Affection and commiseration made her insist upon giving him a
few last counsels. In his knapsack she had put his best handkerchiefs,
the few provisions in the house and all the money. Her man was not to be
uneasy about her and the children; they would get along all right. The
government and kind neighbors would look after them.
The soldier in reply was jesting over the somewhat misshapen figure of
his wife, saluting the coming citizen, and prophesying that he would
be born in a time of great victory. A kiss to the wife, an affectionate
hair-pull for his offspring, and then he had joined his comrades. . . .
No tears. Courage! . . . Vive la France!
The final injunctions of the departing were now heard. Nobody was
crying. But as the last red pantaloons disappeared, many hands grasped
the iron railing convulsively, many handkerchiefs were bitten with
gnashing teeth, many faces were hidden in the arms with sobs of anguish.
AND DON MARCELO ENVIED THESE TEARS.
The old woman, on losing the warm contact of her son's hand from her
withered one, turned in the direction which she believed to be that of
the hostile country, waving her arms with threatening fury.
"Ah, the assassin! . . . the bandit!"
In her wrathful imagination she was again seeing the countenance so
often displayed in the illustrated pages of the periodicals--moustaches
insolently aggressive, a mouth with the jaw and teeth of a wolf, that
laughed .
Pages:
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255