"Perhaps she was a little more simpática," admitted the hermanita, but that was her utmost concession. She would not even allow that Philip had a sorry end.
"If his body groaned, his soul was communing with the Blessed Saints and paid no heed."
At the corner of the street which led under the great garden wall to the heavily barred gate of the convent was a flower-stand. The shrewd, swift-tongued Madame in charge well knew the look of the unwary, and usually succeeded in selling me a cluster of drooping blossoms at twice the value of the fresh, throwing in an extra leaf or stem at the close of the bargain with an air of prodigal benevolence. The handful of flowers would be smilingly accepted by the little sister, but instantly laid aside nor favored with glance or touch until the close of the visit, when they would be lifted again with a winsome word of acknowledgment and carried away, probably to spend their sweetness at the marble feet of the Virgin. In vain I tried to coax from this scorner of God's earth some sign of pleasure in the flowers themselves.
"Don't you care for tea-roses?" "Ah, el mundo pasa. But their color is exquisite."
Yet her eyes did not turn to the poor posy for the two hours following.
"This mignonette has only the grace of sweetness."
"It is a delicate scent, but it will not last. El mundo pasa."
She held the sprays at arm's length for a moment, and then laid them down on a mantel at the farther end of the room.
"I am sorry these violets are not fresher."
"But no! The touch of Time has not yet found them. Still, it is only a question of to-morrow. El mundo pasa."