since the night I heard of the proposal of the gentlemen of M***. The doctor's fatal prognoses of Maria's illness had become nothing to me before that proposal; nothing the necessity of being separated from her for many years to come.
–How could you have imagined such a thing? -She has only seen your friend twice, once when he was here for a few hours, and once when we went to visit his family.
–But, dear me, there is little time left for what I have thought to be justified or to vanish. It seems to me to be well worth waiting for.
–You are very unjust, and you will regret having been so. Mary, out of dignity and duty, knowing herself better than you do, conceals how much your conduct is making her suffer. I can hardly believe my eyes; I am astonished to hear what you have just said; I, who thought to give you a great joy, and to remedy all by letting you know what Mayn told us yesterday at parting!
–Say it, say it," I begged, sitting up.
–What's the point?
–Won't she always be… won't she always be my sister?
–Or can a man be a gentleman and do what you do? No, no; that is not for a son of mine to do! Your sister! And you forget that you are saying it to one who knows you better than you know yourself! Your sister! And I know that she has loved you ever since she slept you both on my knee! And it is now that you believe it? now that I came to speak to you about it, frightened by the suffering that the poor thing tries uselessly to conceal from me.
–I would not, for one instant, give you cause for such a displeasure as you let me know. Tell me what I am to do to remedy what you have found reprehensible in my conduct.
–Don't you want me to love her as much as I love you?
–Yes, ma'am; and it is, isn't it?
–It will be so, though I had forgotten that she has no mother but me, and Solomon's recommendations, and the confidence he thought me worthy; for she deserves it, and loves you so much. The doctor assures us that Mary's malady is not the one that Sara suffered.
–Did he say so?
–Yes; your father, reassured on that score, wanted me to let you know.
–So can I go back to being with her as I was before? -I asked in a maddened way.
–Almost…
–Oh, she will excuse me; don't you think so? The doctor said there was no danger of any kind? -I added; "it is necessary that Charles should know it.
My mother looked at me strangely before answering me:
–And why should it be concealed from him? It is my duty to tell you what I think you must do, since the gentlemen of M*** are to come to-morrow, as they announce. Tell Maria this afternoon. But what can you tell her that would be sufficient to justify your detachment, without disregarding your father's orders? And even if you could speak to her of what he demanded of you, you could not excuse yourself, for there is a cause for doing what you have done these days, which for pride and delicacy's sake you must not discover. That is the result. I must tell Mary the real cause of your sorrow.
–But if you do, if I have been light in believing what I have believed, what will she think of me?
–He will think you less ill, than to consider yourself capable of a fickleness and inconsistency more odious than anything else.
–You are right up to a certain point; but I beg you will not tell Maria anything of what we have just spoken of. I have made a mistake, which has perhaps made me suffer more than her, and I must remedy it; I promise you I will remedy it; I demand only two days to do it properly.
–Well," he said, getting up to leave, "are you going out today?
–Yes, ma'am.
–Where are you going?
I am going to pay Emigdio his welcome visit; and it is indispensable, for I sent word to him yesterday with his father's butler to expect me to lunch to-day.
–But you'll be back early.
–At four or five o'clock.
–Come and eat here.
–Are you satisfied with me again?
–Of course not," he replied, smiling. Till the evening, then: you will give the ladies my best regards, from me and the girls.
Chapter XVIII
I was ready to go, when Emma came into my room. She was surprised to see me with a laughing countenance.
–Where are you going so happy," he asked me.
–I wish I didn't have to go anywhere. To see Emigdio, who complains of my inconstancy in every tone, whenever I meet him.
–How unfair! -he exclaimed with a laugh. Unfair you?
–What are you laughing at?
–Poor thing!
–No, no: you're laughing at something else.
–That's just it," said he, taking a comb from my bath-table, and coming up to me. Let me comb your hair for you, for you know, Mr. Constant, that one of your friend's sisters is a pretty girl. Pity," she continued, combing the hair with the help of her graceful hands, "that Master Ephraim has grown a little pale these days, for the bugueñas can't imagine manly beauty without fresh colours on their cheeks. But if Emigdio's sister were aware of....
–You are very talkative today.
–Yes? and you're very cheerful. Look in the mirror and tell me if you don't look good.
–What a visit! -I exclaimed, hearing Maria's voice calling my sister.
–Really. How much better it would be to go for a stroll along the peaks of the boquerón de Amaime and enjoy the… great and solitary landscape, or to walk through the mountains like wounded cattle, shooing away mosquitoes, without prejudice to the fact that May is full of nuches…, poor thing, it is impossible.
–Maria is calling you," I interrupted.
–I know what it's for.
–What for?
–To help him do something he shouldn't do.
–Can you tell which one?
–She is waiting for me to go and fetch flowers to replace these," said she, pointing to those in the vase on my table; "and if I were her, I should not put another one in there.
–If you only knew…
–And if you knew…
My father, who was calling me from his room, interrupted the conversation, which, if continued, could have frustrated what I had been trying to do since my last interview with my mother.
As I entered my father's room, he was looking at the window of a beautiful pocket watch, and he said:
–It is an admirable thing; it is undoubtedly worth the thirty pounds. Turning at once to me, he added:
–This
