And that was true.  The one thing lacking to the millionaire’s perfect joy was that he would never have the chance to treat the tall, imposing Don Ramon on equal terms for once,—­the crowning triumph of a self-made man.

Dona Bernarda, too, saw in this union the realization of her fondest dreams:  money joined to power; the millions of a business, whose marvelous successes seemed like deliberate tricks of Chance, coming to revivify with their sap of gold the Brull family tree, which was showing the signs of age and long years of struggle!

Spring had come on apace.  Some afternoons dona Bernarda would take “the children” to her own orchards or to the wealthy holdings of don Matias.  It was a sight worth seeing—­the kindly shrewdness with which she chaperoned the young couple, shouting with shocked alarm if they disappeared behind the orange-trees for a moment or two in their frolics.

“That Rafael of ours,” she would say to don Andres, mimicking the long face he used to put on when bringing up her troubles with her husband, “what a rascal he is!  I’ll bet he’s got both arms around her by this time!”

“Let ’em alone, let ’em alone, dona Bernarda!  The deeper in he gets with this one, the less likely he’ll be to go back to the other.”

Back to her?...  There was no fear of that.  It was enough to watch Rafael picking flowers and weaving them into the girl’s hair while she pretended to fight him off, blushing like a rose, and quite moved at such homage.

“Now be good, Rafaelito,” Remedios would murmur in a sort of entreating bleat, “don’t touch me; don’t be so bold.”

But her emotion would so betray her that you could see the thing she most wanted in the world was for Rafael to place upon her body once again those hands that made her tingle from the tips of her toes to the roots of her hair.  She resisted only because such was the duty of a well-educated Christian girl.  Like a young she-goat she would dash off with graceful, tripping bounds between the rows of orange-trees, and su senoria, the member from Alcira, would give chase with all his might, his nostrils quivering and his eyes ablaze.

“Let’s see if he can catch you!” the mother would call, with a laugh.  “Run and let him try to catch you!”

Don Andres would roll up his wrinkled face into the smile of an old faun.  Such play made him feel young again.

“Huh, senora!  I believe you.  This is getting on—­on, and then some.  I’d say, marry them off pretty quick; for, if you don’t, mark my word, there’ll soon be something for Alcira to laugh about.”

And they were both mistaken.  Neither the mother nor don Andres was present to note the expression of dejection and despair on Rafael’s face when he was alone, shut up in his room, where, in the dark corners, he could still see a pair of green, mysterious eyes gleaming at him and tempting him.