The woman, Marie, appeared with a cup of broth on a tray. From her glad excitement, the tray trembled in her hands.
“Oh, welcome home, Elena!” she exclaimed. “Welcome to San Salvador, Tacita Mora! You are a thousand times welcome! May the place be to you the gate of heaven! I am so glad!”
She set the tray before Tacita, but could spare her only a glance as she uttered her hasty and tremulous welcome. Then she ran to embrace Elena. “Oh, welcome! welcome! You are looking so well. You come laden with good news. Stay with us! We will not let you go again. We will give the moon in exchange for you!”
“Oh, I should miss the moon,” Elena said laughingly.
After a little while they went out together, leaving Tacita to rest.
“What, then, is San Salvador?” she wondered, sinking among the sofa-pillows.
Perhaps she might learn by lifting that sun-lighted curtain. But she did not wish to lift it. There was pleasure in tasting slowly the unfolding mystery. So far, each revelation had been brighter than the preceding. She slept content, and waked to see on the curtain the deep hue of sunset.
For a little while she lay looking about her, recollecting herself, and examining her surroundings. The floor was of yellow tiles, all the furniture and bed-covers were of pale gray linen as glossy as satin, the wicker chairs were graceful in shape, and the tables gave a restful idea of what tables are meant for, undefeated by sprawling legs and impertinent corner-twiddlings. They were of fine solid wood, dignified and useful, and set squarely on strong legs.
Glancing at the band of arabesques around the walls, Tacita perceived that it had a meaning. It was all letters—but letters run to flower or to animal life. They budded, they ended in tendrils, they were birds and insects, but always letters; and as she studied them, they became letters that made words in all the languages that she knew; and doubtless those which she could not decipher were words of languages unknown to her. And of all those which she could read, every one repeated the same words, over and over, whole, or in fragments, each phrase held up as a honey-dropping flower:
He shall feed his flock like a shepherd; and sorrow and mourning shall flee away.