Carmen hesitated. Then a smile lighted up her face, and she reached up and took Rosendo’s hand. Together they passed silently out and into the priest’s house.
Ana sank to the floor, where she buried her face in her hands and wept violently.
“Wait, Ana,” said Josè, tenderly stroking the unhappy woman’s hair. “Wait. They will soon return. And you shall remain here, where you belong.”
A half hour passed. Then Josè, wondering, went quietly to the door of his house and looked in. Rosendo sat at the table, with Carmen on his knees.
“And, padre,” the child was saying, “the good Jesus told the woman not to sin any more; and she went away happy. Padre, God has told Anita not to sin any more––and she has come to us to be happy. We are going to make her so, aren’t we? Padre Diego couldn’t hurt me, you know, for God wouldn’t let him. And he hasn’t hurt Anita––God wouldn’t let him keep her––wouldn’t let her stay with him. Don’t you see, padre? And we have got to be like Him––we are like Him, really. But now we have got to show it, to prove it, you know.”
Rosendo’s head was bent over the girl. Neither of them saw Josè. The child went on with increased animation:
“And, padre dear, God sends us Anita’s little baby for us to love and protect. Oh, padre, if the little one is a boy, can’t we call it Josè?”
“Yes, chiquita,” Josè heard the old man murmur brokenly.
“And––padre, if it is a girl––what shall we call it?”