“My dearest mother, it produced the same effect upon me: yet certainly neither of us ever heard his voice till we came to Madrid. I suspect that what we attribute to his voice, really proceeds from his pleasant manners, which forbid our considering him as a stranger. I know not why, but I feel more at my ease while conversing with him than I usually do with people who are unknown to me. I feared not to repeat to him all my childish thoughts; and somehow I felt confident that he would hear my folly with indulgence. Oh! I was not deceived in him! He listened to me with such an air of kindness and attention! He answered me with such gentleness, such condescension! He did not call me an infant, and treat me with contempt, as our cross old confessor at the castle used to do. I verily believe that if I had lived in Murcia a thousand years, I never should have liked that fat old Father Dominic!”

“I confess that Father Dominic had not the most pleasing manners in the world; but he was honest, friendly, and well-meaning.”

“Ah! my dear mother, those qualities are so common!”