sister already had three sons. But what were they worth to Madariaga compared to the grandson that was going to come? “It will be a boy,” he announced positively, “because I need one so. It shall be named Julio, and I hope that it will look like my poor dead wife.”
Since the death of his wife he no longer called her the China, feeling something of a posthumous love for the poor woman who in her lifetime had endured so much, so timidly and silently. Now “my poor dead wife” cropped out every other instant in the conversation of the remorseful ranchman.
His desires were fulfilled. Luisa gave birth to a boy who bore the name of Julio, and although he did not show in his somewhat sketchy features any striking resemblance to his grandmother, still he had the black hair and eyes and olive skin of a brunette. Welcome! . . . This WAS a grandson!
In the generosity of his joy, he even permitted the German to enter the house for the baptismal ceremony.
When Julio Desnoyers was two years old, his grandfather made the rounds of his estates, holding him on the saddle in front of him. He went from ranch to ranch in order to show him to the copper-colored populace, like an ancient monarch presenting his heir. Later on, when the child was able to say a few words, he entertained himself for hours at a time talking with the tot under the shade of the eucalyptus tree. A certain mental failing was beginning to be noticed in the old man. Although not exactly in his dotage, his aggressiveness was becoming very childish. Even in his most affectionate moments, he used to contradict everybody, and hunt up ways of annoying his relatives.
“Come here, you false prophet,” he would say to Julio. “You are a Frenchy.”
The grandchild protested as though he had been insulted. His mother had taught him that he was an Argentinian, and his father had suggested that she also add Spanish, in order to please the grandfather.
“Very well, then; if you are not a Frenchy, shout, ‘Down with Napoleon!’”
And he looked around him to see if Desnoyers might be near, believing that this would displease him greatly. But his son-in-law pursued the even tenor of his way, shrugging his shoulders.
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