Then as the girl half started up from her chair in unleashed alacrity； a gesture of the fan stopped her short。 〃And I want one thing understood。 You are not to go there acpanied by Rosita any more。〃
The girl looked stricken。 〃But I can't go by myself！ Who else is…？〃
〃I don't trust her。 She's giddy and only a few months older than yourself； no fit panion！ I should have put a stop to it long ago。 I don't know what I've been thinking of until now。 It will be old Marta who will take you； if you go at all。〃
A look of unadulterated horror passed over the girl's face at this。 Before she could answer； a telephone had pealed distantly； in some remote room。
〃Rosita！〃 the mistress of the house called。
There was a wait that somehow suggested more a stage wait than an actual approach from a distance； and then a ely young girl…of…all…work； with a shawl already coifed around her head； materialized in the doorway； without any preliminary tread along the hall having been audible。
〃Si； seсora？〃
〃Was that the telephone just now？〃
〃The operator must have made a mistake。 Nobody answered when I got to it； there wasn't anybody on it。〃
The Seсora Viuda's horizontal brow line arched slightly； then evened out again。 〃Every now and then that seems to happen in this house。 You can take off your shawl； Rosita；〃 she added with an indifferent drawl； 〃you will not be going out。〃
The girl put her hands to it； but left it in place； as if hoping the order might yet be countermanded。 〃But the Seсorita Conchita wanted me to acpany her to…〃 she said with an odd sort of breathlessness。
〃Call Doсa Marta； she is to go with her instead。〃
The girl's black…pitted eyes were fixed on her mistress' face with a sort of tremulous fixity that somehow suggested they wanted to direct themselves at somebody else in the room； but were being restrained。 She gave a little knee dip； 〃 Si； seсora；〃 vanished from the doorway。
The Seсora Viuda turned back to her daughter。 The latter was sitting almost in the attitude of a penitent by now； her second ankle had retreated far under the chair to join the first； and she was busily engaged with both hands in pleating and smoothing out again a small section of dress over one kneecap。 She could feel her mother's gaze on her； looked up through her long lashes to confirm the impression； looked down again when she had。
Seсora Contreras said； with an odd sort of kindliness seeping through her mien of authority； 〃e here a minute； my child。〃 Conchita got up； moved to the side of the chaise longue； crouched down to the level of her mother's face。 The fan had finally stopped； for the balance of the interview； was laid aside。 The Seсora reached out； tipped up her hand to her daughter's chin； held it under it in a sort of static caress。 She looked questioningly into her eyes。
The girl's eyes never wavered； they were crystalline innocence itself。
〃I did not e into this world a middle…aged woman； a widowed mother； as you see me now； you know。 I was a young girl myself once； and not so many years ago。 Always remember； hijita de mi alma； anything you think； your mother thought before you。 Anything you do； your mother did before you。 And her mother before her。 There isn't anything new in women。 I know； I know。〃
〃Know what； madrecita？ 〃 the girl breathed so low it could scarcely be heard。
The Seсora Viuda kissed her with classic benevolence on the forehead； then more fondly on the lips。 〃You are a sweet little thing。 You are the morning sunlight in my dreary afternoon sky。 It is not that you would do anything so unforgivable。 It is just that there is a way of doing things that is right and a way that is wrong。 You are young； and the world is old。 When you are a few years older； I don't want you to have to look back on anything lacking in dignity； in which you cut a ridiculous figure。 Anyone who may bee interested in you should e here to our house； as the established custom is with us； should be introduced to you by myself； or Uncle Felipe； or some other older relative。〃
〃 Mamacita； I don't know what you mean。〃
The Seсora gestured leniently。 〃I haven't said anything。 It is just my heart talking to your heart。 Now go there if you insist； with Marta； and e right back。 The sun will soon be down； so don't linger。〃
Without actually springing up； the girl was suddenly all the way across at the open doorway； like something from which a leash has just been detached。
At the threshold she turned for a minute。 〃What； madre mia？ 〃
〃Nothing。 Run along。〃 What the Seсora Viuda had just said； half to herself； with a sigh of resignation； was： 〃It will do no good。 It never has from the beginning； it never will to the end of time。 One can't change the world。〃
In the passageway outside； Conchita crossed paths with Rosita。 They brushed by one another like two people unaware of one another's presence； or at least trying to give that impression。 The daughter of the house whispered； 〃She's sending Marta with me； what am I going to do？〃
The serving girl reached out backhand and clasped hands with her in passing； as if to lend moral support。
Conchita looked down at something。 〃What's that？〃
〃Don't be afraid； it'll just make her drowsy。〃
〃Me？ I can't！〃
The other fanned both hands at her in a violent affirmative。
〃It won't hurt her； will it？〃 Conchita breathed anxiously。
〃It's nothing； just an herb from the mountains。 I got it from an Indian down at the market。 I've tried it on myself。 All it does is… Sh！ Here she es。〃 They resumed their interrupted transits。
An old woman of about sixty； shawled for the street； was ing down the passageway。 〃Are you ready； my flower？ Have you said good…by to your mother？〃 And to Rosita； in angry authority； 〃Go in there and stay with the Seсora； useless one！ She may need you for something。〃
Conchita brushed past。 〃Wait for me at the door。 I'm just going back to my room a second。〃
She stopped before the mirror in there； scanned herself anxiously as though to make sure she was looking her best for the sake of the dead in the cemetery。 She threw open a drawer； unearthed a lipstick from some secret hiding place at the back of it； hastily touched it to her lips。 Then she lowered the dimming veil over her face； obliterating the improvement she had just made； and hurried demurely back along the passageway to rejoin her panion。
Her chaperon already had a public carriage drawn up at the door and was sitting waiting in it。 To go to the cemetery in a gasoline…powered vehicle was somehow improper； she seemed to feel。 〃To the flower market；〃 she ordered the driver； as the slim veiled figure climbed in next to her。
Ten minutes later； after driving through a number of narrow； elbow…jointed streets； they reached a small plaza fronting a rose…tan church of massive Spanish colonial architecture。 What was remarkable about it was the broad expanse of worn stone steps leading up to it； spanning the entire foundation in width。 They were invisible as steps save for a narrow lane of clearance left in the middle； running directly up to the entrance。 All the rest had disappeared under what seemed to be a multicolored； unbroken flower bed； with patches of shelter over it here and there。 It was only on closer inspection that this disintegrated into separate little zones of barter； each presided over by its individual vendor。 Some had rigged up little portable stalls； poles supporting awnings； or straw mats to keep the sun off their perishable wares。 Others； unable to afford this； simply squatted on the steps in hollow squares； their merchandise ranged around them in open sheaves or clusters thrust into clay water jars。 The air was cloying with an indescribable odor of ferns； crushed leaves； bruised and trodden petals and stalks； and； above all else； the peculiar brackishness given off by age…old paving stones saturated repeatedly with water all day long without ever having time to dry off。 It was an odor pounded in equal parts of verdant； blooming life and stagnant； mildewed decay。 This was the flower market； held on this site for two hundred years past every day from sunrise until dusk。
Conchita's