"May God give you grace, my son," he said, with tremulous voice. Then
he continued: "What, did you expect to find your old father blind then?
I would know you amongst a thousand, Calixto. Ah, my son, my son, why
have you kept away so long? Stand, my son, and let me embrace you."
He rose up tottering from his chair and threw his arm about me; then,
after gazing into my face for some moments, deliberately kissed me on
both cheeks.
"Ha, Calixto," he continued, putting his trembling hands upon my
shoulders and gazing into my face out of his wild, sunken eyes, "do
I need ask where you have been? Where should a Peralta be but in the
smoke of the battle, in the midst of carnage, fighting for the Banda
Oriental? I did not complain of your absence, Calixto--Demetria will
tell you that I was patient through all these years, for I knew you
would come back to me at last wearing the laurel wreath of victory.
And I, Calixto, what have I worn, sitting here? A crown of nettles!
Yes, for a hundred years I have worn it--you are my witness, Demetria,
my daughter, that I have worn this crown of stinging-nettles for a
hundred years."
He sank back, apparently exhausted, in his chair, and I uttered a sigh
of relief, thinking the interview was now over. But I was mistaken.
His daughter placed a chair for me at his side. "Sit here, senor, and
talk to my father, while I have your horse taken care of," she
whispered, and then quickly glided from the room.
Pages:
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280