“I am overwhelmed with grief,” said Paoletti looking up, and his face was wet with sincere tears. “The soul that I believed I had won to fill a glorious throne in Heaven, has suddenly fallen into the abyss....”
“Into the abyss,” echoed María with a heart-breaking sob.
“And still I beseech the Lord that he will save it—that he will save this most precious soul; that he will not condemn it, that he will have mercy upon it.—Oh! Merciful Saviour I have seen her Thine, wholly Thine, and to see her now, given over to Satan!—Is she not a pearl of great price? How canst Thou bear that she should fall into the pit of everlasting punishment? Hast Thou not purified and tried her as a jewel to be worn by Thee throughout eternity? Hapless soul,” he went on, turning to María, “listen to my last appeal if you hope not to see the robe of purity and beatitude turned into one of agonizing flames. Return to a better mind; to that sweet and elect state which affords greater delights than the most exquisite perfumes, the most delicious food, and the loveliest sights on earth. Save thyself yet, if not from this world, at least from Hell!”
This vigorous allocution produced its effect; the reverend orator continued to pour out his poetical eloquence, not without feeling though somewhat theatrical and full of figurative rhetoric; and lavishly adorned with “celestial splendour, seraphic choirs, divine love, and white-robed spirits.” When he had ended, María, kissing the crucifix that her pastor put into her hands, shed a few bitter tears as she said:
“I resign all to Thee, blessed Redeemer—there is no leaven in my soul of baser affections. I resign them all with my life and cast them into the fire. Still, one thing remains; but you, Father, who can do everything, can pluck out this last thorn from my heart.”
“What is that?”
“Prove to me that Pepa’s child is not my husband’s.”
“How can I prove that, unfortunate woman?” cried Paoletti thunderstruck. “How should I know the secrets of hearts? It may be so, my child—and it may not.” And then the worthy man, knowing only the surface of human nature and not the depths of the heart, added in perfect good faith: “She is a pretty little girl.”
This was seizing a spear to pierce the heart and shorten the agony. María writhed in her bed.