river or towards Torrero or the Juslibol road. We would talk of theology and literature. Rincón is so enthusiastic about the great poet Horace that he used to say, ‘It is a pity that that man wasn’t a Christian so that he could be canonized.’ He always carries with him a little Elzevir, which he loves more than the apple of his eye. When we were tired walking, he would sit down and read, and between the two of us we would make whatever comments occurred to us. Well, now I will tell you that Father Rincón was a kinsman of Doña Maria Rincón, the deceased wife of Candiola, who has a little property in the Monzalbarba road, with a wretched little country house, more like a hut than a house, but embowered in leafy trees, and with delightful views of the Ebro. One afternoon, after we had been reading the Quis multa gracilis te puer in rosa , my teacher desired to visit his relative. We went there; we entered the garden, and Candiola was not there; but his daughter came to meet us, and Rincón said to her, ‘Mariquilla, get some peaches for this young man, and get me a glass of you know what.’ ”
“And is Mariquilla nice?”
“Don’t ask that. What if she is nice? You shall see. Father Rincón stroked his beard, and turning towards me said, ‘Augustine, confess that in your lifetime you have never seen a more perfect face than this one. Look at those eyes of fire, that angel’s mouth, and that bit of heaven for a brow.’ I was trembling, and Mariquilla laughed, her face all rosy red. Then Rincón continued, saying, ‘To you, who are a future father of the church, an example, a young pattern, without other passion than that for books, this divinity may show herself. Jove! admire here the admirable work of the Supreme Creator. Observe the expression of that face, the sweetness of those glances, the grace of that smile, the freshness, the delicacy of that complexion, the fineness of that skin, and confess that if heaven is beautiful, flowers, mountains, light, all the creations of God are nothing beside woman, the most perfect and finished work of the immortal hand.’ Thus spoke my teacher, and I, mute and astonished, did