"If you are about to make me a declaration of love, you may save yourself the trouble. I am married; and if I were not it would be just the same."
"No, Señora, I have no such confession to make," said the young entomologist with a smile. "I will explain the matter. I can quite understand your having misunderstood the sentiments which prompt me, and it is natural that you should feel offended. How far you must be from suspecting the truth! I have not fallen in love with you. If I had I should certainly not follow you like a sort of street pirate—above all, under the circumstances——"
Here Raimundo looked grave, and paused. Then he added precipitately, in a voice husky with emotion:
"My mother died not long since, and you are wonderfully like her."
He looked at her, as he spoke, with anxious attentiveness; there were tears in his eyes, and it was only by a great effort that he checked a sob.
The confession roused Clementina's surprise and doubts. She stood still gazing at him for her part with fixed inquiry. Raimundo understood what must be passing in her mind, and opening the door into his study, he said:
"See for yourself. See if what I say is not the truth."
The lady advanced a few steps, and saw on the wall facing her, above the writing-table, an enlarged photograph of an exceptionally lovely woman, who, no doubt, bore some resemblance to herself, though it was not so striking as the young man fancied. The frame was wreathed with immortelles.
"We are somewhat alike," said she, after studying the portrait attentively. "But this lady was far more beautiful than I."
"No, not more beautiful. Her eyes were softer, and that gave her face an indescribable charm. It was her pure and loving soul which shone through them."