“Dislike him? I do not know. What I do know is that I do not feel any great affection toward him, nor any of that enthusiastic—don’t get frightened, Father. I do not mean enthusiastic love. Let’s see if I can make my meaning clearer. I should like, when I get married, to be able to look on the husband whom I am to take, in the sight of God, as a person worthy of the respect of all the world. Father, do you think that Felipe is—that?”
“Daughter, I speak with entire candor. I have never heard that he has committed any crime, but his reputation is not very high in regard to political machinations, and he is not much liked. As you have asked me, I must tell you this.”
“That he is not much liked,” said Carmen, with remarkable sagacity, “cannot be due to political machinations, for in that respect let him who can win. So I think it is for some other reason. Have you noticed his face?”
“Yes, I have. It is—goodness, I do not know how to tell you, daughter!”
“It is the face of a Jew,” said Carmen, resolutely. “It may seem singular to you that I should say so,—I should dare say so only to you. It is a Jewish face, indeed; so marked that it cannot be mistaken. For that reason, when you asked me whether I disliked him, I was undecided. That face,—it has cost me a great deal to get accustomed to it. I don’t know whether he is ugly or good-looking, but that face——”
I was listening with all my might when, owing to a circumstance foreign to the conversation, I was seized with sudden anguish. The fact is, I felt the branch of which I was astride begin to creak with an ominous slowness as though notifying me that it was not made to hold birds of my size. Nevertheless, I kept on listening:
“Well, my child,” said the friar, resolutely, “if you feel such an antipathy or dislike toward him as you really seem to, you should not marry him. At least, consider whether you are able to go through with it. Reflect well on what a married woman’s condition is. Remember that the husband you take, whether he pleases you or not, is your life-long companion; the only man whom it is lawful for you to love, who will be with you one flesh,—that is what the Church says,—one flesh. He will be the father of your children, and you owe him not only fidelity but love; do you understand? I’ll repeat it to you,—love. Child, reflect, now that there is still time; don’t be obstinate. I know it would make a stir and trouble to break off the engagement, but so long as the indissoluble tie does not exist—pshaw! These things furnish food for foolish tongues for a couple of days and then are forgotten. While as for the other, my child, death alone,—only the death of one of the two,—can dissolve it. Do you understand what the sacrament of marriage signifies? Do you know what a husband is to a Christian woman? I want you to study that question well, my child. Don’t say afterward that your friend Moreno did not warn you in time!”
Just then I broke into a cold sweat. It was not fear; no, though the branch was breaking. The danger of falling from so great a height was not enough to frighten me at that moment; but I dreaded the mortification of being caught in such unworthy eavesdropping. For then I could see clearly that my eavesdropping was unworthy, my curiosity an affront, and my lying in ambush an outrage.
The cracking of the dry wood, that dull and agonizing cra-a-a-ck! cra-a-a-ck! seemed to say, in its thick and broken tones: “Impertinent meddler, gossip, Paul Pry!” I seemed to hear the Father’s disdainful voice lashing me with these scornful words: “I had already spotted you. I knew before that you were watching us. Fool, you thought that we were all complacent slaves of passion, and that this young lady and I—well, now you have seen that we are two decent people.”
Making up my mind to renounce hearing the rest of their dialogue, I tried to slide down the branch, mount astride the next, and, branch by branch, descend to the ball-room, and thence to the ground. The operation as a gymnastic exercise was not difficult; but it was impossible to carry it out without making any noise—noise which would surely attract the attention of the two speakers and immediately betray my hiding place. The attempts I made to measure the distance were causing a prolonged rustling of the leaves. My only choice was to keep calm, to hold out, not to breathe, to commend my soul to God, and to hope everything of the strength and good nature of that branch. Consequently, I tried not to bear my whole weight on it, and remained half suspended in the air, in a very painful position. What exasperated me most was not to be able to pay due attention to their conversation, which was then more animated than ever. I do not know whether I heard the last part very well; but I believe that the following is more or less what Carmen said: