celebrity José was convinced must be known to the entire + universe. That night, as Pepita made ready for her bed, old Jovita, who + had already retired, lay and looked at her. + </p> + <p> + The girl stood in the flood of brilliant white moonlight which bathed part + of the bare room; her round dimpled arms were lifted as she unwound the + soft dusky coils of her hair, to which there yet clung a few stars of + jasmine. There was the shadow of a smile on her lips, and she was humming + a tune. + </p> + <p> + “What does he want with José—this Sebastiano?” said Jovita, + grumblingly. + </p> + <p> + “Who knows?” said Pepita. + </p> + <p> + “He wants something,” Jovita went on. “They don’t make friends with those + beneath them for nothing, these fine ones. They all talk of you, these + foolish fellows, and he has heard, and makes friends so that he can see + you.” + </p> + <p> + “What do they say of me?” asked + </p> + <p> + Pepita, without deigning to look up. + </p> + <p> + “Men are all fools,” grumbled Jovita; “and they think girls are fools too. + They say you have a pretty face; and he thinks he can make a fool of you + if you are not one.” + </p> + <p> + “Does he?” said Pepita, with a dimpling cruel little smile. “Let him come + to-morrow—to-night. Let him begin.” + </p> + <p> + “He will begin soon enough,” Jovita answered. “You will see. Be sure he + does not play the old game with you as he did with Sarita.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="linkimage-0003" id="linkimage-0003"> + <!-- IMG --></a> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img src="images/069.jpg" + alt="Shook the Small Stray Blossoms out of Her Hair 069 " width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + Pepita shook the small stray blossoms out of her hair and began to retwist + the coil, breaking into singing in a clear voice: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “White, white is the jasmine flower; + Let its stars light thee + Here to my casement, + Where I await thee. + White, white is the jasmine flower, + Sweet, sweet is the heart of the rose, + Sweet my mouth’s blossom—” + </pre> + <p> + She stopped short and dropped her arms. + </p> + <p> + “See,” she said, “let him want what he will, let him come a thousand + times, and I will never speak to him.” + </p> + <p> + In the gardens the next Sunday they met him. Pepita was talking to a young + girl whose name was Isabella, and whose brother. Juan was following in the + footsteps of Manuel and the rest. It was Isabella who first saw the + matador, and uttered an exclamation. + </p> + <p> + “Your brother is coming,” she cried, “with—yes, with Sebastiano.” + </p> + <p> + José’s simple face was on fire with delight, but Sebastiano looked less + gay, and his step was less carelessly buoyant than it had been in the + bull-ring. As he approached the group he looked only at Pepita. But Pepita + looked only at José, her eyes laughing. + </p> + <p> + “Jovita is cross,” she said; “she has been asking for you. She wishes to + go home.” + </p> + <p> + Sebastiano’s eyes were fastened upon her face, upon her red lips, as she + spoke. He had heard that she was like this; that she gave her glances to + no man; that she was prettier than the rose in bloom, and as cruel as a + young hawk, and his heart beat as he found himself near to her. Since the + hour he had seen her he had thought only of how he might see her again, of + how he might find her. He had made one bold plan after another, and had + been forced to abandon each of them, and then mere chance had thrown José + in his path. And now the instant he approached her she was about to elude + him. + </p> + <p> + He spoke a few hurried words to José. It was too early to go away; the + pleasure of the day was scarcely at its height; he wished to entertain + them; they must not go. + </p> + <p> + “I will go and speak to Jovita,” said José, and he went, leaving the four + together. + </p> + <p> + The two simpler ones were somewhat abashed by the splendor of the dashing + figure; they gazed at it with mingled curiosity and joy. To be so near it + was enough, without effort at conversation. Sebastiano moved to Pepita’s + side. A Spanish lover loses little time. + </p> + <p> + “I saw you,” he said, “at the bull-fight.” + </p> + <p> + Pepita looked over his shoulder and smiled at a passing woman who had + greeted her. Her face dimpled, and she showed her small white teeth. It + was as if she did not see the matador at all. + </p> + <p> + “It was at the bull-fight,” he persisted. “Two weeks ago. You had a red + flower in your hair, as you have to-day. Ever since—” + </p> + <p> + “It was not true,” Pepita said gayly, to Isabella, “what I said of Jovita. + She is always cross, but she does not wish to go home. She met an old + woman she knew in her young days, and is enjoying herself very much.” + </p> + <p> + “Why did you say it?” asked Isabella, with simple wonder. + </p> + <p> + “Because I wished to go home myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Truly!” said Isabella. “Why is that?” + </p> + <p> + “I am not entertained so much to-day,” answered Pepita. + </p> + <p> + <a name="linkimage-0004" id="linkimage-0004"> + <!-- IMG --></a> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img src="images/075.jpg" alt="We Will Make It More Amusing 075 " width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + “We will make it more amusing,” said Sebastiano, eagerly. “It shall be + more amusing—” + </p> + <p> + “There is Jovita with her old woman now,” interrupted Pepita. “I will go + and speak to them.” + </p> + <p> + She was gone the next instant—her movement was like the flight of a + bird. Sebastiano stood and stared after her in silence until Juan + addressed him respectfully. + </p> + <p> + “She is very wonderful,” he said. “She changes her mind before one knows. + Just before you came she said she was amused, and wished to remain.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” began Sebastiano, much discomforted—“perhaps it was I—” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, senor,” said Juan, with great politeness, “never. It is said that she + always does what she chooses, and she chooses to do a thousand things.” + </p> + <p> + “That is because she is so pretty,” said Isabella. “She is so much + prettier than all the others, and she does not care.” + </p> + <p> + “A woman who is so pretty as that,” remarked Juan, sententiously, “need + not care.” + </p> + <p> + “She says,” put in Isabella, “that if she does not care, others will; but + if she should care, the others—” She stopped, meeting Sebastiano’s + eyes and becoming a little confused. + </p> + <p> + “What would happen then,” he said, “if she should care?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know,” said Isabella; “but she never will—never.” + </p> + <p> + But if she changed often toward others, Sebastiano found no change in her + mood toward him. They did not leave the gardens until late in the day. + Jovita was enjoying too greatly the comradeship of her old woman, and was + ready to enjoy any pleasure offered to her. Sebastiano had a full purse, + and perhaps understood old women of Jovita’s class. He made himself very + agreeable to these two, finding them the most comfortable seats and + supplying them with things good to eat and drink, over which they gossiped + together, leaving the young ones to amuse themselves as they pleased. They + were very gay, the younger ones; even Manuel, elated by the presence and + hospitalities of Sebastiano, made little jokes. But none of them were + gayer than Pepita. She was the centre figure of the party; they all looked + at her, listened to her, were led by her slightest caprice. They went here + and there, did this or that, because she wished it. It was Sebastiano who + was the host of the hour, but by instinct each knew it was Pepita who was + the chief guest—who must be pleased. + </p> + <p> + “Is she pleased?” the matador asked José once in a low-toned aside. “Does + she not entertain herself?” + </p> + <p> + “Does she not say so?” answered José, with some slight secret misgiving. + </p> + <p> + “I do not know,” said Sebastiano, looking down. “She does not speak to + me.” + </p> + <p> + José pushed his hat aside and rubbed his forehead. His respect for + Pepita’s whims had begun early in life and was founded on experience. + </p> + <p> + “She is young,” he faltered—“she is very young. When she enjoys + herself she—” + </p> + <p> + He paused with an uneasy movement of his shoulders. It was quite terrible + to him that she should treat with such caprice and disdain so splendid and + heroic a person; but he knew there was nothing to be done. + </p> + <p> + “She admires you,” he said, with courageous mendacity. “She saw you at the + bullfight.” + </p> + <p> + “She will be there again? You will take her—the next time?” said + Sebastiano. