The horizon began to breathe slowly as the darkness stole in, seeping down between the folds of the dusky clouds; the red twilight faded away little by little, and there settled over the world a desolate stillness, like the stillness of death when it touches tired eyelids.
And behold, everything was silent and still, save the rustle of the leaves of those little shrubs with their supple branches and diffusing fragrance — planted in order along the two sides of the walk stretching to the courtyard of the quiet house — which swayed one against another as if talking over the confidences of the past, the present, and what is to come; save that, and the cries of the playful little girl, who never left off chasing a beautiful butterfly to toy with its soft, dusty wings.
The little one gave up her play after despairing of catching the butterfly, which had slipped at last into a thorny bush. With her light steps she came up to the abstracted mother, who sat carrying her head in her hands, and asked her in a soft voice, her gaze fastened on the beautiful face and on the two sad eyes she loved so much:
— Mama... isn't it time we had our supper? — and there flashed in her innocent eyes a fleeting light of mingled meanings, having nothing to do with that coquetry which usually sparkles out of children's eyes.
And it seemed to the mother that she saw in that fleeting gleam, in those two eyes, an image very dear to her — how happy she would have been in it, had not criminal civilization, or rather the sinful hand of war, reached out to snatch it away and sacrifice it, together with all that was sacrificed, for the sake of pulling down the pillars of the present world, that upon its ruins another world might rise — so they claim — fit for life and truer in its devotion to it. O life... and O tyrants!
And to drag her troubled soul up
from the depths of dreams, to face the present truth anew, the mother answered her daughter — her tearful gaze fixed on the two questioning eyes, while her hand came softly down to caress the small fingers resting trustfully in her lap: — Yes, my daughter... come along.
And she sprang to her feet, staring into the distance with an absent air. Then, with a sudden movement, she bent toward the little one and clasped her in her arms, a violent embrace full of scattered meanings, and fell to hugging and kissing her over and over.
Then she ran with her to the dining room, where she seated her on one of the chairs at the table, and in something between gaiety and frenzy began setting before her what food and fruit she had made ready during the day.
But... with eyes full of questioning and pleading, the little one addressed her, her gaze traveling between the table and the beloved face: — You told me, Mother, that today you would fix us fish. Why didn't you?!
And without noticing the flush that passed over the brooding face, and without making out the somber signs that were drawn upon it, she heard her say, in a voice full of gentleness:
— This food is no doubt more suitable than fish, my little one. And the little one saw on her mother's lips a smile whose meaning she
