“Very well. I arrive there. I throw the stone. She comes, and I tell her—”
“You tell her that I am dead. No, don’t be cruel; give her this amulet. No, tell her—no, it will be better to tell her nothing.”
“Then I will give her the amulet?”
“By no means. Do not take the amulet to her.”
“Now, now I understand. As soon as she comes I am to say good night and march myself away singing, ‘The Virgin del Pilar says—’ ”
“No, it is enough that she learns of my death. You must do as I tell you.”
“But if you don’t tell me anything.”
“How hasty you are! Wait. Perhaps they’ll not kill me today.”
“True. And what a bother about nothing!”
“There is one thing which I have left out, Gabriel, and I shall tell it to you frankly. I have had many, very many great desires to confide to you this secret which weighs upon my breast. To whom could I tell it but to you, my friend? If I did not tell you, my heart would break like a pomegranate. I have been greatly afraid of telling it at night in my dreams. Because of this fear I cannot sleep. If my father, my mother, my brother, suspected it, they would kill me.”
“And the fathers at the Seminary?”
“Don’t name the fathers. You shall see. I will tell you what has befallen me. Do you know Father Rincón? Well, Father Rincón loves me very much, and every evening he used to make me come out for a walk by the