Gregorio went back slowly to his home. Already the Rue des Soeurs was
crowded. The long street rang with music and laughter, and instead
of blinds covering the windows merry women leaned upon the sills and
laughed at the crowds below.
Gregorio, when he reached his house, would have liked to go straight to
bed. But it was not to be, for as he entered the tiny room he heard his
wife trying to persuade the hungry infant into sleep, and his footsteps
disturbed her tears. He had to calm them as best he could, and as he
soothed her he noticed the child had a crust in his hand which he gnawed
half contentedly. At the same moment the dim blue figure of an Arab
passed by the opposite wall, and had almost gained the door ere Gregorio
found words.
"Who are you?"
"It is Ahmed," his wife answered, gently, placing her trembling hand
upon his shoulder; "he too has children."
Gregorio scowled and muttered, "An Arab," and in that murmur none of the
loathing was hidden that the pseudo-West bears for the East.
"The child is starving," said Ahmed. "I have saved the child; maybe some
day I shall save the father.
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