“What gentleman? Who is he?”
“A very old Lutheran padre, Señor. He came to see you a few minutes before you came in.”
“A Lutheran padre? What is his name?”
But here Eusebia interrupted with a cry. She had been rocking herself to and fro in a rocking-chair, with her apron over her face; now she sprang up in excitement.
“Oh, be joyful,” she cried, “for the holy footsteps. Wherever the blessed feet tread, there come the lovely, lovely flowers. Oh, I feel them grow! Oh, I feel the angels. Catch old Tia, Ramón; give me your hand for the Lord’s sake; we will be caught right up to the throne together. Oh, I hear the harps! Oh, I hear the singing!”
“I hear them,” Ramón cried, taking his wife’s hand. “They sing tirra-lu, tirra-lu, just like the lovely band.”
“Come on to the throne, Tio Ramón.”
“I am coming, Tia Eusebia.”
“There shines the Lord.”
“O, the little glittering feet!”