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered José. “She has asked that I will. It was the greatest + pleasure of her life.” + </p> + <p> + But it was true that during all the afternoon she had never once spoken to + Sebas-tiano. She had been as gay as a young bird, and the spirit of the + party, her laughter, her pretty mockeries and sauciness, had carried all + before them. Manuel had been reduced to hopeless slavery. Isabella had + looked on in secret reverential wonder. Jovita’s old woman had glanced + aside again and again, nodding her head, and saying, sagely: “Yes, she + will always have it her own way—the little one. You are lucky in + having such a grandchild. She will never be a load.” But throughout it all + Pepita had managed it that not one of her words had fallen directly to + Sebastiano. If he spoke to her, she gave her answer to the one nearest to + him. If he did not put an actual question to her, she replied merely with + a laugh or a piquant grimace or gesture, which included all the rest. It + was worse than coldness. To the others it was perhaps not perceptible at + all; only he who searched for her eyes, who yearned and strove to meet + them, knew that they never rested upon him for an instant. + </p> + <p> + And then when he so daringly arranged that José should invite him to + return home with them, to what did it all come? He was lured to old + Jovita’s side by the fact that at the beginning of the walk Pepita kept + near her, and no sooner had the old woman involved him in tiresome talk, + from which he could not escape, than the small figure flitted away and + ended the journey homeward under the wing of José, and accompanied by + Manuel and a certain gay little Carlos, who joked and laughed like a + child. + </p> + <p> + And when after they arrived, and the moon rose, and they sat under the + vines, though there was gayety and laughter, he knew, as before, that in + some mysterious manner he was excluded from it, though he seemed the + honored and distinguished guest. Carlos, who sat near some shrubs in + bloom, made a little wreath of white flowers, and as she played and sang + to her guitar, Pepita wore it on her head. Then Manuel, not to be outdone, + wove a garland of pink oleander, and she threw it about her throat and + sang on. Sebastiano forgot at last to speak, and could only sit and look + at her. He could see and hear nothing else. It was almost the same thing + with the rest, for that matter. She was somehow the centre figure round + which they all seemed to have gathered, as she sat there playing, a night + breeze sometimes stirring the soft ruffled hair on her forehead, which was + like black floss silk; and whatsoever she sang, however passionate and + tender the wild little song, however passionate and tender her voice, her + young eyes had mockery in them—mocked at the words, the tenderness + of her own voice, and at those who were moved by it; and most of all + Sebastiano knew that she mocked at himself. + </p> + <p> + But he could not go away. Some strange thing had happened to him, it + seemed; it was as if a spell had fallen upon him. + </p> + <p> + Better to be mocked than to go away. He stayed so late that Jovita fell + asleep and nodded under the shadow of the grape-vines. And at last Pepita + put down her guitar and rose. She stood upright in the moonlight, and + extended her pretty arms and stretched them, laughing. + </p> + <p> + “Good-night,” she said. “Jovita will amuse you. Already there have been + too many hours in this day.” + </p> + <p> + She ran into the house with no other adieu than a wave of her hand, and + the next minute they could hear her singing in her room, and knew she was + going to bed. + </p> + <p> + Sebastiano rose slowly. + </p> + <p> + “Good-night,” he said to José. + </p> + <p> + Manuel and Carlos said good-night also, and went out together, walking + side by side down the white moonlit road; but Sebas-tiano moved away from + the shadowing vines with a lingering step, and José went with him a short + distance. Something in his hero’s air of gravity and abstraction somewhat + overawed him. + </p> + <p> + “She has not been entertained,” said Sebastiano at last. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” said José. “She has had pleasure all the day. And she is fond + of pleasure.” + </p> + <p> + “She said there had been too many hours in the day.” + </p> + <p> + José rubbed his head a little reflectively for a moment, and then his + countenance somewhat brightened. + </p> + <p> + “She wished to lie a little for amusement,” he said, affectionately. + “There is no wrong in her—Pepita—but sometimes, to be amused, + she will tell a little lie without sin in it, because she knows we + understand her. She does not expect us to believe. We who are used to her + know her better. You will also understand in time.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I may come again?” asked Sebas-tiano. + </p> + <p> + The heavy body of José almost trembled with simple pleasure. + </p> + <p> + “It is all yours, senor,” he said, with a gesture including the little + house and all the grape-vines and orange blossoms and oleanders. “It is + poor and small, but it is yours—and we—” + </p> + <p> + Sebastiano’s dark eyes rested for an instant on a little window under the + eaves where a jasmine vine wreathed a thick tangle of green, starred with + white flowers. And as he looked a voice broke through the fragrant barrier + singing a careless, broken bit of song— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “White, white is the jasmine flower; + Let its stars light thee.” + </pre> + <p> + “It is Pepita,” said José. “She always sings when she is pleased. It is + always a good sign.” + </p> + <p> + If her singing was a sign of pleasure, then she must have been enjoying + her life greatly in the days that came afterward, for she was singing + continually. As she went about her work there was always the shadow of a + smile on her lips and in her eyes, as if her thoughts amused her. And she + was in such gay spirits that José was enchanted. He had only one vague + source of trouble: all the rest had turned out so well! It had all + occurred just as he had dreamed, but scarcely dared to hope, in those + by-gone days when he had been hard-worked and ill-fed and ill-clad. He had + a good place, and what seemed by comparison incredibly good wages. He had + the nice little house, and Pepita had holiday garments as gay and pretty + as any other girl, and looked, when dressed in them, gayer and ten times + prettier than all the rest. + </p> + <p> + That was what he had looked forward to most of all, and his end was + attained. And when he walked out with her, all the young fellows who were + allowed to come near—and many who were not—fell in love. Yes, + it was true; he saw it himself and heard it on every side. It would take + the fingers of both hands to count those who were frankly enamoured, + beginning with Carlos and Manuel. But it was at this point that the vague + trouble came in. And it was Pepita herself who caused it, by her treatment + of her adorers. To say that she dealt out scorn to them would be to say + too much; she simply dealt out nothing—and less. They might come and + go; they might follow and gaze and sigh—she did not even deign to + seem to know they did so, unless by chance one became too pertinacious, + and then she merely transfixed him with a soft, cruelly smiling eye. “She + will not marry any of them,” said José to Jovita in bewilderment. + </p> + <p> + “That will come soon enough,” said Jovita. “She is pretty, and it makes + her a little fool—all girls are like that; but one of these days you + may look out—it will be all over. She is just the one to blaze up + all at once.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not think she is a fool like other girls,” said José, with gravity. + “But she does not seem to care about love; she does not seem to know. She + is not even sorry for them when they are miserable.” He did not consider + himself when he thought of her marriage; in truth he put himself in the + background, for if some other man filled her life and her heart his + vocation would be gone, and there would be some dull hours for him before + he could become used to it. But he had an innocent feeling that without + this love, of which all men talked so much, the life he wished to be + bright would not be quite complete. She was too pretty and too good never + to be married—never to have a home of her own and some fine fellow + to love the dust she walked on. He himself was only José, and a brother + was, after all, a poor substitute for a lover who could talk and sing and + make jokes, and wear such a dashing air that she would be proud of him. + </p> + <p> + “That is it,” he said, sagely, to himself. “A woman must have some one to + be proud of, and she could never be proud of me. If I were Sebastiano now, + it would be different.” + </p> + <p> + He stopped suddenly and rubbed his head, as his habit was when he was + startled or confused, and his face became rather red. Perhaps this was + because he remembered that among all the rest, the magnificent, the + illustrious, the beautiful Sebastiano was the one to whom she showed least + grace. In fact it was almost mysterious, her manner toward him. They had + seen him often—he had come in many evenings to sit under the vines; + when they went out for pleasure it somehow happened that they nearly + always met him; but when he joined them Pepita became at once possessed of + some strange wilful spirit. Upon reflection José found that he had never + yet heard her speak to him: it appeared to him as he thought it over that + she always by some device avoided answering directly what he said to her. + </p> + <p> + “That is a strange thing,” said José, deeply mystified, as he suddenly + realized this, “when one remembers how he can slay a bull. There is no one + else who can slay a bull as he can. It is enough to make one weep for joy. + And yet she can treat him ill.” + </p> + <p> + But he did not know how ill; only Sebas-tiano knew that. Since the day he + had stood in the arena and had seen all in a moment, as if a star had + suddenly started into the sky, the small black head and rose of a face, he + had lived in a fevered dream—a dream in which he pursued always + something which seemed within his grasp and yet forever eluded him. What + had he cared for all the rest of the women? Nothing. It had confused and + angered him when they had thrown themselves in his way or sent him + offerings, and when he had been told of this or that beauty who was in + love