“I’d rather wear jewels than eat,” he said.
Rafael, or El Pende, as you will, began promptly to pay court to the girl. She duly checked his advances, but he grew stronger under punishment, and she, seeing that the man persisted, told him the story of her misfortune.
El Pende made light of it all. He was very much enamoured, or perhaps he saw something in the woman that others had missed for, though she had no money, nor any possibility of inheriting any, he did not give up trying until he succeeded in persuading her to marry him.
“Now I’ve got to persuade the master,” said Fuensanta, after coming to an understanding with her sweetheart. “Because, if he opposes us—I won’t marry you.”
Slowly, insinuatingly, Fuensanta prepared the ground day by day. Allowing herself to stumble, she suggested the idea of marriage to the silversmith, until Don Andrés himself advised his servant to marry, and pointed out to her the advantages she would have should she join herself to Rafael.
They were married, and lived in an attic next the roof. The silversmith gladly granted them the attic, for they scared away thieves, and he liked to have a young man around to look after the house.
Fuensanta continued to serve him as before. El Pende made his trips; he had made advantageous terms with the silversmith in his commissions, and he and the old man understood each other admirably.
Fuensanta began to behold a useful collaborator in her husband. He was intelligent and sagacious; he had a latent ambition which was awakened with real violence at his marriage.
The child was an obstacle to the peace of the household. Quentin was stupid, brutal, proud, and meddlesome.
After two years of matrimony, Fuensanta gave birth to a son whom they called Rafael, after his father. Quentin had no use for the boy, a fact that caused El Pende to hate his stepson.