were debouching into
the square, and a wave of expectancy swept over the multitude.

Slowly the two lines of celebrants approached each other, measuring
their steps so as to reach the designated spot at exactly the same
moment. The sun was darting its first golden rays upon the purple robe
of Jesus, the maze of plumes, helmets and upraised swords of the
guards--one bright, sparkling brilliancy. From the other direction came
the Virgin, bobbing up and down on her throne in rhythm with the
footsteps of her bearers, dressed in a black velvet gown with widow's
weeds, some big wax tears glistening on her face, and--to catch them,
supposedly--a black-bordered mourning handkerchief in her stiff,
lifeless hands. She it was who riveted the attention of all the mothers
present. Many of them began to weep. _Ay reina y soberana!_ How she must
be suffering! A mother finding her boy in a fix like that! Suppose I
should meet my boy--do you see him over there, and isn't he
handsome?--handcuffed, and on the way to the penitentiary! And I'm only
an ordinary mother! The fisherwomen were now groaning and weeping all
around the square, not forgetting, meanwhile, to study the Virgin's
costume for any improvement or shortcoming as compared with the year
before.

The exciting moment was now at hand. The drums ceased beating, the
cornets interrupted their dolorous bleating, and the bands were hushed.
The images of Jesus and Mary were face to face. A plaintive, tremulous
voice began to recite in monotone some stanzas which told how very sad
and mournful the whole scene was. _Tio_ Grancha, an aged velvet-spinner,
came down from Valencia every year to declaim those couplets, and his
art was one of the attractions of the festival! What a voice! How it
went to your heart! And that is why a riot almost started when some
gamblers in the "Side-of-Bacon" began to laugh at a turn in their game,
and people rushed to the doors exclaiming angrily:

"Shut up ... shut up ... you vermin!"

The images tilted back and forth, in symbolic pantomime of desperate and
sorrowful farewell!

Meanwhile, Dolores could not take her eyes off the arrogant, elegant
"Jew" who contrasted so favorably with his bandy-legged captain. She was
standing with her back toward Rosario, but that did not prevent the
latter from divining the object of her gaze. And did you see that? A
married woman making eyes at a married man, and right in the presence of
her husband! And all this