"At the present moment I do not know. Pobrecito! He is gone, departed from Piñeres."
"With whom did he live? His parents?" Rodrigo questioned excitedly.
"No, with his Uncle Marcos, now dead. It was when the uncle died that no longer could be sustained the slave life of the boy. Never a fiesta for Pepé, never a holiday. The work of two men for a lad of fifteen. It was beyond endurance and none blamed him for going elsewhere to seek his fortune."
Rodrigo turned hurriedly to Anita, who was talking to one of Amparo's friends. "Here is one who knew the brother of you. Come, come, we will take him to the mother. He knew, yes, yes, he knew Pepé."
Anita sprang forward and grasped Anselmo's arm. "You knew my brother? How wonderful! Come, come quickly to my mother."
They hastened the young man along to where Mrs. Beltrán was sitting with Doña Prudencia, watching the crowds. Doña Benilda had gone off to chat with some friends she had caught sight of.
"Mother, mother," cried Anita, "here is some one who knew Pepé. Think of it! he knew Pepé; he was his good friend. Oh, ask him, ask him where he is. Let him tell you all he knows. This is my mother and Pepé's, señor."
"It is our good friend Anselmo Ortega, cousin," said Rodrigo. "He is of Piñeres, the pueblo where lived our uncle Marcos, and he has known your son."
Mrs. Beltrán clasped her hands beseechingly. "Tell me, señor," she said earnestly, "do you know where my boy has gone? Oh, this is wonderful."
"He went to Barcelona," replied Anselmo, "but I cannot tell whether he is there now or not. Once, twice, perhaps three times I heard from him, then no more. He is silent now three years."