Welcome! . . . This WAS a
grandson!
In the generosity of his joy, he even permitted the German to enter the
house for the baptismal ceremony.
When Julio Desnoyers was two years old, his grandfather made the rounds
of his estates, holding him on the saddle in front of him. He went from
ranch to ranch in order to show him to the copper-colored populace, like
an ancient monarch presenting his heir. Later on, when the child was
able to say a few words, he entertained himself for hours at a time
talking with the tot under the shade of the eucalyptus tree. A certain
mental failing was beginning to be noticed in the old man. Although not
exactly in his dotage, his aggressiveness was becoming very childish.
Even in his most affectionate moments, he used to contradict everybody,
and hunt up ways of annoying his relatives.
"Come here, you false prophet," he would say to Julio. "You are a
Frenchy."
The grandchild protested as though he had been insulted. His mother had
taught him that he was an Argentinian, and his father had suggested that
she also add Spanish, in order to please the grandfather.
"Very well, then; if you are not a Frenchy, shout, 'Down with
Napoleon!'"
And he looked around him to see if Desnoyers might be near, believing
that this would displease him greatly. But his son-in-law pursued the
even tenor of his way, shrugging his shoulders.
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