None who knew the Franciscan suspected that he ever had such tender thoughts. No one ever supposed that a heart existed under that gross and rude aspect.
Father Dámaso could say no more and left the maiden, weeping like a child. He went out through the room at the head of the stairs, to give free vent to his grief, on Maria Clara’s balcony under her favorite vines.
“How he loves his god-daughter!” thought they all.
Father Salví witnessed the scene, immovable and silent, lightly biting his lips.
When his grief was somewhat soothed, Father Dámaso was introduced by Doña Victorina to the young Linares, who approached the friar with respect.
Father Dámaso gazed at him in silence from head to foot. He took the letter which the young man handed to him and read it apparently without understanding it, for he asked him:
“And who are you?”
“Alfonso Linares, the god-son of your brother-in-law,” stammered the young man.
Father Dámaso leaned back and examined the young man again. His face brightened up and he rose to his feet.
“And so you are the god-son of little Charles!” he exclaimed. “Come here and let me embrace you. It was some days ago that I received your letter. So it is you! I did not know you—but that is easily explained, for you were not yet born when I left the country. I never knew you.”