“Yes, señorita,” replied the woman in a thin, cracking voice, now completely disarmed of her suspicion. “The little fellow was born here some seven years ago. Ah, well I remember the day! And his mother, poor little lamb! She died the same night. But the good Padre has sent us money ever since to care for him, until of late. Señorita, why is it, think you, that he sends us so little now?”
“I––do––not––know,” murmured Carmen abstractedly, scarce hearing the woman. Then she turned to the boy. She bent over him and looked long and wistfully into his eyes. He was a bright, handsome little fellow; and though her heart was crushed, she took him into it. Swallowing the lump which had come into her throat, she drew him to the window and sat down, holding him before her.
“Your father––I know him––well. He is a––a good man. But––I did not know––I never knew that he had a son.” She stopped, choking.
“Tia Catalina says he is a fine man,” proudly answered the boy. “And she wants me to be a priest, too. But I am going to be a bull-fighter.”
“It is true, señorita,” interposed the woman. “We cannot keep him from the arena now. He hangs about it all day, and about the slaughter-house. We can hardly drag him back to his meals. What can we do, señorita? But,” with a touch of pride as she looked at him, “if he becomes a bull-fighter, he will be the best of them all!”
Carmen turned again to the woman. Her question carried an appeal which came from the depths of her soul. “Señora, is there no doubt––no doubt that Padre Rincón is the father of the boy?”
“We think not, señorita. The lad’s mother died in the good Padre’s arms. She would not say positively who was the boy’s father. We thought at first––it was some one else. Marcelena insisted on it to her dying day. But now––now we know that it was Padre Josè. And he was sent to Simití for it. But––ah, señorita, the little mother was so beautiful, and so good! She––but, señorita, you are not leaving so soon?”
Carmen had risen. “Yes, my good señora,” she said wearily. “We must now return to the hotel. But––here is more money for the boy. And, señora, when I reach the States I will send you money every month for him.”
She took Harris’s hand. “Come,” she said simply, “I have seen enough of the city.”