So eet make me mooch 'fraid, I no vort' eet--no, no! I know not den de bettar vay.

But de good Mother of God she show me, she tell me vat do--I run quick; I die for de man I lofe, an' den he all'ays know dat I lofe him; he know den bettar as eef I marry him.

Si, si, eet vas all joy for Mercedes, now, my senor.

Eet not hurt, eet make me glad to know." Brown bent ever lower as he listened, his great body shaking in the effort to repress his sobs, his lips pressing against her white cheek.
"I kiss you now, senor," she whispered, faintly.

"Just de once, like I vas your vife." Their lips met, the very soul of each seemingly in the soft, clinging contact.