“Padre Josè,” Juan had said one day, striving vainly to hide his embarrassment, “the little Carmen grows very beautiful. She is like the Pascua-flower, that shines through the ferns in the caño. She is like the great blue butterfly, that floats on the sunbeams that sift through the forest trees.”
“Yes, Juan, she is very beautiful.”
“Padre, you love her much, is it not so?”
“Very much, indeed, Juan.”
“And I, Padre, I, too, love her.” He paused and dug the hard ground with his bare toes.
“Padre,” he resumed, “the little Carmen will marry––some day, will she not?”
Josè started. The thought had never occurred to him! Carmen marry? After all, she was human, and–– But, no, he could not, he would not, think of it!
“Why, Juan––I––cannot say––”
“But, Padre, she will.” Juan was growing bolder. “And––and, Padre, I––I should like it if she would marry me. Ah, Señor Padre, already I adore her!”