Everyone was afraid but his voice was so entrancing and his verses so delicate that all were held in ecstasy, and Rojelia played mechanically but she played more melodiously than ever.
Indeed it was Mephistopheles, who lured mortals with honeyed words and then poisoned their souls.
The curtain came down among a soft murmur of admiration. It had been a magnificent and unexpected performance and when the curtain went up again, he was not there, he had vanished as he had come, and Rojelia had also gone.
Then they were no longer afraid. It had all been a hallucination, it was the intoxication of the wine and the wonderful summer night, and they all laughed and applauded with delight. It had been a grand jest. Even Mephistopheles had been reincarnated that night of nights for the benefit of Rojelia and no one was surprised at her disappearance from the stage. They all laughed and applauded madly.
Cheer loud! Cheer long! It is Rojelia’s birthday and she is the most beautiful maiden in Spain.
Enrique was dressed as Charles V in a gleaming red costume. It fitted him beautifully, but he had danced so much that it had become disarranged and one of his garters had burst. He decided to go to his room to fix it, but as there were so many people around the front entrance and he was vain, he chose to use the back door.
He had scarcely placed a foot on the first step when he beheld a couple sitting on the lawn beneath some bushes.
It was his sister Rojelia in the arms of a man. No! In the arms of the devil. Undoubtedly this was the evil spirit who had come to tempt and demoralize her.
She who was so circumspect and pure lay now in utter disorder like a bacchante, sprawling on the grass under the volcanic assault of Lucifer. Her dress was opened and exposed a milky shoulder glowing like a white flower in the shadows, and Mephistopheles kissed the shoulder with impure, burning, demoniac lips. One of her perfect legs was exposed.
Enrique could stand no more. He approached them with clenched fists, trembling with fury.
Rojelia jumped up and arranged her costume. The devil looked up. He wore no mask and Enrique recognized in him Urcola, the insolent tramp of Madrid. The poet’s face beamed with an impertinent smile, truly devilish:
“Well, well, if it isn’t my future. ”
Enrique did not let him finish. Possessed of insane rage, he leaped forward, foaming at the mouth.
Rojelia uttered a faint cry and ran into the house.
Enrique had the strength of a maniac, but Urcola was hardened by life and many fights. The struggle lasted a while and the devil gave Charles V a sound thrashing. He finally tripped him and hurled him to the ground. Then he jumped over the fence and faded into the night like a blast from hell.
When Enrique stumbled back to the guests, his face was scarcely recognizable. One of his eyes was blackened and his nose and mouth bruised. His beautiful costume had been torn to shreds. He was a pitiful sight.
His mother ran to him screaming: “My son, my son! What has happened to you? Talk to me! Are you alive?”
The guests had surrounded him and looked on astonished.
Enrique was still shaking with anger. He pushed Trini aside and, with all the dignity he could muster and with his only available eye flashing, he addressed the gathering, panting from exhaustion:
“It was — that tramp — that intruder, that Mephisto — pheles. He was seducing Rojelia, staining the honor of this — household, but I gave him what he deserved. I — pulverized him! And then the coward flew away because he knew I would finish — him. Yes, that is what I will do to anyone who dares stain — the honor of this family. Do you all hear me? Yes, I will kill — him, anyone. Do you hear? I will — annihilate — him!”
And then he was seized by an attack. He grew tense, moaned and collapsed. His mother cried like a madwoman and then his father came with two servants who carried the convulsive Charles V into the house, followed by Trini who behaved like a Mater Dolorosa.
Everyone was silent. The gentlemen looked at one another and shrugged their shoulders and smiled.
Polichinela said to Harlequin in a nasal voice: “The impertinence! Giving us that sermon about the honor of the family, as if we had anything to do with it.”
“It is too bad that such a beautiful fiesta should be so completely spoiled with this disagreeable ending.”
And Nero, still holding his lyre under his arm, laid a hand on the shoulder of Napoleon, who scratched his chest thoughtfully: “I think he deserves the beating the other one gave him. The crazy imbecile! Addressing us as if we were children.”
“And who is not a child? We were all enjoying ourselves tonight like children and now we are all like children who have lost a toy. Too bad, too bad.”
In a corner of the somber garden, leaning against a tree, the pale figure of Pierrot looked sadly at the lone forsaken harp on the stage.
The stars were fading. Crestfallen and with bowed heads, the strange figures left one by one.
Be quiet! Cheer no more! Rojelia’s birthday is over and she is the unhappiest maiden in the world.
And slowly, with gloom, the fantastic gathering paraded sadly into the dawn.
The next day as they sat at late breakfast, Enrique came down, his head swathed in bandages. He had spent the rest of the night dressing his bruises and was in a fearful humor. He entered the dining room however with the air of a hero. Jorge and Lolita were not up yet.
“My poor boy,” declaimed Trini. “How are you feeling? Could you sleep?”
He bellowed with rage and sat down to attack the food.
“Look at him. Look at your poor brother, all because of defending the honor of the Sandovals.”
Rojelia sat with dignified calm. She was paler and there were shadows under her eyes, but otherwise she was calm and even cheerful.
“What shall we do, decorate him? Those are only bruises that will heal easily. It is a good lesson for not minding his own business. If he were so ill, he wouldn’t be eating so much.”
Fernando was drumming on the table. Now he pounded his fist on it: “So that is the way you take it after having dragged the family name in the gutter with your wanton ways. And still you tell him to mind his own business?” He had stood up, upturning his chair and upsetting a glass of water. He was in a fit of fury: “Isn’t honor the business of every Sandoval?”
Enrique mumbled some unintelligible words with his disfigured mouth and helped himself to another buñuelo.
Rojelia also stood up. She could say a great deal but it was no use. She looked at the three of them as if they were objects of contempt and left the room.
Jorge appeared at the door and the servant asked him how he wanted whatever he wanted.
“In commercial quantities,” he answered cheerfully and slapped the servant on the back.
Trini scowled: “I don’t see why this sudden happiness after what has occurred, after the humiliation we have all suffered before all our friends.” The servant had gone back to the kitchen. “And besides, Jorge, you know I don’t approve of certain liberties with inferiors.”
Jorge subsided until he reached the point where his expression fitted the circumstances: “And tell me, Enrique, what did you do to the other fellow?”
“I think he will spend at least three months in the hospital.” His swollen mouth could scarcely pronounce the words: “If it had not been for his accomplices, he would now be in the cemetery.”
“I didn’t know he had anybody with him.”
“Certainly. There were three husky fellows hiding behind the fence and when they saw that I was finishing him, they jumped on me. I gave them what was coming to them, though, and they all ran away, dragging the tramp with them.”
They all looked at the weak body of Enrique but registered no expression. It was ridiculous. Fernando was walking up and down with his hands behind his back.