'The night advances,' said a young and handsome woman mournfully to one of her companions seated at a table before her, and whose cheeks were like her own, covered with paint, as was customary with courtezans.'
'Jesus of Nazareth will not come here to-night.'
'‘Twas scarcely worth while to come here; we could have taken a walk in the neighborhood of the Pool: and there some Roman officer, half drunk, or some doctor of law, hugging the walls, his nose in his cloak, would have given us a supper. You must not complain, Oliba, if we go to our couch supperless: 'twas your wish.'
'That sort of bread seems to me now so bitter, that I do not regret it.'
'Bitter or not, it was bread, and when we are hungry, we must eat.'
'In listening to the words of Jesus,' replied the other courtezan, mildly, 'I should have forgotten hunger.'
'Oliba, you will become mad. To feed upon words!'
'The words of Jesus always say: pardon, mercy, love; and hitherto for us there was nothing but words of scorn and contempt!' And the courtezan remained pensive, her forehead resting upon her hand.
'You are a strange girl, Oliba,' continued the other, 'but however, empty as it is, we shall not have even this supper of words; for the Nazarene will not come now: it is too late.'
'On the contrary, I trust the all powerful God may direct him here!' said a poor woman seated on the ground near the two courtezans, and holding in her arms a sickly child:—