“And you give us no reason, no explanation of such atrocious cruelty, Good God!” exclaimed the marquis looking solemn—which is as much as to say that he looked very comical.
Leon enlarged on María’s extremely delicate mental condition, and of his fears of the consequences of some indiscretion if he allowed her family to see her.
“Is she alone now?”
“Her confessor is with her.”
The marquesa drew her son-in-law aside. “Really,” she said, “I could not have believed that you would go to such an extreme. Tell me, explain to me all the horrors that have taken place here.... Ah! my poor unhappy daughter does not even know, I daresay, that she is under the same roof as her husband’s mistress.... And you are afraid lest I should open her eyes, lest she should learn the truth from my lips—for from me she always hears the truth, spontaneously and naturally—for I do not know how to act, how to affect anything.”
“No madam, I am not afraid,” said Leon, only anxious to end the discussion. “But you will not see your daughter till she is quite well again.”
“And what right have you over the wife you have betrayed and neglected? Or have you repented? Do you wish?...”
Her tone and expression suddenly changed. The angry scowl vanished like a cloud before the sun; her eyes sparkled with youthful eagerness, and the bird in her hat almost seemed to flutter in its gauzy nest.
“You have some plan for a reconciliation?” she said in bitter-sweet tones. “If so, I am the last person to wish to interfere with them. And if it is the outcome of sincere repentance....”