THE gratitude which the fisherman felt for him who had saved Marisalada, was complete when he saw him so attached to his daughter: an impassioned friendship which could only be compared to the admiration excited in him by the brilliant qualities of Stein.

From thence they were devoted to each other: the brusque mariner and the man of science sympathized, because men of kindred natures and gifted with good sentiments feel, when they come in contact, such an attraction, that, scorning the distance which separates their positions, they meet as brothers.

It thus happened when Stein offered himself as the old man’s son-in-law: the good father could not articulate a word, so much was he overcome with the joy which filled his heart. He besought Stein only, when taking his hand, to come and live in his cabin. Stein cordially assented. The fisherman appeared then to recover all his strength and all the agility of his youth, to employ them in ameliorating and embellishing his habitation. He cleared away the little garret to make there his personal lodging, leaving the first story for his children; he whitened and ornamented the walls; he levelled the ground, and covered it with a precious mat of palms, which he weaved for that purpose; he engaged Maria to make up for him a trousseau for the bride in character with the simplicity of his dwelling.

Great was the news caused by the rumored approaching marriage of Stein, to all those who knew and loved him. Old Maria was so joyous that she passed three nights without sleep. She predicted that when Don Frederico permanently established himself in the country none of the inhabitants would die except from old age. Brother Gabriel manifested so much contentment and such pleasure in seeing Maria so sprightly, that he entered into the feelings of his protectress, and ventured to say a witty thing, the first and the last in all his life; he said in a loud voice, “that the cura had forgotten the De profundis.”

This remark became of some consequence, inasmuch as Maria, for fifteen days, was earnest in reporting, after the usual compliments, the famous forgetfulness of the De profundis, which remark she considered as the glory and honor of her protÉgÉ. He himself was so embarrassed with the success attendant upon his innocent wit, that he vowed never again to succumb to a similar temptation.

Don Modesto was of opinion that the Gaviota had gained the first prize in the lottery, and the people of the village the second: “Because,” said he, “I would never have been maimed if I had met at GaËte a surgeon as skilful as Stein.”

Dolores added, that if the fisherman had twice given life to his daughter, the will of God had twice given her happiness, in conferring on her such a father and such a husband.

Manuel observed, that there was in Heaven a cake reserved for husbands who never repented of their marriage, and which, up to this moment, no one had yet put his teeth into.

His wife said, it was because husbands never entered there!

As to Momo, he concluded that since the Gaviota had found a husband, the Plague need not lose hope of finding one also.

Rosa Mistica took the affair differently. Mariquita had, by a recent act, increased her list of evil deeds; some devotees were assembled to sing, in honor of the Virgin, couplets accompanied by a wretched harpsicord, played by an old blind man. Rosita presided at this ceremony. Not being able to ignore the aptitude of Marisalada, she silenced her ancient resentments, and thought, by the mediation of Don Modesto, to induce the fisherman’s daughter to take part in the pious concert.

Don Modesto took his cane, and set out on his campaign. Marisalada replied to the old commandant a dry “No,” without prologue or epilogue.

This monosyllable frightened Modesto more than a discharge of artillery; the negotiator knew not what to do. Don Modesto was one of those men who are sufficiently good-hearted to desire the good of their friends, but who want strength to achieve it, and imagination to find the means of obtaining it.

“Pedro,” said he to the fisherman, after this peremptory refusal, “do you know I tremble in all my limbs? What will Rosita say? What will all the village say? Can you not then influence her?”

“If she will not, what can I do?” replied the fisherman.

And the poor Don Modesto resigned himself to report this ungracious message, which would not only offend, but scandalize the mysticism of his hostess.

“I would prefer a thousand times,” said he, in returning to Villamar, “to present myself before all the batteries of GaËte, than before Rosita with a no on my lips. In what a state she will be!”

And Don Modesto was right; for it was in vain that he essayed to ornament her answer by an exordium which merely insinuated, to comment by vague hints, to embellish by verbose paraphrases: he did not less keenly offend Rosita, who cried out in a loud tone—

“They who would not employ in the service of God the gifts they have received of Him, merit perdition.”

Also, when she learned the project of marriage, she sighed, and raised her eyes to Heaven:

“Poor Don Frederico!” she said.

Momo, according to his bad habits, took pleasure in conveying the news of this marriage to Ramon Perez.

“Really!” cried the barber, in consternation.

“You are sad; I am much more sad in seeing that there are people who ought to be beaten for the absurdity of their tastes. See a little! To be smitten of this saucebox! but Don Frederico proves the proverb, ‘Late married, badly married.’”

“I am not sad,” replied Ramon Perez, “because Marisalada is loved by Don Frederico, but because she loves this stranger who has hair of hemp and fishes’ eyes. Why does not the ingrate recollect this sentence, ‘Who marries late becomes either a dupe or a deceiver.’”

“It will not be he who will be the first to deceive. For as to Don Frederico, he is a brave man, nothing can be said to the contrary; but this vixen has bewitched him with her singing, which lasts from the rising to the setting sun. I have already said to him: Don Frederico, listen to the proverb, ‘Take a house with a hearth: take a wife who knows how to spin.’ He has not attended to either: it is a misfortune. As to thee, Ramon Perez, they have simply made a great mistake.”

“That is easily seen,” replied the barber, giving so hasty a turn to the key of his guitar that the treble-string broke: “he whom we would drive from our house must be a stranger. But you ought to know, Momo, that I care for very little. The year will finish one day, and if the king is dead, long live the king!”

Then he commenced to strike his guitar with rage, singing with bombastic voice: