the dust of forgetfulness. A year passed; and one day the door opened, and your father stood on its threshold with a broad, confident smile on his lips, as though he expected me to fly into his arms and thank God for his return! But a woman's jealousy, Fernando, is a terrible thing; it blinds the sight and robs one of reason. My pains rose from their resting place all at once — those pains your great small love had buried — and I trembled with rage as I stared into his smiling, hopeful face!! My hand moved: I seized a bottle of my medicine and hurled it with all my strength at his head. He did not stir from his place, nor lift a finger to stanch the copious blood that streamed from a wound in his forehead. The shards of glass scat-tered over the floor, then were dyed with the red of blood. Time stood between us with its breath cut off; and through thick black clouds I saw him put his head between his hands, his face pouring tears and blood, and turn very slowly toward the door, and disappear through it... And you went on screaming in terror for long hours while my gaze hung upon the door, my eyes frozen like stone. I have not seen him since that day, my child; and how I have wished to come upon him suddenly, to ask his pardon and win back his love,

and to kiss that bleeding wound which by today has surely become a long white scar, marking his face and blackening his memory of me. So if one day you stand before a tall, broad-shouldered man with a dark, laughing face and a long white scar, throw your arms around his neck and say to him: “Are you not Damon Cortiso? Kiss me, father — I am Fernando, your son.” This is what I ask of you, now that I stand at the brink of the pit, at the end of the road. Promise me that you will do it. Promise me.

— I promise to do it, mother, I promise. I will tell him everything. Are you content?

— Yes, yes; my grave will surely be at peace when the two of you visit me together. And there is one thing more: I want you to put on that shining Carnival suit tomorrow evening, and to go on dancing and laughing and singing with the beautiful Rosita — for you possess nothing but your days and the treasure of their happiness. Do you promise me this too?

— Yes, I promise you this too; and though all the thorns of pain should prick me, I will not weep.

Kiss me, mother! He closed his eyes and received the last kiss, his eyelids trembling and wet. Then he raised the familiar cold hand to his lips. The rise and fall of the dying woman's breast grew fainter, and her breathing became even. At midnight it stopped, suddenly and quietly. Her breast settled into its final stillness, with Fernando's weary head lying upon it in a restless sleep.

•

Fernando came back from the cemetery tired and worn out, and entered the dark, neglected house, where he found Maria, his mother's friend and neighbor, cleaning the two rooms and shaking out the soiled, threadbare bedcovers. The moment she saw him she pressed him gently to her breast and said tenderly: “I will not leave you alone, Fernando; I shall be your second mother, even if from afar. Come, eat something of the good food I have brought you.” She led him to the one rickety table, and he sat down quietly and began to eat, his eyes straying to the window as though he were drawing hope and cheer from the strength of the sun. From afar he heard voices approaching, then a voice very near, calling: “Fernando, open the door!” He did not move; his gaze stayed fixed on the plate. So Maria opened the door, and through it the beautiful friend Rosita came rushing in; she knelt before the orphan and whispered warmly: “Fernando, my friend, I heard the painful news, and I have come to take you with me to the Carnival. I will not leave you weeping alone while the whole world is dancing and making merry.” She wound her arms around his neck and kissed his forehead. And it was as though that kiss opened the sluices of his pain: he wept on her breast, his sobbing rising loud. The little girl waited until he had poured out what his eyes had to pour, then brought a damp cloth and wiped his brow. Then she took the glittering blue Carnival suit down from its place on the wall and dressed him in it, with a mask she drew from her pocket, and masked her own sweet eyes with another. She pulled her little sweetheart — who yielded to her every motion — and led him out of the house, after casting one particular look at Maria, who stood watching what was happening with anguish and sorrow!

•

The two disappeared into the crowds as raindrops disappear

among the waves of the sea, and mingled with the frolicking dancers; and Fernando was a merry, laughing child again, toss-ing sugared almonds and pistachios onto people's heads, his voice rising above all the others in the song of “Saloma,” which issued from hundreds of mouths as though sung from a single throat:

Come, Saloma, to the gathering, For my heart is gay and my mind is free; Life is in my heart, my heart in my face, and your heart is mine. Come, Saloma — do you not hear? Come, for my robe is like a prince's robe; And gather in your scarf, lest it fly away, And let down your mask; give me your arm; my heart is jealous. Saloma, Saloma — will you not dance?

•

A small ring caught the eyes of Fernando and Rosita — a noisy ring of players, made up of twenty boys and two men. They merged into it, took their places among the players, and ran with the runners until they reached the barrier the two men had made with their arms; then they set to striking the two gentlemen's hands to win free, as the game requires. Fernando raised his eyes to one of the two men in appeal, and it seemed to him that he heard a far-off, beloved voice rising above the din of the feast, saying: “So if one day you stand before a tall, broad-shouldered man with a dark, laughing face and a scar...” A mighty force stirred him; he raised his hand and his body swiftly, pushed the mask off the strange dark face — and saw what he had longed to see! A long white scar glistening amid drops of sweat on the man's face! He stood as though the awe of the moment had nailed him to the ground. And he heard the beloved voice say once again: “throw your arms around his neck...” So he raised his trembling arms, wound them around his father's neck, and said in a quiver-ing, sorrowful voice: “Are you not Damon Cortiso? I am Fernando, your son.” The astounded Damon fixed his gaze on the dark, imploring face, felt the thick black hair, then gave a cry of pain and joy and clasped the slight body to him hard and close, murmuring as he kissed his son for the first time: “My son, my only one, my darling!”

As though drawn by some hidden force, they slipped out of the ring, over which silence had settled for a few brief moments before it took up its play and merriment again. And in a corner somewhat quieter,