What woman is this, I wondered; whence comes she and how long has she
been here? A long time since, they remember when her cheeks were rosy.
How is it I have never heard of her? She comes to this spot alone, and at
this hour? Yes, she has traversed these mountains and valleys through
storm and fair weather, she goes hither and thither, bearing life and
hope wherever they fail, holding in her hand that fragile cup, caressing
her goat as she passes. And this is what has been going on in this valley
while I have been dining and gambling; she was probably born here, and
will be buried in a corner of the cemetery, by the side of her father.
Thus will that obscure woman die, a woman of whom no one speaks and of
whom the children say: "Do you not know her?"
I can not express what I experienced; I sat quietly in my corner,
scarcely breathing, and it seemed to me that if I had tried to assist
her, if I had reached out my hand to spare her a single step, I would
have been guilty of sacrilege, I would have touched sacred vessels.
The storm lasted two hours. When it subsided, the sick woman sat up in
her bed and said that she felt better, that the medicine she had taken
had done her good. The children ran to the bedside, looking up into their
mother's face with great eyes that expressed both surprise and joy.
"I am very sure you are well," said the husband, who had not stirred from
his seat, "for we have had a mass celebrated, and it cost us a large
sum.
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