The bridge of San Luis Rey - Thornton Wilder [8]
such consideration. Her neighbors, her tradespeople, her servants--for even Pepita lived in awe of her,--her very daughter had never approached her thus. It induced a new mood in her; one that must very likely be called maudlin. She became loquacious: "Offended, offended at you, my beautiful,... my gifted child? Who am I, a... an unwise and unloved old woman, to be offended at you? I felt, my daughter, as though I were--what says the poet?--surprising through a cloud the conversation of the angels. Your voice kept finding new wonders in our Moreto. When you said: 'Don Juan, si mi amor estimas, Y la fe segura es necia. Enojarte mis temores Es no quedarme discreta. �Tan seguros....' and so on,--that was true! And what a gesture you made at the close of the First Day. There, with your hand so. Such a gesture as the Virgin made, saying to Gabriel: How is it possible that I shall have a child? No, no, you will begin to have resentment at me, for I am going to tell you about a gesture that you may remember to use some day. Yes, it would fit well into that scene where you forgive your Don Juan de Lara. Perhaps I should tell you that I saw it made one day by my daughter. My daughter is a very beautiful woman... everyone thinks. Did... did you know my Do�lara, Se�?" "Her Grace often did me the honour of visiting my theatre. I knew the Condesa well by sight." "Do not remain so, on one knee, my child: Pepita, tell Jenarito to bring this lady some sweetcakes at once. Think, one day we fell out, I forget over what. Oh, there is nothing strange in that; all we mothers from time to time.... Look, can you come a little closer? You must not believe the town that says she was unkind to me. You are a great woman with a beautiful nature and you can see further than the crowd sees in these matters.--It is a pleasure to talk to you. What beautiful hair you have! What beautiful hair!--She had not a warm impulsive nature, I know that. But, oh, my child, she has such a store of intelligence and graciousness. Any misunderstandings between us are so plainly my fault; is it not wonderful that she is so quick to forgive me? This day there fell one of those little moments. We both said hasty things and went off to our rooms. Then each turned back to be forgiven. Finally only a door separated us and there we were pulling it in contrary ways. But at last she... took my... face... thus, in her two white hands. So! Look!" The Marquesa almost fell out of her chair as she leaned forward, her face streaming with happy tears, and made the beatific gesture. I should say the mythical gesture, for the incident was but a recurring dream. "I am glad you are here," she continued, "for now you have heard from my own lips that she is not unkind to me, as some people say. Listen, se�, the fault was mine. Look at me. Look at me. There was some mistake that made me the mother of so beautiful a girl. I am difficult. I am trying. You and she are great women. No, do not stop me: you are rare women, and I am only a nervous... a foolish... a stupid woman. Let me kiss your feet. I am impossible. I am impossible. I am impossible." Here indeed the old woman did fall out of her chair and was gathered up by Pepita and led back to her bed. The Perichole walked home in consternation and sat for a long time gazing into her eyes in the mirror, her palms pressed against her cheeks. But the person who saw most of the difficult hours of the Marquesa was her little companion, Pepita. Pepita was an orphan and had been brought up by that strange genius of Lima, the Abbess Madre Mar�del Pilar. The only occasion upon which the two great women of Peru (as the perspective of history was to reveal them) met face to face was on the day when Do�ar�called upon the directress of the Convent of Santa Mar�Rosa de las Rosas and asked if she might borrow some bright girl from the orphanage to be her companion. The Abbess gazed hard at the grotesque old woman. Even the wisest people in the world are not perfectly wise and Madre Mar�del Pilar who was able to divine the poor human heart behind all the masks