that she was beginning to feel unhappy. What a rude shock the discovery
gave me! And we so lately married! It is only just to Paquita, however,
to say that had I not married her she would have been still more
unhappy. Only the poor child could not help thinking of father and
mother; she yearned for reconciliation, and her present sorrow rose
from her belief that they would never, never, never forgive her. I
endeavoured, with all the eloquence I was capable of, to dispel these
gloomy ideas, but she was firm in her conviction that precisely because
they had loved her so much they would never pardon this first great
offence. My poor darling might have been reading _Christabel_,
I thought, when she said that it is toward those who have been most
deeply loved the wounded heart cherishes the greatest bitterness. Then,
by way of illustration, she told me of a quarrel between her mother
and a till then dearly loved sister. It had happened many years ago,
when she, Paquita, was a mere child; yet the sisters had never forgiven
each other.

"And where," I asked, "is this aunt of yours, of whom I have never
heard you speak until this minute?"

"Oh," answered Paquita, with the greatest simplicity imaginable, "she
left this country long, long ago, and you never heard of her because
we were not even allowed to mention her name in the house. She went
to live in Montevideo, and I believe she is there still, for several
years ago I heard some person say that she had bought herself a house
in that city."

"Soul of my life," said I, "you have never left Buenos Ayres in heart,
even to keep your poor husband company! Yet I know, Paquita, that
corporeally you are here in Montevideo, conversing with me at this