Dona Perfecta. Benito Pérez Galdós
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to live among people of refinement; you know a great deal. Here there is not what you need; here the people are not learned or very polished. Every thing is plain, Pepe. I imagine you will be bored, terribly bored, and that in the end you will have to go away.”
The expression of sadness which was natural in Rosarito’s countenance here became so profound that Pepe Rey was deeply moved.
“You are mistaken, my dear cousin. I did not come here with the ideas you fancy, nor is there between my character and my opinions and the character and opinions of the people here the want of harmony you imagine. But let us suppose for a moment that there were.”
“Let us suppose it.”
“In that case I have the firm conviction that between you and me, between us two, dear Rosarito, perfect harmony would still exist. On this point I cannot be mistaken. My heart tells me that I am not mistaken.”
Rosarito blushed deeply, but making an effort to conceal her embarrassment under smiles and fugitive glances, she said:
“Come, now, no pretences. But if you mean that I shall always approve of what you say, you are right.”
“Rosario,” exclaimed the young man, “the moment I saw you my soul was filled with gladness; I felt at the same time a regret that I had not come before to Orbajosa.”
“Now, that I am not going to believe,” she said, affecting gayety to conceal her emotion. “So soon? Don’t begin to make protestations already. See, Pepe, I am only a country girl, I can talk only about common things; I don’t know French; I don’t dress with elegance; all I know is how to play the piano; I–”
“Oh, Rosario!” cried the young man, with ardor; “I believed you to be perfect before; now I am sure you are so.”
Her mother at this moment entered the room. Rosarito, who did not know what to say in answer to her cousin’s last words, was conscious, however, of the necessity of saying something, and, looking at her mother, she cried:
“Ah! I forgot to give the parrot his dinner.”
“Don’t mind that now. But why do you stay in here? Take your cousin for a walk in the garden.”
Dona Perfecta smiled with maternal kindness at her nephew, as she pointed toward the leafy avenue which was visible through the glass door.
“Let us go there,” said Pepe, rising.
Rosarito darted, like a bird released from its cage, toward the glass door.
“Pepe, who knows so much and who must understand all about trees,” said Dona Perfecta, “will teach you how to graft. Let us see what he thinks of those young pear-trees that they are going to transplant.”
“Come, come!” called Rosarito to her cousin impatiently from the garden.
Both disappeared among the foliage. Dona Perfecta watched them until they were out of sight and then busied herself with the parrot. As she changed its food she said to herself with a contemplative air:
“How different he is! He has not even given a caress to the poor bird.”
Then, thinking it possible that she had been overheard by her brother-in-law, she said aloud:
“Cayetano, what do you think of my nephew? Cayetano!”
A low grunt gave evidence that the antiquary was returning to the consciousness of this miserable world.
“Cayetano!”
“Just so, just so!” murmured the scientist in a sleepy voice. “That young gentleman will maintain, as every one does, that the statues of Mundogrande belong to the first Phoenician immigration. But I will convince him—”
“But, Cayetano!”
“But, Perfecta! There! Now you will insist upon it again that I have been asleep.”
“No, indeed; how could I insist upon any thing so absurd! But you haven’t told me what you think about that young man.”
Don Cayetano placed the palm of his hand before his mouth to conceal a yawn; then he and Dona Perfecta entered upon a long conversation. Those who have transmitted to us the necessary data for a compilation of this history omit this dialogue, no doubt because it was entirely confidential. As for what the engineer and Rosarito said in the garden that afternoon, it is evident that it was not worthy of mention.
On the afternoon of the following day, however, events took place which, being of the gravest importance, ought not to be passed over in silence. Late in the afternoon the two cousins found themselves alone, after rambling through different parts of the garden in friendly companionship and having eyes and ears only for each other.
“Pepe,” Rosario was saying, “all that you have been telling me is pure fancy, one of those stories that you clever men know so well how to put together. You think that because I am a country girl I believe every thing I am told.”
“If you understood me as well as I think I understand you, you would know that I never say any thing I do not mean. But let us have done with foolish subtleties and lovers’ sophistries, that lead only to misunderstandings. I will speak to you only in the language of truth. Are you by chance a young lady whose acquaintance I have made on the promenade or at a party, and with whom I propose to spend a pleasant hour or two? No, you are my cousin. You are something more. Rosario, let us at once put things on their proper footing. Let us drop circumlocutions. I have come here to marry you.”
Rosario felt her face burning, and her heart was beating violently.
“See, my dear cousin,” continued the young man. “I swear to you that if you had not pleased me I should be already far away from this place. Although politeness and delicacy would have obliged me to make an effort to conceal my disappointment, I should have found it hard to do so. That is my character.”
“Cousin, you have only just arrived,” said Rosarito laconically, trying to laugh.
“I have only just arrived, and I already know all that I wanted to know; I know that I love you; that you are the woman whom my heart has long been announcing to me, saying to me night and day, ‘Now she is coming, now she is near; now you are burning.’”
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