"And my orchard," continued Pedro, without replying to the raillery with which Anna revenged herself for his jests.
In such discussion they arranged the preliminaries of the contract, remaining afterward, as they were before, the best friends in the world.
When Pedro had gone, Anna put on her woollen mantle, and repressing her grief, and hiding the extreme repugnance she felt, went to the house of her sister-in-law.
Maria, who professed for Anna, who was very kind to her, as much love as gratitude, and as much respect as veneration, received her with loquacious pleasure.
"It does one's eyes good to see you in this house," she exclaimed, as Anna entered. "What good thought has brought you, sister?"
And she hastened to place a chair for her guest.
Anna sat down, and made known the object of her visit.
The proposition so filled the poor woman with joy, that she could not find words to express herself.
"O my sister!" she exclaimed in broken sentences, "what good fortune! Perico! son of my heart! It is to Saint Antonio that I owe this good [{507}] fortune! And you, Anna, are you satisfied? Look here, sister: Rita, although forward, is really a good-hearted girl. She is wilful, but that is my fault. If I had brought her up as well as you have Elvira, she would be different. She is giddy, but you will see (with years and married life) how steady she will become. All these things are the effects of my spoiling and of her youth. Rita! Rita!" she cried, "come, make haste: here is your aunt--what do I say? your mother, she wishes to become, by marrying you to Perico."
Rita entered with the self-possession of a banker, and the composure of a diplomatist.