"I see; your work is no trifle. What is ugly and what is pretty! There is nothing.... You decide upon that question? Tell me, can you read?"
"No, Señor.—I tell you I am good for nothing."
She said this in a tone of perfect conviction, and the gesture that emphasized her protestation seemed to add: "You must be a great blockhead to fancy that I am good for anything."
"Would you not be glad if your friend, by the grace of God, should recover his sight?"
The girl did not answer at once, but after a pause she said:
"It is impossible."
"No, not impossible, only difficult and doubtful."
"The engineer who manages the mines did give my master's father some hope of it."
"Don Cárlos Golfin?"