are of her beautiful image of the Child
Jesus, has in her thoughts the ideal Mother and the ideal Son, both
alike immaculate.

I confess that I know not what to think of all these singularities. I
know so little of women! What the vicar tells me of Pepita surprises me;
and yet, though on the whole I believe her to be good, rather than the
contrary, she inspires me at times with a certain fear on my father's
account. Notwithstanding his fifty-five years, I believe that he is in
love; and Pepita, although virtuous through conviction, may, without
premeditating or intending it, be an instrument of the spirit of evil,
may practice a species of coquetry, involuntary and instinctive, more
irresistible, efficacious, and fatal, than that which proceeds from
premeditation, calculation, and reasoning.

Who knows, I say to myself at times, notwithstanding her prayers, her
secluded and devout life, her alms and her gifts to the churches, on all
which is based the affection that the vicar entertains for her, if there
be not also an earthly spell, if there be not something of diabolical
magic in the arts she practices, and with which she deludes and beguiles
this simple vicar, so that he thinks and speaks only of her on all
occasions?

The very influence that Pepita exercises over a man so incredulous as my
father, a man whose nature is so vigorous and so little sentimental,
has in it, in truth, something extraordinary.

Nor do the good works of Pepita suffice to explain the respect and
affection with which she inspires these country-people in general. On
the rare occasions on which she leaves her house, the little children
run to meet her and kiss her hand; the young girls smile, and salute her
with affection; and the men take off their hats, as she passes, and
incline themselves before her with the most spontaneous reverence and
the most natural good-feeling.

Pepita Ximenez, whom many of the villagers have known since she was
born, and who, to the knowledge of every one here, lived in poverty with
her mother, until her marriage to the decrepid and avaricious Don
Gumersindo, has caused all this to be forgotten, and is now looked upon
as a wondrous being, a visitant, pure and radiant, from some distant
land, from some higher sphere, and is regarded by her fellow-townspeople
with affectionate esteem, and something like loving admiration.

I see that I am inadvertently falling into the same fault that I censure
in the reverend