glance that her raillery had hurt the simple blacksmith's heart.
"That was four weeks ago, doña; a long time for a joke to stick like a thorn in a man's hand and bite him every time he takes up a tool. It is true, as all the world knows by now, that I slept like an alligator the night the miracle came to Juan, and they killed Alvitre at the dam. But it was: the design of providence that I slept, doña, for if I had roused at Cristóbal's cry and rushed to the dam with my iron bar, there would have been no need of an arrow to save the governor's life. Then where would Juan and Cristóbal have stood today? They would have been hunted men, with no governor's pardon making everything right as it does. Now, that is my last word of this jest, doña. Run away to wash the feet of your great lord, Don Geronimo, and trouble me with your cackle no more."
"I am sorry, Borromeo," she said in sincere contrition, understanding very well that her jest had become a thorn.
"Very well, then. There is no reason in galling a man for a weakness because he's got a broad back. But it is enough; go and feed your hens."
"I am ashamed, Borromeo. You are better than I am, and kinder, too. Forgive me; I will say no more."
"Oh well, if you speak that way it is nothing. It was not said, Doña Magdalena. Now, I must go on with my work."
