“This is March, and Perfecta’s quarterly letter has not failed to come.  Read it, my dear boy, and if you can agree to what that holy and exemplary woman, my dear sister, says in it, you will give me the greatest happiness I could desire in my old age.  If the plan does not please you, reject it without hesitation, for, although your refusal would grieve me, there is not in it the shadow of constraint on my part.  It would be unworthy of us both that it should be realized through the coercion of an obstinate father.  You are free either to accept or to reject it, and if there is in your mind the slightest repugnance to it, arising either from your inclinations or from any other cause, I do not wish you to do violence to your feelings on my account.”

Pepe laid the letter on the table after he had glanced through it, and said quietly: 

“My aunt wishes me to marry Rosario!”

“She writes accepting joyfully my idea,” said his father, with emotion.  “For the idea was mine.  Yes, it is a long time, a very long time since it occurred to me; but I did not wish to say anything to you until I knew what your sister might think about it.  As you see, Perfecta receives my plan with joy; she says that she too had thought of it, but that she did not venture to mention it to me, because you are—­you have seen what she says—­because you are a young man of very exceptional merit and her daughter is a country girl, without either a brilliant education or worldly attractions.  Those are her words.  My poor sister!  How good she is!  I see that you are not displeased; I see that this project of mine, resembling a little the officious prevision of the fathers of former times who married their children without consulting their wishes in the matter, and making generally inconsiderate and unwise matches, does not seem absurd to you.  God grant that this may be, as it seems to promise, one of the happiest.  It is true that you have never seen your cousin, but we are both aware of her virtue, of her discretion, of her modest and noble simplicity.  That nothing may be wanting, she is even beautiful.  My opinion is,” he added gayly, “that you should at once start for that out-of-the-way episcopal city, that Urbs Augusta, and there, in the presence of my sister and her charming Rosarito, decide whether the latter is to be something more to me or not, than my niece.”

Pepe took up the letter again and read it through carefully.  His countenance expressed neither joy nor sorrow.  He might have been examining some plan for the junction of two railroads.

“In truth,” said Don Juan, “in that remote Orbajosa, where, by the way, you have some land that you might take a look at now, life passes with the tranquillity and the sweetness of an idyl.  What patriarchal customs!  What noble simplicity!  What rural and Virgilian peace!  If, instead of being a mathematician, you were a Latinist, you would repeat, as you enter it, the ergo tua rura manebunt.