“What’s the matter?”
A door opened, and a weeping woman with disheveled hair came out with a lamp in her hand. In a voice choked with sobs, she told Quentin that her two-year-old son had died, that her husband was not in town, and that she had no money with which to buy a casket.
“Would you like to see the boy, Señorito?”
Quentin entered a small whitewashed room; the boy’s body lay on a mattress across the table.
“How much do you need to bury him?” asked Quentin.
“A couple of dollars.”
“I’ll see if I have them. If not, we’ll pawn something from my house.”
Quentin went back through the patio followed by the woman; and the two climbed up to the main floor. Quentin lit the lamp, and went through all the drawers. He found four dollars in María Lucena’s bureau, and gave them to the woman. This done, he closed the door and got into bed.... The voices of María Lucena and her mother awakened him.
“There were four dollars here,” cried the actress. “Who took them?”
“I took them,” said Quentin calmly.