"It is a Señora who may know everything, all things. She has the good eyes."
"You are right, El Rey."
"The rings in Roseta's ears were round. They were big and round. She used to shake them when we went to the circus, so!" The tired head shook slowly. Andres stirred uneasily. He opened his dull, sad eyes and looked at El Rey. He had felt the touch on the wound even in his sleep.
"I often put my finger round them, so! Often and often I did."
Raquel took the little fingers between her own. She put them between her lips and bit them playfully. Her white teeth made tiny indentations in the tender skin. El Rey smiled faintly, a promise, Raquel hoped, of a brighter day of forgetfulness to come.
Silencio stood looking on. He loved to see her so, the child leaning against her knee. Across the water came the sounds of shouts and hurried orders which disturbed no one. Raquel stroked the thin, straight hair over and over. She ran her soft fingers down the angular little face and neck. Tiny tremors of affection ran gently through the child's veins. El Rey laid his head upon the knee to which she drew him. His wasted hand shook as he laid it upon hers.
"You are good," said the child. "You are beautiful, you are kind, kind to El Rey." His tone was patient and old and full of monotony. "But oh! the Señora will pardon me? You are not Roseta."
There was one other person at the wedding of Don Gil and Raquel, besides the padre, who united them, and old Guillermina and Andres.
"Who will give you away?" asked Silencio.
"I myself," said she. Silencio laughed. "That cannot be," he said. As he spoke there was a humble knocking at the door of the salon. Raquel looked up and bounded from her seat.