That surly, severe woman showed her bare heart to no one in the world
save don Andrés. Whenever he called her his "señora," or his "worthy
mistress," she could not restrain a gesture of satisfaction; and it was
to him that she poured out her complaints against her husband's
misdeeds. Her affection for him was that of a dame of ancient chivalry
for her private squire. Enthusiasm for the glory of the house united
them in such intimacy that the opposition wagged its tongues, asserting
that doña Bernarda was getting even for her husband's waywardness. But
don Andrés, who smiled scornfully when accused of taking advantage of
the chief's influence to drive hard bargains to his own advantage, was
not the man to be trifled with if gossip ventured to smirch his
friendship with the _señora_.

Their Trinity was most closely cemented, however, by their fondness for
Rafael, the little tot destined to bring fame to the name of Brull and
realize the ambitions of both his grandfather and his father.

Rafael was a quiet, morose little boy, whose gentleness of disposition
seemed to irritate the hard-hearted doña Bernarda. He was always hanging
on to her skirts. Every time she raised her eyes she would find the
little fellow's gaze fixed upon her.

"Go out and play in _the patio_," the mother would say.

And the little fellow, moody and resigned, would leave the room, as if
in obedience to a disagreeable command.

Don Andrés alone was successful in amusing the child, with his tales and
his strolls through the orchards, picking flowers for him, making
whistles for him out of reeds. It was don Andrés who took him to school,