"Roseta was not gran', Señora," he said—he scanned her face critically—"but she was more pretty than the Señora. The Señora will pardon me if I say that Roseta's gown was much more handsome than the one the Señora wear."
At the word "señora" the young girl stooped and laid her lips upon the child's head.
"It was a gown of red. It had green spots—oh, such little green spots, small, small spots. El Rey used to count them. There were some little half-spots up there on the shoulder. Roseta said it was where the sewing came. Roseta did not have shiny drops in her ears. The Señora's drops are like the bits of glass that Andres shot from the top of the asta to-night. He had a gun, the gun of the Señor."
Raquel looked inquiringly at Silencio.
"It is true," he admitted.
"At Los Santos?"
"At Los Santos."
"They came down in showers, Señor, like little red stars."
"You are a poet, El Rey."
"Rather," said Silencio, smiling down at the child, where he stood leaning against Raquel, "El Rey is a little story-teller. He promised not to say a word—"