Sister Pilar (looking up from her book, her eye sparkling and her cheek flushing): As to that ... I have seen a painted Bible wherein the Serpent of Eden is depicted with a wicked old woman’s face.
Jaime Rodriguez turns round with a shrill cackle.
Trotaconventos (chuckling): A good, honest blow, Sister Pilar! But as the proverb says, the abbot dines off his singing, and of its own accord the pot does not fill itself with stew. Howbeit, Sister Pilar, who laughs last laughs on the right side of his mouth. Well, ladies, shall we to the parlour? A ship from Tunis has lately come in, and one from Alexandria, and one from Genoa, and they tell me I was born under Liber with the moon in the ascendant, and that draws me ever to the water’s edge, and sailors have merry kind hearts and bring me toys, and, it may be, there will be that among them that will take your fancy.
First Nun: We have been burning to know what was hid in your pack to-day.
Third and Second Nun: To the parlour! To the parlour!
All except Sister Pilar and Jaime Rodriguez walk towards the convent. Sister Pilar goes on reading. Jaime Rodriguez comes up to her and timidly sits down beside her. Silence.
Jaime Rodriguez (in a constrained voice): I am to read mass to the pilgrims before they start for Guadalupe.
Sister Pilar (absently): I should like to go on pilgrimage.
Jaime Rodriguez: Perhaps ... if ... why do you never go then?
Sister Pilar (smiling a little sadly): Because I want to keep my own dream of a pilgrimage—nothing but mountains and rivers and seas and visions and hymns to Our Lady.