Hablarle en necio para darle el gusto.[1]
THE mountain-encircled lake slept peacefully with that hypocrisy of the elements which gave no hint of how its waters had the night before responded to the fury of the storm. As the first reflections of light awoke on its surface the phosphorescent spirits, there were outlined in the distance, almost on the horizon, the gray silhouettes of the little bankas of the fishermen who were taking in their nets and of the larger craft spreading their sails. Two men dressed in deep mourning stood gazing at the water from a little elevation: one was Ibarra and the other a youth of humble aspect and melancholy features.
"This is the place," the latter was saying. "From here your father's body was thrown into the water. Here's where the grave-digger brought Lieutenant Guevara and me."
Ibarra warmly grasped the hand of the young man, who went on: "You have no occasion to thank me. I owed many favors to your father, and the only thing that I could do for him was to accompany his body to the grave. I came here without knowing any one, without recommendation, and having neither name nor fortune, just as at present. My predecessor had abandoned the school to engage in the tobacco trade. Your father protected me, secured me a house, and furnished whatever was necessary
- ↑ The common crowd is a fool and since it pays for it, it is proper to talk to it foolishly to please it.
