sooner had he gone than, as if God had let go his
hold of me, I lost my courage, and fell, crushed with sorrow, on the
floor. I had dreamed of a happy life at the side of the man I love; I
already saw myself elevated to him by the miraculous power of love; my
poor mind in perfect communion with his sublime intellect; my will one
with his; both thinking the same thought; our hearts beating in unison.
And now God has taken him away from me, and I am left alone, without
hope or consolation. Is not this frightful? The arguments of the
reverend vicar are just and full of wisdom; for the time, they convinced
me. But he has gone away, and all those arguments now seem to me
worthless--a tissue of words, lies, entanglements, and sophistries. I
love Don Luis, and this argument is more powerful than all other
arguments put together. And if he loves me in return, why does he not
leave everything and come to me, break the vows he has taken, and
renounce the obligations he has contracted? I did not know what love
was; now I know; there is nothing stronger on earth or in heaven. What
would I not do for Don Luis? And he--he does nothing for me! Perhaps he
does not love me. No; Don Luis does not love me. I have deceived
myself; I was blinded by vanity. If Don Luis loved me, he would
sacrifice his plans, his vows, his fame, his aspirations to be a saint
and a light of the Church, he would sacrifice all to me. God forgive me,
what I am about to say is horrible, but I feel it here in the depths of
my heart, it burns here in my fevered brow: for him I would give even
the salvation of my soul!"

"Holy Virgin!" exclaimed Antonona.

"It is true; may our blessed Lady of Sorrows pardon me--I am mad--I know
not what I say. I blaspheme!"

"Yes, child; you are talking indeed a little naughtily. Heaven help us!
To think how this cox-comb of a theologian has turned your head! Well,
if I were in your place, I would not take Heaven to task, which is in no
wise to blame, but this jackanapes of a collegian, and I would have it
out with him, or never again call myself Pepita Ximenez. I should like
to go hunt him up, and bring him here to you by the ear, and make him go
down on his knees before you, and beg your pardon."

"No, Antonona; I see that my madness is contagious, and that you are
raving, too. There is, in fact, nothing left for me to do but what the
reverend vicar advises. And I will do it, even though it should cost me
my life. If I die for