“I may be as simple as you choose, Luis, but I can’t bear that girl. I know that she is handsome, that she likes me, and all that; but it makes no difference to me. Let us see whether you, who did up this package, can undo it quickly. First you know, I’ll be telling her to her face that I hate her, which would be needless cruelty. No, no, I shall have nothing to do with it. Vice and folly may amuse us for a while, but they finally fill us with loathing.”
“You simpleton, how do you make out your vice and folly? Why, Belén is a treasure for you. She sincerely likes you. She would give up her satin boots and plated ware for your sake. Belén has a heart, while your aunt has none; at least, none for you. A fig for your virtuous women! I hate them. A plaster cast is more virtuous than they are, for it neither feels nor suffers.”
“What do you know about it,” I murmured, allowing my hopes to run wild in spite of myself. “How can you be sure that her heart may not be for me? You are too positive. Suppose it should turn out to be for me?”
Portal suddenly became preoccupied and serious. He knit his brow, and said to me in a slightly agitated voice:
“Heaven grant that it may not! I have pondered on that subject, and I swear to you that the best thing that can befall you is that such an event may never occur. Do you hear me? You are a lunatic, fit for the straight-jacket, and you’ll fetch up in Don Ezquerdo’s hands. Suppose that your aunt should really care for you, that the heart you prate about should be manifested as you think it may be. Well, after it had done so, and you had got to loving each other deeply, oh, immensely, like Francesca and Paolo, what would you do then, you hopeless stupid? Let us hear it. Unfold your loving programme. Would you elope with her? Would you hire an apartment for her? Would you desecrate your uncle’s home without any scruple? Answer, you gawk!”
His friendly interest in me blinded and irritated him. His protruding eyes stared at me angrily, as though gazing at a naughty boy who was about to cut his fingers playing with a knife.
“I don’t know what to answer, old chap,” I answered, meekly. “What I do know is that I should be happy, do you hear me? completely happy, if that angelic being should love me. Oh, if she would love me! I would ask no more. I would leave her, I would go off to the North Pole, if only I could be sure of her love. That is what I hope for and what I live for. I respect her like a saint,--but I want her to love me, to love me.”