“Whom do you want?” demanded the dame in Spanish.
“The engineer Mequinez,” replied Marco.
The old woman made a motion to cross her arms on her breast, and replied, with a shake of the head: “So you, too, have dealings with the engineer Mequinez! It strikes me that it is time to stop this. We have been worried for the last three months. It is not enough that the newspapers have said it. W T e shall have to have it printed on the corner of the street, that Signor Mequinez has gone to live at Tucuman!”
The boy made a gesture of despair. Then he gave way to an outburst of passion.
“So there is a curse upon me! I am doomed to die on the road, without having found my mother! I shall go mad! I shall kill myself! Heavens! what is the name of that country? Where is it? At what distance is it situated?”
“Eh, poor boy,” replied the old woman, touched with pity; “a mere trifle! We are four or five hundred miles from there, at least.”
The boy covered his face with his hands; then he asked with a sob, “And now what am I to do!”
“What am I to say to you, my poor child?” responded the dame: “I don't know.”
But suddenly an idea struck her, and she added hastily: “Listen, now that I think of it. There is one thing that you can do. Go down this street, to the right, and at the third house you will find a courtyard; there you will find a capataz, a trader, who is setting out to-morrow for Tucuman, with his wagons and his oxen. Go and see if he will take you, and offer him
