Leon took her hand and kissed it three times, saying: “I am no one’s superior, and your’s, least of all.”
“But indeed you are; and it is that which adds to my satisfaction in my purpose.... You, you believe yourself so strong that your judgment can radically change my character. I ... I, with only my love that is stronger than the wisest intellect, propose to conquer your judgment and mould it after my own image and likeness. How great a battle and how grand a victory!”
“And how will you set to work?” asked Leon smiling, as he put his arm round her.
“I hardly know whether to begin quite gently, by degrees ... or so,” and as she said “so” she violently snatched the book out of her husband’s hands and flung it in the fire which was blazing brightly.
“María!” cried Leon, startled and disconcerted, and he put out his hand to rescue the hapless heretic. But she clung closely to his arms so as to prevent his moving; then, kissing his forehead, she went back to her prie dieu and returned to her devotions. What was there in his book? What in her prayers?
CHAPTER IX.
THE MARQUESA TELLERÍA.
The Tellería family occupied the whole of their house, so Leon Roch, willing that there should be as large an expanse as possible of the habitable globe between them, had taken a pretty house at the furthest east end of the town. There, two years after his marriage, we may find him.
“Good-morning, Leon.... Alone? Where is Mariquilla? Ah, at Mass of course; I had half thought of going too—but now it is too late.... I will go to the eleven o’clock service at San Prudencio.... But what is the matter? You are pale. Have you quarrelled?... I will sit down a while—tell me, what did you give for those statues? They are lovely. You have certainly a beautiful collection of bronzes.... But tell me, are you going to put more books into this study of yours? It is like the library of Alexandria already. Well! You are not at all like the young men of the present day. A silly set of boys. What will become of the world when the vicious, idle, sickly creatures who are the ornament of society nowadays are the men of their time, I do not know! ... However, there is a greater evil still, for if the young men are frivolous and impudent the old ones are worse; more vicious, more dissipated, and more indolent.... But I am forgetting the matter—a very delicate matter—that I came to speak about, my dear son. Sit down and listen to me for a minute or two.”
The marquesa waving a pretty hand and arm pointed to a seat close by, and Leon, obeying her, prepared to hear what his mother-in-law had to say.
She was a woman of good figure, who had grown suddenly old after a prolonged youth and fallen a victim to those ravages which are severe in proportion as they are staved off. Nevertheless, certain traces of past beauty were still visible in the lady’s face; though her sun was setting behind mists of paint and powder, not always judiciously or skilfully applied, and it was not a glorious evening of life. Her tall figure, which had formerly been dignified, was now bent, as though in anticipation of her descent into the chill tomb, though the steel ribs of a pair of stiff stays did what they could to buttress up the decrepit form. Her eyes, still bright and black, were the only living sparks in the dilapidated mass; they, from time to time, glistened with eagerness and vivacity, reminding one of a flash of true inspiration in the midst of the academic dulness of archaic and commonplace ideas. Her hair, which had long since exchanged its Andalusian blackness for Venetian gold, had now passed from Venetian gold to a dull and powdery white. Her complexion, always coarse and sheenless, was disguised under an artificial texture commingled with various perfumed chemicals intended to deceive the spectator, just as in a theatre the painted scenes simulate the greenery of a glade and even the diaphanous purity of the sky. The effect, successful to a certain point in embellishing the withered cheeks of the faded beauty, failed of its result now and then, because when she smiled the dead whiteness of the paint gave a yellow hue to her teeth, though they were still perfectly sound and even; and she constantly displayed them with her gracious and condescending smile—an old habit that would need to be modified if once that double row of ivory keys should begin to desert, like an army that has had enough of fighting. She was always well and elegantly dressed; she talked indefatigably, attempting—sometimes not without success—to insinuate some more intelligent formula among the flood of empty words that usually form the basis of conversation among such brainless individuals.
“I am listening, Señora,” said Leon.
“I hate circumlocution,” said the lady; “and besides, María has doubtless spoken to you on the subject. Your father-in-law is a lost wretch....”
“Nay—that, as it strikes me, is an exaggeration. The marquis likes amusement.... It is not an uncommon taste with men who have nothing to do.”
“No, no. It is of no use to try to defend him. His conduct is indefensible ... and at his age! The strange thing is that in the prime of life he was a steady and prudent man, content to stay quietly at home. I assure you I cannot bear to see him behave like an elderly boy—that describes him exactly: an elderly boy! about two years since—just about the time when you married my daughter—my worthy husband began to go to the young men’s club; there he met with some young fellows who turned his head; he took up a new set of words, and a new style of dress, stayed out at night, took to gambling ... you must have noticed that he has grown quite young again; you must have laughed, if you confess the truth, to see his efforts to look like a boy among boys. Why, you may see him any day with some party of dandies, fluttering like a butterfly about Madrid.—It really is too ridiculous—with a flower in his button-hole. Only this morning I spoke to him rather sharply about it. How he is ever to pay his tailor I do not know for his outlay in dress is frightful to think of! ... In short, to you, in the strictest confidence I can say all this: the fact is my husband spends more money than he has got, or ever will have as long as he lives. He never was economical, but, on the other hand, he was not extravagant; he never kept any kind of accounts but then he never let himself do a mean thing for the sake of some impossible luxury ... and who is the victim? I—I, who after having had always to sacrifice myself, must do so now when my health is failing and I need care and rest and peace of mind. Oh! how I envy the mistress of this house, and how thankfully I would accept a corner here, even the humblest. My life is one incessant misery. My husband spends what he has not got; Gustavo is well conducted and careful it is true, but he has no great affection for his parents; Leopoldo neither is, nor ever will be, good for anything, he is a helpless being and has idle and dissipated habits in spite of all I have done to prevent his acquiring them. I can only thank God, who has given me so many trials, for having at the same time given me such proofs of his mercy; for what greater pride can a mother have than to be the parent of two such children as Luis Gonzaga and María?—He, so devoted to his vocation, and promising, as I am told, to be a shining light in the church; she, married to you, happy with you, a pattern with you of perfect and harmonious union.—But what a pity it is that you should have no children!” At this point the marquesa, giving way to her feelings, shed a few tears, which she promptly dried with her handkerchief before they could roll down her cheeks. Then she went on with her description of her woes as a wife and a mother.
She had suffered much, she explained, from her husband’s levity, and the refractory or venial conduct of her two eldest sons had necessitated her passing her youth, and indeed chief part of her life in heroic efforts to avert the ruin of the family; she had indeed given up some of her own fortune, which had been considerable; still she had kept back the larger portion of it, and she intended to keep it till her husband’s gallantries and her sons’ extravagance drove her to extremities. She could not expose herself to a pinched and miserable old age nor look forward to living on the charity of her daughter and a rich son-in-law. Her habits, her principles, and her dignity would not allow her to sacrifice her whole fortune to the reckless man who had dissipated the patrimony