with his proud, bearing and dashing courage. Women! What were women? + He had only cared for the bulls, for the clamor of the people, and the + wild excitement of the arena. All he had wished for was to learn the best + stroke, the finest leap. But this girl, who had never opened her scornful + little mouth to deign him a word—who had never once allowed him to + look in her eyes—somehow this one drove him half mad. He could think + of nothing else; he forgot even the bulls; he spent all the day and + sometimes all the night in devising plans to entrap her into speaking, to + force her to look at him. How obstinate she was! How she could elude him, + as if by some magic! + </p> + <p> + What had he not done that he might be near her? He had followed her + everywhere. José did not know that she scarcely ever went out without his + following and speaking to her. He used to spring up by her side as if he + had risen out of the earth, but after the first two or three times he + never succeeded in making her start or show any feeling whatever. + </p> + <p> + But that first time, and even the second, she had started. The first time + she had gone to the old well for water, and as she stood resting in the + shade a moment he appeared With a bouquet of beautiful strange flowers in + his hand. + </p> + <p> + “God be with you!” he said, and laid the flowers down a moment and drew + the water for her. + </p> + <p> + She watched him draw it, smiling just a little. + </p> + <p> + “It will be a fine day for the bull-fight,” he said, when her jar was + filled. + </p> + <p> + She put her hand up and shaded her working eyes as she looked at the blue + sky, but she said nothing. + </p> + <p> + “Do you go to-day to the Plaza de Toros?” he asked. “You shall have good + places—the best. They are good bulls to-day, black Andalusians, + fierce and hard to manage. There will be fine sport. You will go?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="linkimage-0005" id="linkimage-0005"> + <!-- IMG --></a> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img src="images/095.jpg" + alt="She Leaned Against the Side of The Well 095 " width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + She leaned against the side of the well and looked down into the water, + where she could see her face reflected in the cool, dark depths. The next + moment Sebastiano’s was reflected also. He held the flowers in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “These!” he said. “It was one of the gardeners of the king who gave them + to me. They are such as the queen sometimes wears. I brought them that you + might wear them at the bull-fight.” + </p> + <p> + She saw their beauty reflected in the water. She would not look at them + directly. They were very beautiful. She had never seen such flowers. And + the queen herself had worn others like them. If any one else had brought + them—but it was Sebastiano. And she remembered Sarita. Perhaps he + had at some time given some to Sarita, knowing that to a country girl who + knew nothing they would seem very grand. Sarita would have been sure to + take them. + </p> + <p> + A wicked little look came into her face. She turned as if to take up her + water jar. But Sebastiano laid his hand upon it. + </p> + <p> + “You will not speak,” he said passionately. “No; nor even look at the + flowers I bring you. You shall tell me at least what I have done. Come, + now. Am I a devil? What is it?” + </p> + <p> + She put her hands behind her back and fixed her great eyes upon him for a + moment. He could not say now that she had not looked at him. He thought he + could keep her, did he, when she did not choose to stay? She, Pepita! She + stood there staring at him for a moment, and then turned about and walked + off, leaving him with her water jar. Let him stand and watch over it all + day if he would. + </p> + <p> + She went back to the house and called Jovita. + </p> + <p> + “If you want your water now,” she said, “you will have to go to the well + for it. It is drawn, and Senor Sebastiano is taking care of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Mother of God!” said Jovita, staring, “she is mad with her Senor + Sebastiano.” + </p> + <p> + But not another word could she gain, and before she could reach the well + she met a boy carrying the water jar toward the house, and was told that + he had been paid to bring it. + </p> + <p> + They went to the bull-fight; and, as Pepita sat among the rest, + out-blooming the red flower in her hair, she heard it said that Sebastiano + had never before been so magnificent, had never shown such daring and + dexterity. + </p> + <p> + “He looks at Pepita,” said Isabella to Carlos. “When he entered, his eyes + found her before he saw anything else.” + </p> + <p> + Yes, he saw Pepita, and Pepita sat and watched him with as cool an + interest as if the peril with which he played meant nothing. Her lovely + eyes glowed under their drooping lashes, but it was only with a momentary + excitement caused by the fierce sport; the man was nothing. + </p> + <p> + So it seemed at least to Sebastiano. It was a bad bull he encountered, + savage and treacherous, and maddened by his rage. Once there was a moment + when a shadow of a misstep would have cost him his life. There was no time + to look at Pepita then, but when the danger was passed and he glanced + toward her, she was softly waving her fan and smiling up at Manuel as if + she had not even seen. + </p> + <p> + “She has a bad heart,” he said to himself, with fierce impatience. “It is + not nature that a young girl should mock at everything, and be so cruel, + and have neither feeling nor even a little fear. She has a bad heart, or + none at all.” + </p> + <p> + He would not look at her again; he swore it to himself. And for a short + time he kept his vow; but there came a moment when something, some + irresistible feeling, conquered him. It was as if he must look—as if + some magic forced him, drew his eyes toward her in spite of himself. And + when he had looked, a sharp shock thrilled him, for she herself was + looking at him; her eyes were fixed upon him with a strange steadiness, as + if perhaps they had been resting upon him for some minutes and she had + forgotten herself. It was a little thing perhaps, but it was enough for + his hot blood and swift-veering impulsive nature. He had just given the + final stroke; he was panting, glowing. The people were shouting, rising in + their seats, and repeating his name with caressing, applauding epithets + attached to it. Chance had brought him near the seat in which she sat, + with Jovita and José and the others near her. They were applauding with + the rest, all but Pepita, who only sat and smiled. And in the midst of it + Sebastiano made a swift movement, so swift that it was scarcely to be + understood—a mere touch of the hand to the shoulder—and + something bright, like a many-hued bird, flew over the barrier and fell + upon Pepita’s lap. It was the knot of gay, rich ribbon which a moment + before the matador had worn. + </p> + <p> + “It is the <i>devisa!</i>” exclaimed Isabella, in an awestruck tone. + </p> + <p> + “It is his <i>devisa</i>,” cried José—“his <i>devisa</i>, Pepita. He + has thrown it to you yourself—Sebastiano.” + </p> + <p> + The next moment he was struck dumb with amazement. Pepita sat upright and + broke into a little laugh. She lightly waved her fan. + </p> + <p> + “Why did he not throw it to Jovita?” she said, and with a cruel, careless + little movement she swept the <i>devisa</i> from her knee; it fell, and + she set her foot upon it. + </p> + <p> + “She has trodden upon it,” said old Jovita. “She has done it for pride, + and to show herself above others. She is ready for the devil. Some one + should beat her.” + </p> + <p> + “It was the <i>devisa</i>,” gasped José. “Sebastiano.” + </p> + <p> + Pepita left her seat. It seemed as if something strange must have happened + to her. The crimson had leaped to her cheeks, and her eyes were ablaze. + </p> + <p> + “What is it to me, his <i>devisa?</i>” she said. “I do not want it. I will + not have it. Let him throw a thousand, and I will tread upon them all, one + after the other. Let it lie in the dirt. Let him give it to those others, + those women who want it—and him.” She would go home at once; not to + the pleasure-gardens, not anywhere but back to the cottage; and José + followed her meekly, struck dumb. He had seen her wilful, capricious, + childishly passionate, a little hard to understand, many times before, but + never like this. What had occurred to her? What had Sebastiano done? + </p> + <p> + Jovita had picked up the knot of gay ribbon and brushed the dust off it, + and carried it home with her, grumbling fiercely. She was never averse to + grumbling a little, and here, the saints knew, was cause. + </p> + <p> + “For pride,” she kept repeating; “for pride, and to show that others are + beneath her! Mother of God! the king himself is not good enough for her! + Let him come and pray upon his knees that she will go to the palace and + wear a crown, and he will see what she will say! It is these fools of men + who spoil her, as if there had never been a pretty face before. Let them + treat her as she treats them, and she will be humble enough. She was + always one of the devil’s children with her pride!” + </p> + <p> + But Pepita, who heard it all, said nothing, though once or twice she gave + her little mocking laugh. