and myself, and of course the indispensable vicar,
spiritual father, and, more than spiritual father, admirer and perpetual
eulogist of Pepita.

By a sort of sybaritic refinement, it was not by the gardener, nor his
wife, nor the son of the gardener, nor by any other rustic, that we were
served at this banquet, but by two lovely girls, confidential servants,
in a manner, of Pepita's, dressed like peasants, but with the greatest
neatness and even elegance. They wore gowns of gay-colored percale,
short, and confined at the waist, and around their shoulders silk
handkerchiefs. Their lustrous and abundant black hair, without covering,
was braided and arranged in a knot behind; and in front they wore curls
confined to the head by large hair-pins, here called _caracols_. Above
the knot or _chignon_ they each displayed a bunch of fresh roses.

Pepita's attire, except that it was black and of rich material, was
equally unpretending. Her merino gown, made in the same style as those
of her maids, without being short, was yet not long enough to catch the
dust of the ground. A modest handkerchief of black silk covered also,
according to the usage of the country, her shoulders and bosom; and on
her head she wore no other ornament, either flower or jewel, than that
of her own blonde tresses.

The only particular, with respect to Pepita, in which I observed a
certain fastidiousness, and in which she departed from the customs of
the country-people, was in wearing gloves. It is evident that she takes
great care of her hands, and is, perhaps, to a certain extent, vain of
their beauty and whiteness, as well as of her rose-colored and polished
nails; but if this be so, it is to be pardoned to the weakness of the
flesh; and indeed, if I remember aright, I think that St. Theresa, in
her youth, had this same species of vanity, which did not prevent her,
however, from becoming a great saint.

In truth, I can understand, even though I do not excuse, this little
piece of vanity. It is so distinguished, so aristocratic to possess a
beautiful hand! I even think, at times, that there is something
symbolic in it. The hand is the instrument by which we execute our
works, the sign of our nobility, the means by which the intellect gives
form and shape to its artistic conceptions, by which it gives reality to
the mandates of its will, by which it exercises the dominion that God
conceded to man over all other creatures. The rough, strong, sinewy,
hor