mother's heart that can feel these things! Only a mother is capable
of suffering so much anxiety about a son's welfare. How should you
understand it? No; it is one thing to have children and to suffer
anxiety on their account and another to sing the _gori gori_ in the
cathedral and to teach Latin in the institute. Of great use is it for
my son to be your nephew and to have taken so many honors and to be
the pride and ornament of Orbajosa. He will die of starvation, for we
already know what law brings; or else he will have to ask the deputies
for a situation in Havana, where the yellow fever will kill him."

"But, niece--"

"No, I am not grieving, I am silent now; I won't annoy you any more.
I am very troublesome, always crying and sighing; and I am not to be
endured because I am a fond mother and I will look out for the good of
my beloved son. I will die, yes, I will die in silence, and stifle my
grief. I will swallow my tears, in order not to annoy his reverence the
canon. But my idolized son will comprehend me and he won't put his hands
to his ears as you are doing now. Woe is me! Poor Jacinto knows that
I would die for him, and that I would purchase his happiness at the
sacrifice of my life. Darling child of my soul! To be so deserving and
to be forever doomed to mediocrity, to a humble station, for--don't get
indignant, uncle--no matter what airs we put on, you will always be the
son of Uncle Tinieblas, the sacristan of San Bernardo, and I shall
never be any thing more than the daughter of Ildefonso Tinieblas, your
brother, who used to sell crockery, and my son will be the grandson of
the Tinieblas--for obscure we were born, and we shall never emerge from
our obscurity, nor own a piece of land of which we can say, 'This is
mine'; nor shall I ever plunge my arms up to the elbows in a sack of
wheat threshed and winnowed on our own threshing-floor--all because of