Is the sense of honor a reality necessary to existence? Is honor something of the very substance of our life? And when it departs, does dignity depart with it?

The Brazilian woman of letters Elena Silveira speaks to us of this honor in the literary masterpiece that follows.

The man was speaking without choosing his words, in a humble voice and a single, unvarying tone. The heat was stifling in the clinic with its white walls, its closed windows keeping out the least stirring of air. Dr. Sergio was listening to the patient, his eyes half shut, and from time to time he tipped his body back in the revolving chair, which gave out an irritating creak. The sick man would pause a little, his hands trembling; then the doctor would open his eyes encouragingly, and the sick man would take up his tale:

"Do the two gentlemen wish me to tell the whole truth? I will try to speak without forgetting anything of what has happened in this last stretch of time, for my memory has begun to betray me.

"At first we lived a good life — the life of the poor, of course. We went to bed early and rose with the dawn and economized in our spending, here and there... but we lived in comfort: there were the Sundays and the holidays and the hours at the cinema. My wife Anita was a housewife and a good mother... working without interruption, and our children looked handsome, the smell of cleanliness rising from them. The money multiplied between her hands, for she helped me with the household expenses by her sewing, and she was gifted in that art, so that our house filled with ladies of the better class.

"As for our children: Maria earned good marks at school, and though she was fourteen years old, her growing frame made her look older than she was. My wife dreamed of putting her into the teachers' training school so that she would become a teacher. Carlos, for all his small body, was well advanced in his lessons. And little Luiza was a baby who wandered the house by day holding to the walls, and at night pressed close to me so that I would tell her a story."

Here the sick man's voice shook and his hands quivered; then he went on:

"I felt, after those days had gone, that all of this

had been 'happiness'... I worked hard, and my one pleasure was to see my family growing and getting on; I never laid my head on the pillow but to sleep a deep, contented sleep.

"One day, while we were at table, my wife came out with an idea that had been turning in her head for a long while. She said:

"'Why don't we buy a house on small monthly installments?'

"I told her: because we have no money, and because my work as a mechanic at the garage is not steady. She said: house rents are a calamity, for what we pay goes and never comes back. And so her view prevailed, as it did every time, and I accepted the idea, though I reckoned it far from practicable. Then I sought the help of my employer, who directed me to a real-estate company and took me himself to a newly built house with a small garden in front and another behind the house, a white kitchen, and a bathroom such as in the houses of the well-to-do. My wife went wild with joy and began doubling her work and economizing, to persuade me that we would not 'suffocate' in paying the installments.

"The bargain was concluded. I still remember our first night in our new house... We were in our room; I had stretched out on my bed, and Anita, in her nightclothes, refused to go to sleep and talked... and talked... pacing the room back and forth, laying plans and saying: We shall raise chicks in the corner of the garden and do this and that. I shall raise my sewing prices a little, for my 'customers' have grown many. Do you remember the little house in the last film? And the beautiful curtains on the windows? I shall sew ones like them and iron them with starch, and... and...

"At last she lay down, and I put out the light; but I noticed that she did not sleep, for excess of joy.

"Though I am calm by nature, I caught fire like her with enthusiasm for the new house. The floor and the doors and the windows shone from sheer care, and the windows were arrayed in beautiful curtains; I built in the garden a house for the chicks and planted vegetables, and the days passed without our feeling them.

"When Christmas came we held a little party for the children, and at midnight we lit the candles on the tree and put out the lights. The scene was beautiful, and happiness fluttered about me, until I fancied I was watching a film or a play, or hearing one of the tales of the fairies. Suddenly I felt something tighten at my throat, and the tears rose to my eyes; I was ashamed to weep before my children, so I went out into the garden. I remember the sky of that luminous night, and the shadows of the white roses on the earth, and the radio in the house broadcasting