At last her son’s entreaties persuaded her, really in spite of herself.
“I will go then, if it is only to please you,” she said tenderly. Luis pulled two roses from a bush by which he was standing and gave them to his mother to pin to her dress.
“I know you like the simplest kind of adornment,” she said to him with a smile, “and I am only going to oblige Rosa and to please you. I am of your school, dear boy; obedience sometimes is doing the thing we like. Good night.”
“Good night, mother.”
And the carriage rolled away, carrying the marquesa towards the blaze of gas that lighted up the haze of city dust and the exhalations of the dog-days.
CHAPTER XX.
THE OLD, OLD DRAMA.
“María dear, are we alone?” asked Luis pressing his sister’s hand to his heart.