. She
would remain silent, she would touch her foot or her leg with a
mechanical gesture. Then she would wipe away her tears with the black
apron. She seemed to be quieting down. Then, all of a sudden, a fresh
explosion would shake her from head to foot, and prostrate her upon
the corpse.

"And I cannot take you away! I cannot take you in these arms to the
church! My son! My son!"

She fondled him from head to foot, she caressed him softly. Her savage
anguish was softened to an infinite tenderness. Her hand--the burnt and
callous hand of a hard-working woman--became infinitely gentle as she
touched the eyes, the mouth, the forehead of her son.

"How beautiful you are! How beautiful you are!"

She touched his lower lip, already turned blue; and as she pressed it
slightly, a whitish froth issued from the mouth. From between his lashes
she brushed away some speck, very carefully, as though fearful of
hurting him.

"How beautiful you are, heart of your mamma!"

His lashes were long, very long, and fair. On his temples, on his cheeks
was a light bloom, pale as gold.

"Do you not hear me? Rise and walk."

She took the little well-worn cap, limp as a rag. She gazed at it and
kissed it, saying:--

"I am going to make myself a charm out of this, and wear it always on my
breast."

She lifted the child; a quantity of water escaped from the mouth and
trickled down upon the breast.

"O Madonna of the Miracles, perform a miracle!" she prayed, raising her
eyes to heaven in a supreme supplication. Then she laid softly down
again the little being who had been so dear to her, and took up the worn
shirt, the red sash, the cap. She rolled them up together in a little
bundle, and said:--

"This shall be my pillow; on these I shall rest my head, always, at
night; on these I wish to die."

She placed these humble relics on the sand, beside the head of her
child, and rested her temple on them, stretching herself out, as if on
a bed.

Both of them, mother and son, now lay side by side, on the hard rocks,
beneath the flaming sky, close to the homicidal sea. And now she began
to croon the very lullaby which in the past had diffused pure sleep over
his infant cradle.

She took up the red sash and said, "I want to dress him."

The cross-grained woman, who still held her ground, assented. "Let us
dress him now."

And she herself took the garments from under the head of the dead boy;
she felt in the jacket pocket and found a