And as though he considered it necessary to explain his
concession, he added--"I do all this because I like you; and I like you
because you are serious."
Again the Frenchman was plunged in doubt, not knowing in just what this
greatly appreciated seriousness consisted.
At his wedding, Desnoyers thought much of his mother. If only the poor
old woman could witness this extraordinary stroke of good fortune! But
she had died the year before, believing her son enormously rich because
he had been sending her sixty dollars every month, taken from the wages
that he had earned on the ranch.
Desnoyers' entrance into the family made his father-in-law pay less
attention to business.
City life, with all its untried enchantments and snares, now attracted
Madariaga, and he began to speak with contempt of country women, poorly
groomed and inspiring him with disgust. He had given up his cowboy
attire, and was displaying with childish satisfaction, the new suits
in which a tailor of the Capital was trying to disguise him. When Elena
wished to accompany him to Buenos Aires, he would wriggle out of it,
trumping up some absorbing business. "No; you go with your mother."
The fate of his fields and flocks gave him no uneasiness. His fortune,
managed by Desnoyers, was in good hands.
"He is very serious," again affirmed the old Spaniard to his family
assembled in the dining roam--"as serious as I am.
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