"Do you know what Rosario was saying to me this morning?" said Dona
Perfecta, looking at her nephew. "Well, she was saying that, as a man
accustomed to the luxuries and the etiquette of the capital and to
foreign ways, you would not be able to put up with the somewhat rustic
simplicity and the lack of ceremony of our manner of life; for here
every thing is very plain."

"What a mistake!" responded Pepe, looking at his cousin. "No one abhors
more than I do the falseness and the hypocrisy of what is called high
society. Believe me, I have long wished to give myself a complete
bath in nature, as some one has said; to live far from the turmoil
of existence in the solitude and quiet of the country. I long for
the tranquillity of a life without strife, without anxieties; neither
envying nor envied, as the poet has said. For a long time my studies at
first, and my work afterward, prevented me from taking the rest which
I need, and which my mind and my body both require; but ever since I
entered this house, my dear aunt, my dear cousin, I have felt myself
surrounded by the peaceful atmosphere which I have longed for. You must
not talk to me, then, of society, either high or low; or of the world,
either great or small, for I would willingly exchange them all for this
peaceful retreat."

While he was thus speaking, the glass door which led from the
dining-room into the garden was obscured by the interposition between
it and the light of a dark body. The glasses of a pair of spectacles,
catching a sunbeam, sent forth a fugitive gleam; the latch creaked, the
door opened, and the Penitentiary gravely entered the room. He saluted
those present, taking off his broad-brimmed hat and bowing until its
brim touched the floor.