“If you do what mama asks and go to the Bois with Mademoiselle, I’ll tell you a story tonight, a long one, when you go to bed.”
Carlitos gave this promise a favorable reception, and without further objections, allowed himself to be carried off by his governess.
“There goes our young despot,” exclaimed Robledo, pretending immense satisfaction at being rid of him.
Celinda smiled. She knew well enough that Robledo had concentrated on this child of hers all the latent affection that childless and lonely men have it in them to expend as they draw near the boundaries of old age. He was already very rich and his fortune could not help but increase as the irrigated lands came under cultivation. Sometimes, when mention was made of his millions, he would look at Celinda’s son, dignifying him with the name of “my chief heir.” A part of his fortune would of course go to some nephews of his in Spain, whom he had seen once or twice; but the major part of his fortune was destined to Carlitos.
For Watson’s other children he had a great deal of affection also; but this first born had come into the world during a period that for Robledo was full of bitterness and uncertainty; when all of his work was in danger of being irretrievably lost; and for this reason he had for the child that special tenderness that one reserves for the companion of evil days.
“What are you going to do this afternoon?” Robledo asked of Celinda. “The same thing as usual, I suppose?... call on the most distinguished dressmakers of the Rue de la Paix, and the adjacent streets?”
Celinda, with a nod, gave her approval of this program, while Watson laughed good-humoredly.
“I’m afraid you’ll never be able to get on the boat,” warned the Spaniard gravely.
“But think how hard it is to buy anything where we come from!” exclaimed Celinda. “The place we live in is just as though it were the first week after the Creation. The only difference between us and Adam and Eve is that we have a few more neighbors, a few more clothes, and that we happen to be millionaires!”
They all laughed. But again their eyes grew dreamy as they thought of the scenes that they had helped to make. The camp at the dam had developed into what was now known as “Colonia Celinda”; and it was impossible to think of it without thinking also of the old man who was directing the development of the property, and who, as homes multiplied around him, seemed to grow smaller and smaller, while his profile took on a new sharpness of outline, making him resemble, as he stood listening to the men and women who came to him with their difficulties, a kindly but authoritative old patriarch.