“How little!”
“Why, surely you would not wish to make our stomachs ponds for anchovies, would you, like the Mother’s?”
“Anchovies?”
“Yes, Cadiz anchovies. You have only to cast the net.”
The Mother’s dropsical form was shaken violently by a laughing fit. The anchovies swimming in her stomach, according to the young nun, must have thought that they were exposed to an earthquake.
We all laughed and went down to the spring. As we came near the Mother, she greeted me with an affectionate smile. I bent low, took the crucifix which hung from her girdle, and kissed it. The nun smiled still more tenderly, and looked at me with an expression of generous sympathy.
Let us be explicit: if this book is to be an honest history or confession of my life, it is my duty to declare that by the act of bending over to kiss the metal crucifix, I do not think that I was actuated by any mystic impulse, rather, I suspect, that the pretty Sister’s black eyes shrewdly fixed upon me had a very active part in it. Perhaps, without being aware of it, I desired to ingratiate myself with those eyes. And the truth is that I failed in my attempt; because, instead of showing that she was flattered by such an act of devotion, it seemed to me that they assumed a slight expression of mockery. I was a bit confused.
“Has the gentleman come to take the waters?” asked the Mother half directly, half indirectly.
“Yes, señora, I have just arrived from Madrid.”
“They are wonderful! The Lord our God has given them a virtue which is almost beyond belief. You will see how they develop the appetite. You will eat as much as you possibly can, and it will not hurt you.... You see, I can say I am a different woman, and it is only a week since we came.... Just imagine! yesterday I ate pig’s liver, and it did not hurt me at all.... Then this young girl,” she added, pointing to the black-eyed Sister: “I can’t tell you what a colour she had! She was as pale as ashes. To be sure she hasn’t much colour yet, but, ... there now, ... that is another thing.”