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. + </h2> + <p> + By the time Pepita had reached home her mood had changed—her anger + was gone, or at least the signs of it were. She sang as she prepared the + supper, and chatted gayly with José. It appeared that, after all, she had + enjoyed the bull-fight; it had even been better than the others; she had + had great pleasure. She made delightful little jests about everything; she + recounted the names of the people she had seen and known; she described to + him the dresses of the girls, the airs and graces of the men. She laughed, + and obliged José to laugh also, and all the time she looked so pretty, + with the queer light in her eyes, the gleam of her little wicked white + teeth, and the brilliant spot of color on her cheeks, that she was enough + to turn one’s head. + </p> + <p> + The moon was at its brightest that night. All the earth was bathed in + pure, magic whiteness—the whiteness which somehow seems to bring + perfume and stillness and mysterious tenderness with it. Such a night! One + breathed roses and orange blossoms and jasmine. Pepita sat under the roses + and sang and talked, and José smoked and was happy, but still in a state + of bewilderment, though the stillness and beauty of the night soothed him + and made him content to ruminate without words. + </p> + <p> + Jovita fell asleep. She always fell asleep out-of-doors on the warm summer + nights, and in-doors by the fire when it was winter. Pepita ceased to + talk, and sang one little song after another; then she even ceased to + sing, and only touched her guitar softly now and then. After a while José, + who had stretched himself upon a bench, fell asleep also. + </p> + <p> + Pepita ceased to touch her guitar. She looked out at the flowers sleeping + in the moonlight, and for a few minutes was very still; then she laid the + guitar down and stepped out into the brightness. + </p> + <p> + In the light of the moon one cannot see the color in a face. Perhaps this + was why hers seemed to be gone. She looked quite pale, and her lovely + little brows were drawn together until they made a black line across her + forehead. She clasped her hands behind her head, and with her face a + little thrown back, so that the light fell full upon it, wandered out + among the trees and fragrant flowering things. She liked the jasmine best, + and over one part of the low, rough wall there climbed one which blossomed + with a myriad stars. So she went and stood by it, and looked now at it, + now up and down the road, which the moon had made into a path of snow. + </p> + <p> + And as she stood there, suddenly there started up on the other side of the + wall the figure she knew so well, and the next moment it had vaulted over + and was close to her. Sebastiano! + </p> + <p> + She stood still, her hands still clasped behind her head, her face still + upturned, and looked at him. + </p> + <p> + <a name="linkimage-0006" id="linkimage-0006"> + <!-- IMG --></a> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img src="images/107.jpg" + alt="Her Hands Still Clasped Behind Her Head 107 " width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + He folded his arms and looked at her. As for him, whether the moonlight + was to blame or not, he was as pale as death. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, “you are always the same. You do not change. One may come + at any hour. But listen to me. You think I have come to reproach you. Why + should I? I have fought bulls, but that does not teach men how to deal + with women. I thought that, if a man gave you his soul and his life and + the breath of his body, you would listen some day and let him think of + you. You are a woman, and you are made to be loved; but there is something + hard in your heart. You are proud of having mocked a man who was honest + and loved you. But hear me: it is better, after all, to be less pretty and + more a woman.” + </p> + <p> + He stopped an instant. She had changed her position, and stood by the + jasmine, stripping the blossoms from it one by one. She began to smile and + sing softly, as if to herself: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Oh, bird at my window, + Sing but one song to me, + My lover who is light and gay.” + </pre> + <p> + “And more a woman,” said Sebastiano. “It is women men want.” + </p> + <p> + Pepita looked up and laughed; then she sang again: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Who stirs the blossoms in the night, + Who breaks the orange flower.” + </pre> + <p> + Sebastiano made a swift movement and caught her wrists, his eyes flashing + fire. + </p> + <p> + “That is nothing,” he said. “You are woman enough. The time will come. It + will not be always like this. You can be <i>made</i> to love. Yes, you are + one of those who must be <i>made</i>. Then you will suffer too, and it + will be good for you. You will speak then.” + </p> + <p> + He paused a moment, and held her arms a little apart, looking at her with + a sudden change to mournfulness. + </p> + <p> + “How pretty you are!” he said. “How little and how pretty! If you were + good and gentle, and one might touch your cheek softly or stroke your + hair, how one would love and serve you! No, you cannot move. I have not + fought bulls for nothing. If I let you move you will struggle and hurt + yourself. Listen. I am going away. I will trouble you no more now. I will + wait. If one waits long enough, pain ceases and one forgets. It is so with + a wound, why not with what one feels for a woman? I said you could be <i>made</i> + to love; but let that be left for another man to do. I want no love like + that. I want a woman. Some day you will not cast the <i>devisa</i> under + your feet. You will take it and hide it in your breast. It will not be + mine, but some other man’s who loves you less. I loved you, I was mad for + you; but it shall cease. It is better to think only of the bulls than to + play the fool for a woman who has no love in her heart. You are pretty, + but that is not everything. You can work spells, but a man can break + through them. There! Go!” + </p> + <p> + He gave her one long look, flung her hands aside, and had vaulted the wall + and was gone himself one moment later. + </p> + <p> + Pepita stood still with clinched hands dropped at her side, staring with + wide fierce eyes down the white moonlit road. + </p> + <p> + The next evening José came home from his work later than usual. He came + down the road with a drooping head and a slow and heavy step. When he sat + down to his food he ate but little, and as he bent over his soup he heard + Jovita scolding. + </p> + <p> + “It is gone,” she was saying. “You took it, and have thrown it away.” + </p> + <p> + “Was it not mine?” said Pepita. “It was mine. I cared nothing for it, and + have done what I chose with it.” + </p> + <p> + José lifted his head and listened. + </p> + <p> + “What has happened?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “She has thrown away the <i>devisa</i>, which I had saved,” answered + Jovita. “I laid it away, and she has taken it. What harm did it do her + that it should lie out of her sight in peace?” + </p> + <p> + “Did you do that?” José said to Pepita. + </p> + <p> + “Was it meant for her?” said Pepita. “I told you he ought to have thrown + it to her and not to me.” + </p> + <p> + José broke a piece of bread and crumbled it on the table mechanically. + </p> + <p> + “You need not have done that,” he said. “I wish you had left it in its + place. It did no hurt, and we shall not see him again. He is not coming + any more. And soon he goes away; and who knows what may happen?” + </p> + <p> + Pepita walked out of the house without speaking. She did not come back for + a long time, and they did not know where she had gone; but as that was her + way when she was in a naughty humor, they were not anxious about her. + </p> + <p> + When she returned at last the moon was shining again, and Jovita was + asleep in the shadow of the vines, and José sat on the bench outside the + door, smoking. + </p> + <p> + <a name="linkimage-0007" id="linkimage-0007"> + <!-- IMG --></a> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img src="images/115.jpg" alt="Pepita Sat Down on the Threshold 115 " width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + Pepita sat down on the threshold and rested her head against the side of + the door. She said nothing at all, and only looked out at the dew-laden + flowers sparkling in the garden. + </p> + <p> + There was silence for several minutes, and then José turned uneasily and + spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, “he will not come again; and soon he goes away. It is for + the best. He is very strong and determined. Perhaps that comes of fighting + bulls. He said he wanted you, but you did not want him, so he must forget + about you. He must cease to think of you or hear of you. He asked me as a + friend not to let him see me for a while, until it was over. To see me + would remind him of you, and that would not do. He asked it as a friend—there + was no unkind-ness—he is my friend, yes, though he is Sebastiano and + I am only a poor fellow who works hard. It will all be as well as ever + between us when it is all done with and we meet again. If you had wanted + him we should have been brothers.” + </p> + <p> + Pepita sat still. What strange thing had happened to her? She did not + know. Something was the matter with her breathing. Something hurt her side—labored + in it with heavy beatings like blows which suffocated her. She shut her + hands and drove the nails into her palms. She could not have spoken for + the world. + </p> + <p> + Before José could say more she rose with fierce suddenness, and passed him + and was gone again. + </p> + <p> + The poor fellow looked after her small swift form mournfully. + </p> + <p> + “If she had wanted him,” he said, “he would have made her a good husband, + and we should have been brothers. But she is not easy to please, and she + would not give one a chance who did not please her at first. And there