This idea was so strongly impressed upon my brain that, in spite of all my efforts to drive it away, it incessantly returned, more tenaciously and more incisively.
In a few days, I had become the friend of the family nothing regarding myself was unknown to them; they had admitted me to the closest intimacy. In this state, I had constantly one question on my lips, but I knew not how to shape it, so much did I fear committing a serious indiscretion or reviving old causes of grief.
One evening, as Don Rafaël and I were returning from hunting, when we were within a few steps of the house, he placed his arm in mine.
"What is the matter with you, Don Gustavio?" he said; "you are dull and preoccupied; do you begin to be tired of us?"
"You cannot imagine that," I replied warmly; "on the contrary, I have no words to express how happy I am with you."
"Well, remain then," he cried frankly; "there is still plenty of room for a friend at our hearth."
"Thanks," I said, much affected, and pressing his hand; "I would that it could be so; but, alas! it is impossible. Like the Jew of the legend, I have within me a demon which, incessantly cries 'Move on!' I must accomplish my destiny."
And I sighed.
"Now, come," he resumed, "be frank! tell me what it is that occupies your thoughts; for several days past you have made us all very uncomfortable; nobody has dared to question you about it," he added, with a smile; "but I have taken my courage with both hands, as you Frenchmen say, and made up my mind to ask you."
"Well!" I replied, "as you desire it, I will tell you; but I entreat you not to take my frankness ill, and to be assured that there is at least as much interest as curiosity in the matter."