I confess that I embraced him with all my heart, stammering:
“Luisiño, my dear fellow!”
But he laughed, and said:
“Oh, stop it, you foolish boy; you act as though you had just returned from America after twenty years of exile.”
We went off arm-in-arm, and chatted more than ever that afternoon.
“I will no longer oppose you,” said my friend with a comic air of resignation. “You may fall as deeply in love as an African dromedary or as Marsilla did with the fellow from Teruel, and I will not try to stop the current. You will have to convince yourself of the folly of your illusions. In order to be happy we need well-informed women, who think as we do and can understand us. Well, I believe that it is so; but you have got it into your skull that we ought to have wives like the ladies of the thirteenth century, or the Gothic saints painted on a golden background. All right, go ahead! You will find out your mistake. Aside from the fact that your aunt—well, my boy, don’t depend on that. The struggle against fate will wear you out. There, now, don’t begin to fume. Tell me how your love affair progresses; unburden that dear little heart.”
“Luis,” I murmured, mysteriously, “I don’t know whether she loves me or not; but I am certain of one thing—mark my words! Her husband is hateful to her.”
“That proves her good taste.”
“I am not mistaken; no, indeed! I observe her closely, Luisiño. The poor girl has lost her color and her appetite. In the morning, when she goes to church, and, above all, on the days when she communes, she appears to be somewhat tranquil; but at night! Oh dear, I believe she has the intermittent repugnance!”
“But her husband? Does he amuse himself elsewhere?”