is + no one who slays a bull as he does!” + </p> + <p> + Pepita flew like a bird until she reached the low wall where the jasmine + grew, at the spot where she had stood the night before. There she stopped, + panting. The breath of the jasmine filled all the air about her. She + looked up the white road. + </p> + <p> + A strange new passion filled her. She did not know whether it was anger or + not, but if it was anger it was of a new kind, with more pain in it than + she was used to. He would not come again—not at all again! He would + not appear at her side as if he had sprung from the earth; he would not + follow her or plead with her, or look at her every moment he was near her; + he would not try to make her speak. Only last night he was here in this + very spot, and now he would never speak like that again. He would forget + her, not care for her—forget her, Pepita. + </p> + <p> + She would not believe it. She knew he could not—they never did; they + always loved her best and wanted no one else. And still the labored + throbbing went on in her side and she panted for breath. + </p> + <p> + “Come back,” she cried, looking up the white road. “I tell you to come + back. You shall. Do you hear? I tell you—I—Pepita!” + </p> + <p> + But there was no answer, no sound of any footstep, no sign of any + advancing shadow. The road stretched out its white length in utter + solitude, and a strange, wild look came into her beautiful little face. + </p> + <p> + “Do you not hear?” she persisted. “I will not speak to you if you do come; + I will give you nothing; I will not look at you; but you shall come + because I will it—because I am Pepita.” + </p> + <p> + Still there was only silence and loneliness. Suddenly she flung out her + hands and stamped her foot. + </p> + <p> + “I will kill you,” she said. “If you do not come—I will kill you!” + </p> + <p> + Then almost immediately she put her clinched hand to her beating side and + sank down upon the earth, burying her face in the dew-wet fragrant tangle + of the jasmine. + </p> + <p> + But he did not come back. And yet every night she went and stood by the + low wall, and looked up the white road and watched and waited. For a long + time she did not know what she intended to do if he should appear. All was + vague in her mind. At first it seemed only as if her whole being went out + into the fierce demand that he should come, and the obstinate proud belief + that it must be as she wished—that he could not resist and disobey + her. Who had ever disobeyed her? Not José; not Jovita, for all her + grumblings; not any of those others. And was it likely that he who had + adored her more than all the rest, who had watched her with that hungry + love in his eyes, could do what no other had ever done? She told herself + this over and over again; but he did not come. She began to feel a + feverish eagerness when she dressed herself, a passionate desire to be + pretty—to be prettier than ever before. She used to stand before her + scrap of looking-glass to try on one bit of simple finery after another, + twisting up the soft cloud of her hair afresh a dozen times a day, and + putting a fresh flower in it. She went to the well again and again and + filled her jar, and emptied and filled it again, and lingered, and tried + not to look round when she heard a footstep; but the right one never came, + though her heart’s throbbing shook her many times in false alarm. She was + only a child—a passionate Spanish child, ignorant and full of fierce + young natural impulses—and she knew only childish, crude methods. So + she made herself beautiful, and showed herself in the places where she + thought he would see her and be unable to resist her will and her beauty; + but though she made José take her here and there and everywhere, she never + saw Sebastiano but once. It was in the Public Garden, where they had first + met. They were sitting in the shade refreshing themselves with wine, and + he came toward them, not at first seeing them. Pepita clutched her fan + until she broke it, and a wild exultation sprang in her breast. She had + seen before she left home that she had never before been so pretty. + </p> + <p> + There had come into her face a new look—a fire that had burned + deeper every charm. He would see—he would see that she was Pepita + still, and that he could not keep his word if she chose—if she + chose. + </p> + <p> + He drew nearer and nearer, still not seeing them. He was talking to the + three companions who were with him. He was richly dressed, and looked + stronger than ever, and more handsome and graceful. He came still nearer. + No, she would not speak to him. No! He looked up and his eye fell upon + them—upon José and Jovita and Pepita! He drew back a step and stood + still; he made a low bow to them, a grand bow, such as he made when he was + in the bull-ring and the people applauded. He turned away and passed on. + Yes, without a word. + </p> + <p> + Jose sighed a deep and mournful sigh and rose to his feet. + </p> + <p> + “Come,” he said. “We must go. It is best not to stay. He does not wish to + see us, and he asked that I would keep away. It is a pity—but he + asked it.” + </p> + <p> + The breath was coming in sharp little puffs through Pepita’s delicate + nostrils. It was as if she had been struck a blow. She walked home as in a + sort of delirium; she saw none of those who turned to look at her. She + walked faster and faster. Jovita could not keep pace with her. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter?” said the old woman. “You walk as if you had a devil + in you. Your breath is all gone. Are you mad?” + </p> + <p> + At night, when they sat together, Pepita spoke of the next bull-fight. + José must take her. She wished to go. + </p> + <p> + “It is better that we should not go there,” said José. “You know why. He + will not like to see you. You saw how it was to-day. He is not angry, only + he is determined not to be reminded. Soon he will go away, and then you + shall go with me as often as you wish; but not now. After this week he + will be far away—far away.” + </p> + <p> + “I will go now,” said Pepita. “I will go without you if you will not take + me. Isabella and Juan and Manuel will be glad enough. Let him—let + him look at his bulls.” + </p> + <p> + She did not know that it was desperation that had seized upon her; she + thought it was defiance. Yes, yes, she told herself, breathlessly, he + should see her laugh and talk with Manuel and Carlos and Juan and the + rest; and then he would be punished. + </p> + <p> + She would hear nothing that José said. She would go—she would go. No + other bull-fight but this would please her. + </p> + <p> + She could scarcely live until the day arrived. She had made for herself a + new gala dress; she had a new fan and a necklace she had bought out of her + little savings. + </p> + <p> + There was a great crowd. It was known that Sebastiano was to go away, and + many had come for that reason, wishing to see him for the last time in the + season. + </p> + <p> + At first Pepita was gayer than her adorers had ever seen her. She deigned + to talk and smile and listen. She had the restlessness and color of some + brilliant-winged bird. Isabella looked at her in wonder. + </p> + <p> + “She was never like this before,” she whispered to Juan. + </p> + <p> + And then Sebastiano came, and for the time they saw only him. + </p> + <p> + When at last the bull lay an inert mass in the dust, and the people + shouted and almost flung themselves from their places into the arena in + their excitement, and the gay and superb actor bowed to them—bowed + to them again and again—Pepita sat like a little image of stone. She + was quite colorless, and her eyes were fixed. She seemed to hear and see + nothing until some one spoke to her. Then she rose and looked at Manuel. + </p> + <p> + “It is too hot,” she said, in a low voice not like her own. “I must go. + The sun. I have a pain in my head. Come.” + </p> + <p> + He had not lifted his eyes once to her. It was as if she had not lived—as + if she had been Isabella or Carmenita—and he did not give her a + thought. No, he had not once looked up. + </p> + <p> + The next day he was gone. She heard José say so to Jovita, who grumbled + loudly. She had forgotten her old distaste for these “fine ones.” + </p> + <p> + “And but for her humors he would have stayed,” she said. “What more does + she want than a fine well-built man like that—a man who is + well-to-do, and whom every other girl would dance for joy to get? But no; + nothing but a prince for her. Well, we shall see. She will work for her + bread herself at last, and serve the other women who have homes and + husbands.” + </p> + <p> + In the middle of the night she was wakened from her slumbers by something—she + knew not what. Soon she perceived it was Pepita, trembling. + </p> + <p> + “What is it now?” demanded the old woman. + </p> + <p> + “I stayed out in the dew too long,” said Pepita, “and I am cold.” + </p> + <p> + “That is well,” said Jovita. “Get chilled through and have a fever, that + we may ruin ourselves with doctors’ bills; and all because you choose to + remain in the night air when you should be asleep.” + </p> + <p> + Pepita lay on her pillow, her eyes wide open in the darkness, her small + hot hand clutching against her breast something she had hung round her + neck by a bit of ribbon. It was the <i>devisa</i> she had stolen from + Jovita, and which had not been thrown away at all. In the daytime it was + hidden in the bosom of her dress; at night it hung by a cord and her hand + held it. By this time a sort of terror had mingled itself with her passion + of anger and pain, and she lay trembling because she was saying to herself + again and again: + </p> + <p> + “I am like Sarita! I am like Sarita!” + </p> + <p> + She said it to herself a thousand times in the weeks and months which + followed, and which seemed to her helplessness like years. She said it in + as many moods as there were hours of the day. Sometimes with wild + unreasoning childish rage; sometimes with a shock of fear; sometimes in a + frenzy of shame; sometimes, as she stood and looked up the road, her + cheeks pale, her eyes dilated with self-pity and tears. + </p> + <p> + “I am like Sarita! Yes—Sarita!” She remembered with superstitious + tremor all the things that had been said to her of the punishment that + would fall upon her because of her hard-heartedness. She remembered + Jovita’s prophecies, and how she had mocked them; how cruel she had been + to those who suffered for her; how she had laughed in their faces and + turned away from their sighs. + </p> + <p> + She remembered Felipe, whom she had not spared one pang—Felipe, at + whom she had only stared in scorn when he wept and wrung his hands before + her. Had he felt like this when she sent him back to Seville to despair? + </p> + <p> + A cruel fever of restlessness burned her. She could find pleasure no more + in the novelties of the city, in the gayeties of the gardens, in her own + beauty. