Scarce had the servant closed the door behind her, than Marianita--who had just finished placing some pomegranate flowers behind her tortoiseshell comb--glided eagerly towards the window. On reaching it she stood for some moments with her eyes bent inquiringly on the plain. Gertrudis had changed her oriental posture for a seat upon a leathern _fauteuil_. After casting back, by an indolent movement of her arms, the dark masses of her hair, she delivered herself up to a silent reverie. "I have examined the plain with all my eyes," said Marianita after a while spent at the window; "it appears entirely deserted. I cannot see a human creature upon it, much less Don Fernando, or Don Rafael. Santissima! I fear I have had all this trouble for nothing; in half an hour it will be sunset." "You need not be uneasy. Don Fernando will come," said Gertrudis, in a calm voice. "Ah!" exclaimed Marianita, "one might tell by the tone in which you speak that you are not expecting your _novio_ (betrothed), as I am. My very impatience makes me despair of seeing him. Ah! Gertrudis, you have never experienced the emotion of love." "Were I in your place I should feel more chagrin than impatience." "Chagrin, oh! no; if Don Fernando don't choose to come this evening, he will lose the pleasure of seeing me in this beautiful white dress which he admires so much, and with these purple pomegranates in my hair, which I put in just to please him. For my part I prefer the white blossoms of the orange; but they say that a woman when married must make some sacrifices, and I may as well accustom myself to them." In saying these words the young girl snapped her fingers together till they cracked like castanets; while her countenance, instead of expressing any very painful emotion, exhibited an air of perfect contentment. Gertrudis made no answer, except by a sigh, half-suppressed. She sat motionless, with the exception of her foot, which kept balancing upward and downward the little slipper of blue satin, while the fresh breeze of the evening blowing in from the window, caused a gentle tremulous movement among the tresses of her hair. "It's very tiresome--this country life," continued Marianita; "it's true one can pass the day by combing out one's hair, and taking a siesta; but in the evening, to have nothing else to do but walk in the garden and listen to the sighing breeze, instead of singing and dancing in a _tertulia_! Oh, it is wearisome--very, very wearisome, I declare. We are here, like the captive princesses in an Eastern romance, which I commenced reading last year, but which I have not yet finished. Santa Virgen! I see a cloud of dust upon the horizon at last--a horseman! _Que clicha_! (what happiness!)" "A horseman!--what is the colour of his steed?" inquired Gertrudis, suddenly aroused. "Ha--ha! As I live his horse is a mule--what a pity it was not some knight-errant! but I have heard that these fine gentry no longer exist."