The Bridge of San Luis Rey Read Online Free PDF

to make sure that you could not have misunderstood anything I said on the evening that Your Grace did me the honor to visit my theater.”
    â€œMisunderstood? Misunderstood?” said the Marquesa.
    â€œYour Grace might have misunderstood and thought that my words were intended to be disrespectful to Your Grace.”
    â€œTo me?”
    â€œYour Grace is not offended at her humble servant? Your Grace is aware that a poor actress in my position may be carried beyond her intentions . . . that it is very difficult . . . that everything. . . .”
    â€œHow can I be offended, señora? All that I can remember is that you gave a beautiful performance. You are a great artist. You should be happy, happy. My handkerchief, Pepita. . . .”
    The Marquesa brought out these words very rapidly and vaguely, but the Perichole was confounded. A piercing sense of shame filled her. She turned crimson. At last she was able to murmur:
    â€œIt was in the songs between the acts of the comedy. I was afraid Your Grace . . .”
    â€œYes, yes. I remember now. I left early. Pepita, we left early, did we not? But, señora, you are good enough to forgive my leaving early, yes, even in the middle of your admirable performance. I forget why we left. Pepita . . . oh, some indisposition. . . .”
    It was impossible that anyone in the theater could have missed the intention of the songs. Camila could only assume that the Marquesa, out of a sort of fantastic magnanimity, was playing the farce of not having noticed it. She was almost in tears: “But you are so good to overlook my childishness, señora,—I mean Your Grace. I did not know. I did not know your goodness. Señora, permit me to kiss your hand.”
    Doña María held out her hand astonished. She had not for a long time been addressed with such consideration. Her neighbors, her tradespeople, her servants—for even Pepita lived in awe of her,—her very daughter had never approached her thus. It induced a new mood in her; one that must very likely be called maudlin. She became loquacious:
    â€œOffended, offended at you, my beautiful, . . . my gifted child? Who am I, a . . . an unwise and unloved old woman, to be offended at you? I felt, my daughter, as though I were—what says the poet?— surprising through a cloud the conversation of the angels . Your voice kept finding new wonders in our Moreto. When you said:
    Don Juan, si mi amor estimas,
    Y la fe segura es necia,
    Enojarte mis temores
    Es no querarme discreta.
    Â¿Tan seguros. . . .
    and so on,—that was true! And what a gesture you made at the close of the First Day. There, with your hand so. Such a gesture as the Virgin made, saying to Gabriel: How is it possible that I shall have a child? No, no, you will begin to have resentment at me, for I am going to tell you about a gesture that you may remember to use some day. Yes, it would fit well into that scene where you forgive your Don Juan de Lara. Perhaps I should tell you that I saw it made one day by my daughter. My daughter is a very beautiful woman . . . everyone thinks. Did . . . did you know my Doña Clara, Señora?”
    â€œHer Grace often did me the honor of visiting my theater. I knew the Condesa well by sight.”
    â€œDo not remain so, on one knee, my child.—Pepita, tell Jenarito to bring this lady some sweetcakes at once. Think, one day we fell out, I forget over what. Oh, there is nothing strange in that; all we mothers from time to time. . . . Look, can you come a little closer? You must not believe the town that says she was unkind to me. You are a great woman with a beautiful nature and you can see further than the crowd sees in these matters.—It is a pleasure to talk to you. What beautiful hair you have! What beautiful hair!—She had not a warm impulsive nature, I know that. But, oh, my child, she has such a store of intelligence and graciousness. Any misunderstandings between us are so