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes she was sure it was magic—the evil-eye. And she slipped + away, poor child! and knelt in the still, cool church, and prayed to be + delivered. + </p> + <p> + But once as she was doing this a sudden thought struck her. + </p> + <p> + “Not to think of him any more,” she said, knitting her brows with yet + another new pang. “Not to remember his face—not to remember his + voice and the words he said! No, no!” And her rosary slipped from her + fingers and fell upon the stone floor, and she picked it up and rose from + her knees and went away. + </p> + <p> + All that day and night she thought and thought, and the next day went to + pray again—but not that she might be delivered. She brought to the + shrine at which she knelt substantial promises as offerings. Hers were not + the prayers of a saint, but of a passionate, importunate child, + self-willed and tempestuous. She would not have prayed if she could have + hoped for help from any earthly means. She had never prayed for anything + before. She had always taken what she wanted and gone her way; but she had + had few needs. Now in this strange anguish she could do nothing for + herself, and surely it was the place of the Virgin and the saints to help + her. She stormed the painted wax figure in its niche with appeals which + were innocently like demands. + </p> + <p> + Make him come back—make him come back to her. Mother of God, he must + return! Make him come to the wall some night—yes, to-night. He must + not know that she was like Sarita, but he must come; and whatsoever she + did or said he must not go away again. She would sell her new necklace; + the silver comb her mother had left, her—the comb her father had + given her mother in the days of their courtship; she would do some work, + and give to the Holy Mother some candles and flowers; but he must come + back, and he must not go away again whatsoever she did. + </p> + <p> + She knelt upon the stone floor, her hands wrung together, pouring forth + the same words breathlessly over and over, each reiteration more intense + than the last, all her young strength going out into the appeal. + </p> + <p> + And still she had not yet reached the point of knowing what she should do + and say when he came. + </p> + <p> + When she tried to rise to her feet she was obliged to make two efforts + before she succeeded. She had given such a passion of strength to her + siege that she was almost exhausted, and she went out into the dazzling + sunlight trembling. She did this day after day, day after day, and at + night she waited by the wall, but the road was always the same. + </p> + <p> + And she could hear nothing—not a word. She could not ask, even + though sometimes as she sat and gazed at José with hungry eyes it seemed + as if she must drop dead if he did not speak. But he did not speak because + he could have told her but little, and was quite secure in his belief that + the mere mention of Sebastiano’s name angered her. + </p> + <p> + So the time went by—weeks and months—and at last one evening + she went to the church and prayed a new prayer. + </p> + <p> + “Sacred Mother,” she said, “I have sold the comb and the necklace, and I + have worked and can keep my word. I have bought a little golden heart. And + if he comes”—in a fainter whisper—“if he comes I will say + nothing ill to him.” + </p> + <p> + That night, for the first time, she heard of Sebastiano. + </p> + <p> + Little Carlos came in and was full of news. + </p> + <p> + “They say that Sebastiano has had great success, and that perhaps he will + go to America.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is America?” asked Jovita. + </p> + <p> + “It is at the other end of the world, and never yet have the people seen a + bull-fight.” + </p> + <p> + “Never?” said José, staring. “That is impossible!” + </p> + <p> + “It is true,” answered Carlos. “And they are rich, and like new things; + and the king has spoken of sending for Sebastiano. He will be rich enough + to build a palace for his old age.” + </p> + <p> + A few days later, in the dusk of the evening, there crept into the church + a little figure familiar to the painted saints and the waxen Virgin. But + to-day it wore a changed aspect. It moved slowly at first, reluctantly; + the brilliant little face was pale; the eyes wild with torture. A moment + it stood before the altar, and then flung up its arms with a fierce + gesture. + </p> + <p> + “Mother of God,” it cried, brokenly, “then if it must be so—tell him—tell + him that I am like Sarita!” and fell upon the altar steps shuddering and + sobbing like a beaten child. + </p> + <p> + <a name="linkimage-0008" id="linkimage-0008"> + <!-- IMG --></a> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img src="images/135.jpg" + alt="Shuddering and Sobbing Like a Beaten Child 135 " width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. + </h2> + <p> + And yet it was again weeks and weeks before she heard another word. In + those weeks there were times when she hated José because he never once + spoke of what she wished to hear. She could not speak herself—she + could not ask questions; she could only wait—hungry and desolate. + They would not even say—these people—whether he had gone to + the King of America or not; whether he was at the other end of the world, + or whether he was only in some other city. The truth was that José had + innocently cautioned the others against speaking of one whom Pepita + disliked to hear of. + </p> + <p> + “She does not like him,” he said, sorrowfully. “Girls are like that + sometimes. It makes her angry when one talks of him.” + </p> + <p> + But slow as he was, he could not help seeing in time that something was + wrong with Pepita. Sometimes she scarcely talked at all, and she did not + flame up when Jovita grumbled; it seemed as if she scarcely heard. Her + eyes had grown bigger, too, and there was a burning light in them. They + always appeared to be asking something; often he found himself obliged to + look up, and saw them fixed upon him, as if they meant to wrest something + from him. The careless bird-like look had gone, the careless bird-like + laughter and mocking. He began gradually to fancy she was always thinking + of something that hurt and excited her. But then there was nothing. She + had all she wanted. She had as many trinkets as the other girls; she had + even more. She had so little work to do that she had sought some outside + her home to fill her spare moments, and she loved no one. There was not a + man she knew who would not have come if she had smiled. What, then, could + it be? And how pretty she was! Prettier than ever; prettier because of the + burning look in her eyes, and—and something else he could not + explain; a kind of restless grace of movement, as if she was always on the + alert. + </p> + <p> + “Are you not pleased with Madrid any longer?” he asked her once. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “Do you want anything?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me,” he said, slowly, and with much caution, “that you do not + amuse yourself as you did at first.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not so new,” she said; “but there is still pleasure enough.” And + for a moment she kept her great eager eyes fixed upon him, and then she + moved slowly toward him and touched him with a soft touch on his big + clumsy shoulder and said: “You are a good brother! You are a good + brother!” + </p> + <p> + “I have always loved you,” he said, with simple pride. “When we were + children, you know I always promised that you should see better days.” + </p> + <p> + She had forgotten to count the weeks and days, or to take note of the + changing seasons, when one hot day in the early summer he came in—José—with + an innocent joy in his face. + </p> + <p> + He looked questioningly at Pepita two or three times and then coughed. + </p> + <p> + “You will not mind now,” he said. “It is so long ago, and it is all over. + Sebastiano has come back. He did not go to America; he is in Madrid + to-day. He came to me in the street; he did not avoid me; he was rejoiced + to see me. It appears that it is all well with him. Afterward Manuel told + me. It appears there is a very pretty girl he met in Lisbon—she is + here now. It is said he will marry her.” + </p> + <p> + Pepita clinched her hands and stared at him with eyes that burned as never + before. + </p> + <p> + “It is not true!” she said through her teeth. “It is not true!” + </p> + <p> + José fell back two steps. + </p> + <p> + “Not true?” he stammered. “Why not? They say so.” + </p> + <p> + “A man who slays bulls as he does,” she said, “does not forget a woman in + a day.” + </p> + <p> + José was lost in amazement. + </p> + <p> + “I thought you believed nothing but ill of him,” he said. “What has + happened? You are angry—angry.