Page:The Strand Magazine (Volume 5).djvu/302

"How pretty she is!" he murmured, as he followed her retreating form.

"Stephano!" called out the old man, who had been watching his son for some time.

"How gracefully she dances," continued the handsome dreamer, wrapt in his thoughts.

"Stephano!" repeated the old man.

"Yes, father," cried Stephano, with a start, and coming forward. "Do you wish to speak to me?"

"From your mysterious air and endless sighs these last few days, Stephano, I conclude that you are in love," said his father.

"In love!" stammered the young man. "You think I am in love?"

"I do not think, my son—I am sure of it; and I have only one reproach to make to you, and that is that you have not made me a confidant of your secret before."

"You shall know all, father," said Stephano, drawing a chair close to Don Pedro.

"For the last month," he continued, "I have had in my heart a love which nothing can subdue, and the object of my passion is a young girl here, a glance from whose eyes is worth more to me than all the world besides; but she shuns my love, and on every occasion strives to avoid me. She hardly permits me to speak to her for fear that the passion she reads in my eyes will break into words."

"Bah!" said the old man, merrily; "it is very likely that she shuns you for the reason of your not opening your mouth; you scare the young girl with your morose airs."

"Oh, if that were only true," sighed the disconsolate swain.

"Now," said the old man, "there only remains for me to know the name of my future daughter-in-law."

The young man was about to pronounce the name which already trembled on his lips when a sudden clamour interrupted the most interesting portion of this conversation. The peasants, followed by the partners, were rushing towards the house, and in the twinkling of an eye the room was filled with the animated and noisy throng. The new-comers wore rich costumes, more or less copies of Stephano's; some carried guitars, others castanets, while most of them leaned upon tall peeled rods, forked at the top, and ornamented with ribbons of all colours; each carried on the left side of his vest a bouquet similar to that of Stephano. The young girls in their silken bodices, short skirts, red stockings and mantillas, rattled their castanets as they entered with their partners. The joyous crowd surrounded Don Pedro, whilst cries of "Rosita! Rosita!" resounded from all sides.

"Well, well, my children, what is it you want?" demanded the village Nestor of his clamorous audience.

"We want Mlle. Rosita," they repeated.

"What, my niece? But is she not with you? I thought it was she whom you were leading just now round the corn sheaves."

"That is true," replied one of the foremost of the crowd; "everything went smoothly until we wished her to take part in our usual ceremony of 'The Maiden's Choice.'"

"Did you explain to her," asked the old man, "what is the ceremony?"

"Yes, we told her all that was necessary: that it is an old custom in Panola on harvest day, after having escorted the daughter of the house round the last sheaves of corn, for all her admirers in the village to present her, each in his turn, with a bouquet; that she must then choose the one she loves amongst them by retaining his bouquet, whilst the others are rejected. She answered us by saying that she had only been in Panola few months, and was therefore not forced to adopt our customs, and leaving us with these words she fled from us and escaped through the little granary door."

"The little shrew!" Don Pedro exclaimed, who, like an amiable old man, was always on the side of the young folk. "But my friends," he added, "you are but poor Lotharios to be flouted by a young girl; you must follow her and bring her back."

"That is just what we have done; but one cannot catch a bird without also having wings. She seemed to fly as we followed her, and on reaching the granary she entered and slammed the door in our faces; so we have come, as a last resource, to you, Don Pedro, to ask her to comply with our wishes."

"You are right," replied the old man, with all the gravity of a judge, "you must be satisfied at once"; and he looked round for Don Stephano, who was standing more moody than ever behind a giggling group of young peasants.

"My son," he said, "go and bring your cousin here. If she refuses, tell her that I particularly wish her to come."

"I will go, father," said Stephano, after a second's hesitation; and he went out.

There was a slight pause; then shouts and