“He died of the yellow fever.”
“Yes, she is good! And she was the only one who did not come to watch poor old Maria in her last illness; old Maria, who had so much loved her, and who had heaped on her a thousand kind acts. She was the only one absent at the funeral, the only one who did not pray for her either in the church, or at the burial-ground.”
“It was immediately after her confinement, and it would have been an imprudence at that time.”
“What do you understand about going out soon after confinement?” interrupted Rosita, exasperated by the ardor which Don Modesto exhibited in defending his friends. “Have you ever had any children?”
“No, for—”
“And when brother Gabriel died, soon after old Maria, was it not this Gaviota who dared to laugh, saying, that it was at the theatre only she thought people died of grief and love? This woman is accursed.”
“Poor brother Gabriel!” said Don Modesto, agitated by the souvenirs which his hostess revived. “Every Friday he came to pray for a good death from the Lord of Good-help; after the decease of his benefactress he came every day. It was I, who met him one Friday, in the morning, on his knees, near the grating of the chapel, his head resting on the bars. I approached—he was dead! Died as he had lived, without noise, and unconscious. Poor brother Gabriel, thou hast died without having seen the walls of your convent rebuilt—and I, I will die also without seeing my fort rebuilt.”
LITERAL TRANSLATIONS.