“And Cartagena?”
“A week later, if you do not have to wait a month on the river bank for the boat.”
“Then, all going well, within two months Carmen should be out of the country.”
“Surely. You and she––”
“Enough, friend. I do not go with her.”
“What? Caramba!”
“Go now and bid Carmen come to me immediately after the desayuno. Tell Doña Maria that I will eat nothing this morning. I am going up to the old church on the hill.”
Rosendo stared stupidly at the priest. But Josè turned abruptly and started away, leaving the old man in a maze of bewilderment.
In the gloom of the old church Josè threw himself upon a bench near the door, and waited torpidly. A few moments later came a voice, and then the soft patter of bare feet in the thick dust without. Carmen was talking as she approached. Josè rose in curiosity; but the girl was alone. In her hand she held a scrubby flower that had drawn a desperate nourishment from the barren soil at the roadside. She glanced up at Josè and smiled.