The Swan of Vilamorta by Emilia Pardo Bazán

As the time occupied in the gathering of the grapes and the elaboration of the wine in the spacious cellar of Mendez was so prolonged, and as in that part of the country everyone has his own crop, however small, to gather in, part of the guests went away, desirous of attending to their own vineyards. Señorito de Limioso needed to see for himself how, between oïdium, the blackbirds, the neighbors, and the wasps, not a single bunch of grapes had been left him; the Señoritas de Molende had to hang up with their own hands the grapes of their famous Tostado, renowned throughout the country; and for similar reasons Saturnino Agonde, the arch-priest, and the curate of Naya took their leave one by one, the court of Las Vides being reduced to Carmen Agonde, maid of honor, Clodio Genday, Aulic councilor, Tropiezo, court physician, and Segundo, who might well be the page or the troubadour charged to divert the châtelaine with his ditties.

Segundo was consumed with a feverish impatience hitherto unknown to him. Since the day of the interview in the lemon tree Nieves had shunned every occasion of being alone with him; and the feverish dream that haunted his sleep, the intolerable anguish which consumed him, was that he had advanced no further than the fugitive _yes_, which he sometimes even doubted he had heard. He could not endure this slow torture, this ceaseless martyrdom; he would have been less unhappy if instead of encouraging him Nieves had requited his love with open scorn. It was not the brutal desire for positive victories which thus tormented him; all he wished was to convince himself that he was really loved, and that under that steely corset a tender heart throbbed. And so mad was his passion that when he found it impossible to approach Nieves, he was seized by an almost irresistible impulse to cry out, "Nieves, tell me again that you love me!"