“That is what I call being idiotic in respect of conscience,” said the father.
“Just so. So when she found that she was old and ugly, she considered it the most natural thing in the world to bring this girl to our house, without doubt, in order to regain her ascendency over my father, or in order that some member of her family might inherit that honorable post!”
“My child, as you are going to get married, it is better to speak plainly—so that we may understand each other. Formerly your father lived maritally with Doña Andrea, and now—he does not?”
“You are right; he does not now.”
“Well, then, it does not make much difference now whether your father marries her or not, if he has abandoned that sin. Still, so long as she remains here the scandal continues.”
“Oh, no, sir; there is no scandal at all! Doña Andrea is in such a condition that it seems to me she cannot scandalize any one,” replied my aunt, with a jocose and somewhat mischievous smile.
“So much the better, so much the better; though when people are bound to be scandalized, my daughter, they do not look to see whether a face is pretty or ugly.”
“Father, unhappily, there will soon be here another cause for scandal, and that is what they look at. Don’t believe that people do not notice it. Not a bit of it. I blush with shame whenever I perceive that anybody notices certain things.”
“You surely have no cause to be ashamed, my daughter. Shame was not made for you,” murmured the friar in so endearing and affectionate a tone that Carmen blushed slightly, though I believe it was with pleasure.
“I can’t help it,” she stammered. “A father is so sacred that you do not know how much a daughter suffers when she finds that she can no longer respect him, as she ought to do, according to God’s holy commandments. Outwardly I treat him with respect, but inwardly—no, I can’t live this way. There are times when I think I shall go mad!”