"Nonsense, Leon, my friend: you are mad. What, you, the smuggler, marry a Señora, the daughter of a gentleman! No, you cannot suppose such a thing."
"Silence, Diego, silence! for the more that I feel the impossibility of possessing the girl, the more I feel that I love her."
And the young man, crushed by sorrow, fell into a seat by Diego's side.
"And do you believe," the latter continued, after a moment's silence, "that there is no hope of delaying her in taking the veil?"
"How do I know? Besides, of what good is it, as you said just now—can I think of the daughter of General Soto-Mayor? No, all is lost!"
"Remember the Spanish proverb—'Nothing is certain but death and the tax gatherer.'"
For a moment past, the half-breed's face had become animated with a singular expression, which would not have escaped Leon, had not the latter been entirely absorbed in the thought of losing her whom he loved.
"What do you mean?" he asked Diego.
"Listen patiently, for the question I am going to ask you is intended to fix an important determination in my mind."
"I am listening," the young man said.