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not true about the girl from Lisbon,” she said. “It is a lie they + amuse themselves with.” + </p> + <p> + Never had innocent José been so thunderstruck. This was beyond his + understanding. He was afraid to speak, and kept looking sidewise at her as + he ate his soup; but she said no more. + </p> + <p> + “What has happened?” he said to himself over and over again. “Will she not + allow him to marry another, though she does not want him herself?” + </p> + <p> + Later he went out again. It must be confessed that he went in the hope of + seeing Sebastiano, or at least hearing of him. There was no difficulty in + hearing of him. In the wine-shops and at the street corners he was being + talked of in every group. Of what else could people speak who knew he had + returned? How there would be sport—how there would be pleasure! Life + began to wear a more vivacious aspect. And what had he not done since he + had left Madrid? Such success—such adulation! The impression among + his adorers was that the whole world had been at his feet. Here and there + one could hear snatches of song of which his name was the refrain. It was + only because he so loved his own people that he had refused the + magnificent offers made by the King of America. He had refused them; he + had chosen to remain in Spain. He had come to Madrid. Soon he would appear + before them again. He had even gained in strength and dexterity; and as to + his good looks—ah! what a dashing, handsome fellow! + </p> + <p> + José had the good luck to see him again, even to speak to him. What + fortune—what happiness! The honest fellow felt himself overjoyed. + They were to be friends again. + </p> + <p> + It was quite late when he found himself walking homeward over the white + road again. He had drunk wine enough to make him feel quite gay; and as he + went he sang now and then a verse of a song about the joys of the + bull-fight. + </p> + <p> + When he was about half-way home he thought he heard behind him the sound + of rapid feet—light feet running. He stopped and looked back. What + was it he saw, or thought he saw? Was it a small dark shape which flitted + instantly into the shadow of the trees? It looked like a woman who did not + wish to be seen. Well, he would not look, then. What was the use of giving + her trouble? He tramped on, perhaps a little more slowly. It was late for + a woman to be out on the lonely road alone. It must be past midnight. Then + the thought came to him that perhaps she wished to pass him. In that case + he might look the other way, on the opposite side of the road. In fact, he + crossed to the other side to leave the way clear, and went on + good-naturedly, singing his song loudly and all out of tune. Yes, he had + been right. Soon the footsteps drew nearer; the shadow within the shadow + slipped past—ran swiftly. But by that time they were nearing his + home, and there was a stretch of road unshaded by anything. The shadow + hesitated, darted across the white space, and José, seeing it in the full + light, uttered a cry, and started in pursuit. In but a few moments he had + reached it and held it by the arm, feeling all the slender body breathless + and panting. + </p> + <p> + <a name="linkimage-0009" id="linkimage-0009"> + <!-- IMG --></a> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img src="images/147.jpg" + alt="The Slender Body Breathless and Panting 147 " width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + “Pepita!” he cried. “It is you?” + </p> + <p> + She let the mantilla drop from her face and stood and looked at him. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she answered, “it is Pepita; and you need not ask—I will not + tell you. I have been to—to look at something—and I will tell + you nothing.” + </p> + <p> + He put his hand up and rubbed his forehead violently. Then he let it drop. + </p> + <p> + “I shall not ask,” he said. “You would do no wrong. You are a good girl; + but—” + </p> + <p> + “You think I have gone mad,” she said, with a sudden change of voice and a + piteous little shiver. “Who knows? Perhaps some one has cast the evil-eye + upon me. But I have done no harm, and I shall do none.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said, rather stupidly. “You would do no harm. Let us go in, + then.” + </p> + <p> + And without another word they went into the house, Pepita to her bed to be + awake and gaze at the darkness, José to sit with his head in his hands and + thinking a thousand wild thoughts until he fell asleep. + </p> + <p> + He could not know that where he had been she had been also; that when the + snatches of song had been sung she had heard them; that when the people + had talked of Sebastiano she had listened; that when Sebastiano had stood + in the bright light she had stood in the shadow and watched. She had not + thought of danger or of being discovered. She had only thought of one + thing and listened for one thing—and once she had heard this thing + discussed by some chattering young chulos. + </p> + <p> + <a name="linkimage-0010" id="linkimage-0010"> + <!-- IMG --></a> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img src="images/151.jpg" alt="She is a Pretty Young Girl 151 " width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + “She is a pretty young girl,” they said. “Not as pretty as that other, but + handsome enough. She was a little devil, that other. But it is a mistake + for a man like him to marry. How can a man feel free to risk his life + gayly when he has a woman hung about his neck?” + </p> + <p> + “He will not,” she whispered, growing hot all over. “No, he has not + forgotten. I have given the little heart and the flowers and candles. And + he could not forget while I—He will come back.” + </p> + <p> + She struggled with the passionate persistence of a child. Since she would + not give him up, he was hers. + </p> + <p> + But she did not know what to do. There was nothing but to wait in this + fever of strange misery and unrest, which grew more cruel every day; and + at the bull-fight if he would only look—perhaps—yes, if he saw + her face, he would understand and come. + </p> + <p> + In the days before the great entertainment took place she was like some + little savage creature at bay. She could scarcely bear to hear the voices + of those who spoke to her. Once she went into the church and threw herself + upon her knees as usual, but when she looked up her eyes were fierce. + </p> + <p> + “If he does not come,” she cried to the waxen Virgin, “I will pray to you + no more—no more.” + </p> + <p> + She knew that it was blasphemy, but she did not care; and before she went + home she bought a sharp little knife and hid it in her breast. + </p> + <p> + “This,” she whispered, “this—if it is true about the girl from + Lisbon; but it is not true.” + </p> + <p> + For many years afterward the day of the great bull-fight was remembered. + No one who saw it forgot it as long as he lived. Affairs used to date from + it in the minds of many. + </p> + <p> + A year had passed since that first brilliant day when Pepita had gone + forth in her first festal dress. She remembered it all as she dressed + herself on this other morning. The same day seemed to have come again; the + same sunshine and deep blue sky. There were the same flowers nodding their + heads; Jovita was grumbling a little in her haste, just as she had done + then; and in the looking-glass there was the same little figure in the + bright attire—the soft black hair, the red rose, the red mouth. As + she looked, a sudden triumph made her radiant. + </p> + <p> + “I have not grown ugly,” she said. + </p> + <p> + No, she had not grown ugly. She was too young and strong for that, and + excitement had flushed her into new brilliance. + </p> + <p> + When she found herself seated among the fluttering fans of rainbow colors, + that moment’s glow of exultation left her. Strangely enough, she could not + help thinking of the empty church and the waxen figure before which she + had knelt, and then of the nights when she had stood watching by the wall, + and then of the sharp little knife in her breast. And then came the clamor + of the music and the grand entry of the moving stream of color and glitter + dazzling her eyes. No; just at first she had not the power to look. Could + it be she—Pepita—who felt dizzy and could not see? who could + distinguish nothing in the splendid panorama of the triumphal march? And + what clamor, what excitement there was on every side! “What bulls! What + men!” they were saying about her. + </p> + <p> + Only she seemed, in the midst of all the loud-voiced eagerness and + delight, to sit alone, a cold little figure vaguely tormented by the + gayety and the voices and the color of fluttering fans and ribbons and + costumes. The deep rose had fled from her face; she sat with her hands + wrung on her knee and waited for one moment to come. + </p> + <p> + The great bull ran bellowing around the arena; little beribboned darts + were flung at him and stuck in his shaggy shoulders; brilliant cloaks were + flaunted in his face; taunting cries mocked him. He charged hither and + thither in blind fury, scattering men and horses, who only returned again + to the attack. + </p> + <p> + “It takes too long,” communed Pepita, “It takes too long.” + </p> + <p> + And then the voices began to