hat she might be poking fun at him, as she so
often did. But no; there was a ring of sincerity in her voice. The
forced smile had vanished from her face. She was speaking tenderly,
affectionately, as if in motherly counsel to a son in danger of going
wrong.

"And don't make yourself over, Rafael. If the world were made up of
people like me, life would be impossible. I too have moments when I
should like to become a different person entirely--a fowl, a cow, or
something, like the folks around me, thinking of money all the time, and
of what I'll eat tomorrow; buying land, haggling with farmers on the
market, studying fertilizers, having children who'd keep me busy with
their colds and the shoes they'd tear, my widest vision limited to
getting a good price for the fall crop. There are times when I envy a
hen. How good it must be, to be a hen! A fence around me to mark the
boundaries of my world, my meals for the trouble of pecking at them, my
life-work to sit hour after hour in the sun, balanced on a roost.... You
laugh? Well, I've made a good start already toward becoming a hen, and
the career suits me to a 't.' Every Wednesday I go to market, to buy a
pullet and some eggs; and I haggle with the vendors just for the fun of
it, finally giving them the price they ask for; I invite the peasant
women to have a cup of chocolate with me, and come home escorted by a
whole crowd of them; and they listen in astonishment when I talk to
Beppa in Italian! If you could only see how fond they are of me!... They
can hardly believe their eyes when they see the _sinorita_ isn't half so
black as the city people paint her. You remember that poor woman we saw
up at the Hermitage that afternoon? Well, she's a frequent visitor, and
I always give her something. She, too, is fond of me.... Now all that is
agreeable, isn't it? Peace; the affection of the humble; an innocent old
woman, my poor aunt, who seems to have grown younger since I came here!
Nevertheless, some fine day, this shell, this rustic bark that has
formed around me in the sun and the air of the orchards, will burst, and
the woman of old--the Valkyrie--will step out of it again. And then, to
horse, to horse! Off on another gallop around the world, in a tempest of
pleasure, acclaimed by a chorus of brutal libertines!... I am sure that
is bound to happen. I swore to remain here until Spring. Well, Spring is
almost here! Look at those rose-bushes! Look at those orange-trees!
Bursting