“Think how I shall laugh at you when, at length, by the efficacy of my prayers, of my faith, and of my piety.... You smile? Nay do not smile; some wonderful cases have been seen—some of the instances I could tell you of would astonish you.”
“Then do not tell me of them,” said Leon, turning his wife’s face from side to side, as he still held her chin between his finger and thumb.
“Yes, cases that seem incredible—cases of wicked men who have been converted;—and you are not wicked.”
“Then I have not been denounced as a reprobate yet? Make yourself easy my dear, all in good time. Thanks for your friends’ good opinion of me—while it lasts!”
María threw her arms round him, and clasping his head to her bosom, kissed his forehead.
“You will come to me yet,” she said, “you will be a devout Catholic and be one with me in the practice of my beautiful religion....”
“I!”
“Yes, you. You will come to my arms!—How happy we may be then—I love you; you know how I love you!”
And how handsome, how lovely she was! Leon could not but feel the irresistible charm of such perfect beauty of face and form—of eyes whose depths seemed as translucent and as mysterious as the sea when we peer into the waters to find some lost treasure at the bottom.
María went across the room and stood in front of a mirror, raising her hands to let down her hair. The black tresses fell on her shoulders, which could not in justice be compared to cold hard marble since they were of the tenderest texture; but there is Parian flesh, though mysticism calls it clay, and the Divine Artificer has used it to form some few human statues which hardly seem to need a soul to give them life and beauty.