call for Sebas-tiano. “Sebastiano! + Sebastiano!” on every side—even the grand ladies and their cavaliers + clapping their hands and calling also. The beauties in the high places + were always ready to see him come, and to give him a welcome when he + risked his life to amuse them. + </p> + <p> + He stepped forth in his rich dress and with his gallant bearing, a more + beautiful and gay figure than ever, it seemed the excited people thought. + He had grown finer, without doubt, they said. His face was a little pale, + but that only made more beautiful his long dark eyes, under their dense, + straight, black lashes. It was the women who said this, and who saw the + richness of his dress, the colors of his <i>devisa</i>, the close curl of + his crisp hair, the grace of his movement. The men saw his superb limbs, + his firm step, his quick glance, his bright sword. + </p> + <p> + “Come, little slayer of bulls,” they shouted, “and show us what you would + have taught the people of America.” + </p> + <p> + And it appeared they were not to be disappointed in their expectation of + sport. They saw that when he stood before the bull and made a little + mocking bow of salute, he looked into its small, furious eyes with a + smile, as it drew near—a bellowing black mass, snorting and throwing + up the dust. It was as ready to begin as he. It rushed upon him, and he + was gone. He played with it, led it on, defied it, eluded it. The flashing + sword seemed to become a score of glittering blades; the people shouted—rose + in their seats—leaned forward—laughed—mocked the bull—cried + out praises of sword and man and beast—of each leap—each touch + of the steel’s point. + </p> + <p> + “He plays with it as if it were a little lamb,” they cried. “Sebastiano! + Sebastiano!” + </p> + <p> + Of what use to tell what must be seen in all its danger to be understood? + The joy and exultation rose to fierce fever-heat, the cries swelled + higher, faces flushed and eyes sparkled and flamed, while the brilliant + figure darted, leaped, attacked, played with death as it had done scores + of times before. + </p> + <p> + Only Pepita sat without color or applause—only Pepita’s fan was + motionless amidst all the fluttering—though her breast moved up and + down, and the throbbing in her side was like the beating of a hammer. She + was speaking to herself, though her lips were closed; she was speaking to + Sebastiano. + </p> + <p> + “He will look soon,” she was saying. “He will look as he did that first + day. My eyes will make him look. They will force him to it. Listen! it is + Pepita whose eyes are on you. You must feel them. You have not forgotten. + No. And it is Pepita—Pepita!” + </p> + <p> + All the strength of her body and soul she threw into her gaze—all + the fire of her young wildly beating heart and throbbing pulses. + </p> + <p> + “You must hear,” she said. “Pepita! Pepita!” + </p> + <p> + And unconsciously she leaned forward so that her white face and great + eyes, and the little black head with the rose burning in its hair, stood + out among the faces of those about her. + </p> + <p> + And he looked up and saw her, and their eyes met; and without knowing she + started to her feet. + </p> + <p> + No one knew, no one but herself saw, how it happened: even she did not + understand until all was past. Their eyes met, as they had done on the day + a year before. No, not as they had done then, but with a strange new look. + Sebastiano started; the arena swam before him; there was a second—a + fatal second in which he saw only a small face without color and the red + rose which was the color of blood. Then there was a roar near him—a + roar among the people—a wild shriek from the women. The bull was + upon him; he made a misstep, and was caught, amid the shrieks and bellows, + and flung inert far out upon the hoof-trodden dust with the blood pouring + from his side. + </p> + <p> + “But,” they said in the wine-shops at night, “when they took him up, + though they thought him gasping in death, he had not lost himself; and as + they carried him out they came upon a girl—the one who is called + ‘the pretty sister of José’—her brother was taking her away. She + looked like one dead three days; and Sebastiano—there is a man for + you!—tore the <i>devisa</i> from his shoulder and dropped it at her + feet; and she snatched it up—all wet with his blood—and thrust + it in her breast, and dropped like a stone. It is said that he loved her, + and she had a devil of a temper and treated him badly. He is a good fellow—her + brother José—and wept like a child for Sebastiano, and has begged to + be allowed to nurse him, and Sebastiano will have it so.” + </p> + <p> + “I am strong as an ox,” José had said, weeping. “I can watch like a dog. I + want neither sleep nor food, if it comes to that; and once when one of my + comrades fell from a scaffold I was the only one who could nurse him + without killing him with the pain. He will tell you that I nursed him + well, and was never tired.” + </p> + <p> + “Let him stay,” said Sebastiano. + </p> + <p> + In his struggle with death, which lasted so long, it was always the large + form and simple, anxious face of José he saw when he knew what passed + around him, and even when the fever brought him delirious visions he was + often vaguely conscious of his presence. For himself, he did not know + whether he was to live or die; but one night he found out. + </p> + <p> + It was a beautiful night which came after a long day in which those about + his bed had looked at him with pitying eyes, and at last a priest had come + and absolved him of his sins, and left him with a solemn, kindly blessing, + with a soul clear of stain and ready for paradise. + </p> + <p> + He had fallen asleep afterward, and had dreamed not of heaven but of + earth, of a red rose in soft black hair, and of a passionate little face + whose large eyes glowed upon him. + </p> + <p> + And suddenly he was wide awake, and found his dream a living truth. + </p> + <p> + José was no longer in the room. The moonlight made everything clear, and + upon the floor beside him knelt Pepita, her eyes fixed upon his. + </p> + <p> + <a name="linkimage-0011" id="linkimage-0011"> + <!-- IMG --></a> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%"> + <img src="images/163.jpg" alt="Dios! Dios! he Murmured 163 " width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + “Dios! Dios!” he murmured. + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” she said. “Do not speak. It is Pepita. Look at me. They said that + perhaps to-night you would die. I have prayed until I can pray no more, + and when I came to José the tears were falling from his eyes, and he said + perhaps you would not see the day. Then I showed him the little knife + hidden in my breast, and told him if he did not let me come to you alone I + would not live. I said I could force you to remain on earth. I love you—I + love you. It has all happened, that which you said would happen; and when + the <i>devisa</i> fell at my feet I hid it in my breast with the other + which was there before. And because I love you so, you cannot die. I will + do anything you say I must do. I am Pepita, and I give myself to you. I + would give my blood and my life and my soul for you. Every night I have + waited by the wall in the hope that you would come. I have watched you + when you did not see me. If you had not come I should have killed myself; + if you die, I will drive the knife to its hilt in my heart. I can love + more than those women who love so easily and so often. I knew nothing + about it when I was so proud and mocked you. I know now. Mother of God! it + is like a thousand deaths when one cannot see the face one wants. What + hunger night and day!—one is driven mad by it!” + </p> + <p> + She bent more closely over him, crushing his un wounded hand against her + heart—searching his soul with her look. + </p> + <p> + “They said there was a girl in Lisbon whom you loved,” she said. “I knew + it was a lie.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he whispered, “it was a lie. Kiss me on the mouth.” + </p> + <p> + His arm curved itself around her neck, and the red lips which had mocked + melted upon his own. + </p> + <p> + “Did you suffer?” he murmured. + </p> + <p> + She began to sob like a child, as she had sobbed at the feet of the + Virgin. + </p> + <p> + “I told you that you would suffer! It was the same thing with me. Saints + of Heaven! human beings cannot bear that long. I shall not die, and I will + make you forget the pain. Stay with me, and let me see your eyes and touch + your lips every hour, that I may know you are Pepita, and that you have + given yourself to me.” + </p> + <p> + “I will stay through all the day and night,” she answered. “They cannot + make me go away if I do not wish it. They always give me my way. I have + always had it—the Virgin herself has given it to me.” + </p> + <p> + It seemed this was true. In a few months from then the people who strolled + in the Public Garden on Sunday looked at a beautiful young couple who + walked together. + </p> + <p> + “There are two who are mad with love for each other,” it was said. + “Sebastiano and his wife. She is the one he threw his <i>devisa</i> to + when he thought himself a dead man. They used to call her ‘the pretty + sister of Jose.’” + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Pretty Sister Of José, by +Frances Hodgson Burnett + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PRETTY SISTER OF JOSÉ *** + +***** This file should be named 25726-h.htm or 25726-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/5/7/2/25726/ + +Produced by David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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