Her eyes were almost hidden, she screwed them up so closely, but her
wide mouth opened and disclosed a row of gigantic, flawless teeth.
Gregorio frowned as he looked at her. He knew her well and had never
liked her. But he dare not quarrel with her, for he owed her money, and
"for the love of his black eyes," as she told him, she had ever a bottle
of wine ready for him when he wished.
"Well, my good woman," he blurted out, surlily, "you seem to be amused."
"I am, Gregorio. Tell me," she continued, slyly, seating herself beside
him and placing her elbows on the table, "how is she?"
"Who?"
"Xantippe. She came to me to-day, and I saw she had been crying. But I
said nothing, because it is not always wise to ask questions. I thought
she wept because she was hungry and because the baby was hungry. I
offered her food and she took some, but so little, scarcely enough to
cover a ten-piastre piece. 'That is for the baby,' I said; 'now some for
you.' But she refused."
"Perhaps she had food for herself," said Gregorio, shifting uneasily in
his chair.
"Perhaps," said the woman, and laughed again, more loudly than ever,
till the table shook.
Pages:
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191