There's no use in your repeating it; I know
it by heart. A volcano in my breast, impossible to live without you--if
you do not love me, I will kill myself. They all say the same thing. I
never saw such a lack of originality. Master, for goodness sake, do not
be so commonplace! A man like you saying such things!"
Renovales was crushed by her mocking mimicry. But Concha, as if she took
pity on him, hastened to add, in an affectionate tone:
"Why should you have to be in love with me? Do you think I shall esteem
you less if I relieve you from an obligation that all men who surround
me feel under? I like you, master; I need to see you; I should be very
sorry if we quarreled. I like you as a friend; the best of all, the
first. I like you because you are good; a great big boy; a bearded baby
who doesn't know even the least bit about the world, but who is very,
_very_ talented. I've wanted for a long time to see you alone, to talk
with you quite freely, to tell you this. I like you as I like no one
else. When I am with you, I feel a confidence such as no other man
inspires in me. Good friends, brother and sister, if you will. But don't
put on such a gloomy face! Look pleasant, please! Give one of your
laughs that cheer my soul, master!"
But the master remained sullen, looking at the ground, running the
fingers of his hand through his thick beard.
"All that's a lie, Concha," he said rudely. "The truth is that you are
in love, you're mad over that worthless Monteverde.
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