"I do not know that street."
"Ah, I believe you," stammered the poor child, shuddering; "I shall proceed in advance."
"Do so," said Anselmo.
The ex-priest followed her, bearing the unconscious woman in his muscular arms, and only gradually did he perceive that his companion was leading him into one of the most disreputable streets in the city.
The young girl stopped in front of a small house. A robust woman stood in the doorway, and when she saw the young girl she venomously said:
"Zilda has taken time. She stayed away a good two hours to get her daughter."
"My mother is dangerously ill, perhaps dying," said the young girl in a sharp voice.
"It won't be so serious," replied the woman, with a coarse laugh.
"Have you not heard that the woman is dangerously ill?" said the ex-priest.
"Is she sick?" asked the woman, coldly. "Well, if she dies, it won't be a great misfortune. I—"