Rosario was trembling, and everything about her denoted the keenest anxiety. She lifted her eyes to heaven supplicatingly, and then turned them on her mother with a look of the utmost terror.
"Why, what is the matter with you?"
"Did you not say it was midnight?"
"Yes."
"Then—but is it already midnight?"...
"Something is the matter with you; you have something on your mind," said her mother, fixing on her daughter her penetrating eyes.
"Yes—I wanted to tell you," stammered the girl, "I wanted to say—Nothing, nothing; I will go to sleep."
"Rosario, Rosario! your mother can read your heart like an open book," exclaimed Doña Perfecta with severity. "You are agitated. I have already told you that I am willing to pardon you if you will repent, if you are a good and sensible girl."
"Why, am I not good? Ah, mamma, mamma! I am dying." Rosario burst into a flood of bitter and disconsolate tears.
"What are these tears about?" said her mother, embracing her. "If they are tears of repentance, blessed be they."