“My child,” he said at last in a broken voice, “forgive me for having made you unhappy; I did not know I was doing it! I thought of your future. How could I let you marry a man of this country, to see you, later on, an unhappy wife and mother? I set myself with all my strength to get this love out of your mind, I used all means—for you, only for you. If you had been his wife, you would have wept for the unfortunate position of your husband, exposed to all sorts of dangers, and without defence; a mother, you would have wept for your children; had you educated them, you would have prepared them a sad future; they would have become enemies of religion; the gallows or exile would have been their portion; had you left them in ignorance, you would have seen them tyrannized over and degraded. I could not consent to this. That is why I found for you a husband whose children should command, not obey; punish, not suffer—I knew your childhood’s friend was good, and I liked him, as I did his father; but I hated them both for your sake, because I love you as one loves a daughter, because I idolize you—I have no other love; I have seen you grow up, there isn’t an hour in which I do not think of you, you are my one joy——” And Father Dámaso began to cry like a child.
“Then if you love me, do not make me forever miserable; he is dead, I wish to be a nun.”
The old man rested his forehead in his hand.
“A nun, a nun!” he repeated. “You do not know, my child, all that is hidden behind the walls of a convent, you do not know! I would a thousand times rather see you unhappy in the world than in the cloister. Here your complaints can be heard; there you have only the walls! You are beautiful, very beautiful; you were not made to renounce the world. Believe me, my child, time alters all things; later you will forget, you will love, you will love your husband—Linares.”
“Either the convent or—death,” repeated Maria, with no sign of yielding.
“Maria,” said the father, “I am not young. I cannot watch over you always; choose something else, find another love, another husband, anything, what you will!”
“I choose the convent.”
“My God, my God!” cried the priest, burying his face in his hands. “You punish me, be it so! But watch over my daughter!—Maria, you shall be a nun. I cannot have you die.”
Maria took his hands, pressed them, kissed them as she knelt.
“Godfather, my godfather,” she said.