“Is she so very good, Father Moreno?”
“Excellent, excellent, excellent!”
The tone in which the friar repeated this adjective, left no room for further urging. Besides, we had reached the gate. Nevertheless, when the father seized the knocker, I could not refrain from asking, in an insinuating tone:
“And do you come to the wedding out of pure friendship, Father Moreno?”
“Oranges!” he exclaimed, in the harsh tone which usually emphasizes the most innocent expletives; “Why, I have come to perform the ceremony!”
CHAPTER VIII.
The ponderous gate swung open, and we found ourselves in a court filled with shrubs and creepers, which climbed all over the front of the villa, almost concealing its architecture. The vines and shrubs were covered with blossoms, and gave out a delightful fragrance—that divine perfume, beyond the reach of the chemist’s art, which can be distilled nowhere but in the mysterious laboratory of Nature.
Seated on stone benches and rustic iron chairs, enjoying the moonlight, were several persons who rose as we entered and came forward to welcome Father Moreno with joyful exclamations. They noticed no one but him at first, and that gave me time to study them attentively. My uncle was foremost, dressed in a white duck suit, and by his side was a young lady of medium height, of light and elegant figure, who uttered a cry of joy on seeing the father. On the left was a man pretty well advanced in years, bald and with a mustache—the father-in-law. Behind him stood a very young, little priest, almost a boy; and near him a tall girl of about sixteen years, and a little girl who could not have been more than twelve.
They all gathered around the father, bidding him welcome with a confusion of voices. At last they remembered that I was in existence, and my uncle introduced me:
“Señor de Aldao, this is Benigna’s son, my nephew,—Carmiña, this is Salustio.”