“Fourteen--is that very old? Ah, fool, to tell my age truly--no woman does that. Why did I not say thirteen? And I have been married six months, such a long time! I am sure I have green, blue, yellow, grey hairs coming out all over my head by this time. And what about my hair, sir, you never spoke of that? Did I not let it down for you? Is it not soft and beautiful? Tell me, sir, what about my hair?” “In truth it is soft and beautiful, Cleta, and covers you like a dark cloud.” “Does it not! Look, I will cover my face with it. Now I am hidden like the moon in a cloud, and now, look, out comes the moon again! I have a great respect for the moon. Say, holy friar, am I like the moon?” “Say, little sweet lips, why do you call me holy friar?” “Say first, holy friar, am I like the moon?” “No, Cleta, you are not like the moon, though you are both married women; you are married to Antonio--” “Poor me!” “And the moon is married to the sun.” “Happy moon, to be so far from him!” “The moon is a quiet wife, but you chatter like a paroquet.” “And am I not able to be quiet also, monk? Look, I will be quiet as the moon--not a word, not a breath.” Then she threw herself back on the poncho, feigning sleep, her arms above her head, her hair scattered everywhere, only a tress or two half shading her flushed face and round, heaving bosom that would not be quiet. There was just a little mocking smile on her lips, just a little gleam of laughing eyes under her drooping lashes, for she could not help watching my face for admiration. In such an attitude the tempting little witch might have made the tepid blood of an ascetic boil. Two or three hours thus flew swiftly by while I listened to her lively prattle, which, like the lark's singing, had scarcely a pause in it, her attempt at being still and moonlight having ended in a perfect fiasco. At length, pouting her pretty lips and complaining of her hard lot, she said it was time to go back to her prison; but all the time I was engaged in forcing back the bolt into its place she chattered without ceasing. “Adieu, Sun, husband of the moon,” she said. “Adieu, sweet, sweet friend, buyer of side-saddles! They were all lies you told--I know, I know. You want a horse and sidesaddle to carry off some girl to-night. Happy she! Now I must sit in the dark alone, alone, alone, till Antonio, the atrocious, comes to liberate me with his iron key--ah, fool!”