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The Seсora Viuda turned back to her daughter。 The latter was sitting almost in the attitude of a penitent by now； her second ankle had retreated far under the chair to join the first； and she was busily engaged with both hands in pleating and smoothing out again a small section of dress over one kneecap。 She could feel her mother's gaze on her； looked up through her long lashes to confirm the impression； looked down again when she had。
Seсora Contreras said； with an odd sort of kindliness seeping through her mien of authority； 〃e here a minute； my child。〃 Conchita got up； moved to the side of the chaise longue； crouched down to the level of her mother's face。 The fan had finally stopped； for the balance of the interview； was laid aside。 The Seсora reached out； tipped up her hand to her daughter's chin； held it under it in a sort of static caress。 She looked questioningly into her eyes。
The girl's eyes never wavered； they were crystalline innocence itself。
〃I did not e into this world a middle…aged woman； a widowed mother； as you see me now； you know。 I was a young girl myself once； and not so many years ago。 Always remember； hijita de mi alma； anything you think； your mother thought before you。 Anything you do； your mother did before you。 And her mother before her。 There isn't anything new in women。 I know； I know。〃
〃Know what； madrecita？ 〃 the girl breathed so low it could scarcely be heard。
The Seсora Viuda kissed her with classic benevolence on the forehead； then more fondly on the lips。 〃You are a sweet little thing。 You are the morning sunlight in my dreary afternoon sky。 It is not that you would do anything so unforgivable。 It is just that there is a way of doing things that is right and a way that is wrong。 You are young； and the world is old。 When you are a few years older； I don't want you to have to look back on anything lacking in dignity； in which you cut a ridiculous figure。 Anyone who may bee interested in you should e here to our house； as the established custom is with us； should be introduced to you by myself； or Uncle Felipe； or some other older relative。〃
〃 Mamacita； I don't know what you mean。〃
The Seсora gestured leniently。 〃I haven't said anything。 It is just my heart talking to your heart。 Now go there if you insist； with Marta； and e right back。 The sun will soon be down； so don't linger。〃
Without actually springing up； the girl was suddenly all the way across at the open doorway； like something from which a leash has just been detached。
At the threshold she turned for a minute。 〃What； madre mia？ 〃
〃Nothing。 Run along。〃 What the Seсora Viuda had just said； half to herself； with a sigh of resignation； was： 〃It will do no good。 It never has from the beginning； it never will to the end of time。 One can't change the world。〃
In the passageway outside； Conchita crossed paths with Rosita。 They brushed by one another like two people unaware of one another's presence； or at least trying to give that impression。 The daughter of the house whispered； 〃She's sending Marta with me； what am I going to do？〃
The serving girl reached out backhand and clasped hands with her in passing； as if to lend moral support。
Conchita looked down at something。 〃What's that？〃
〃Don't be afraid； it'll just make her drowsy。〃
〃Me？ I can't！〃
The other fanned both hands at her in a violent affirmative。
〃It won't hurt her； will it？〃 Conchita breathed anxiously。
〃It's nothing； just an herb from the mountains。 I got it from an Indian down at the market。 I've tried it on myself。 All it does is… Sh！ Here she es。〃 They resumed their interrupted transits。
An old woman of about sixty； shawled for the street； was ing down the passageway。 〃Are you ready； my flower？ Have you said good…by to your mother？〃 And to Rosita； in angry authority； 〃Go in there and stay with the Seсora； useless one！ She may need you for something。〃
Conchita brushed past。 〃Wait for me at the door。 I'm just going back to my room a second。〃
She stopped before the mirror in there； scanned herself anxiously as though to make sure she was looking her best for the sake of the dead in the cemetery。 She threw open a drawer； unearthed a lipstick from some secret hiding place at the back of it； hastily touched it to her lips。 Then she lowered the dimming veil over her face； obliterating the improvement she had just made； and hurried demurely back along the passageway to rejoin her panion。
Her chaperon already had a public carriage drawn up at the door and was sitting waiting in it。 To go to the cemetery in a gasoline…powered vehicle was somehow improper； she seemed to feel。 〃To the flower market；〃 she ordered the driver； as the slim veiled figure climbed in next to her。
Ten minutes later； after driving through a number of narrow； elbow…jointed streets； they reached a small plaza fronting a rose…tan church of massive Spanish colonial architecture。 What was remarkable about it was the broad expanse of worn stone steps leading up to it； spanning the entire foundation in width。 They were invisible as steps save for a narrow lane of clearance left in the middle； running directly up to the entrance。 All the rest had disappeared under what seemed to be a multicolored； unbroken flower bed； with patches of shelter over it here and there。 It was only on closer inspection that this disintegrated into separate little zones of barter； each presided over by its individual vendor。 Some had rigged up little portable stalls； poles supporting awnings； or straw mats to keep the sun off their perishable wares。 Others； unable to afford this； simply squatted on the steps in hollow squares； their merchandise ranged around them in open sheaves or clusters thrust into clay water jars。 The air was cloying with an indescribable odor of ferns； crushed leaves； bruised and trodden petals and stalks； and； above all else； the peculiar brackishness given off by age…old paving stones saturated repeatedly with water all day long without ever having time to dry off。 It was an odor pounded in equal parts of verdant； blooming life and stagnant； mildewed decay。 This was the flower market； held on this site for two hundred years past every day from sunrise until dusk。
Conchita's chaperon got out of the carriage at the foot of the steps； turned to ask： 〃What kind shall I get？〃
The girl descended right after her。 〃I'm ing； too。 I want to pick them myself。〃
Marta started to protest that it wasn't necessary； she would do it for her； but Conchita had already taken the lead； was moving slowly up the main aisle of display； looking about her； assailed from either side by an advancing barrage of shrill； wheedling； poetic； and personally flattering cries that kept pace with her； to die out again forlornly behind her as she passed out of reach into the next vendor's jurisdiction。 Hands reached for her； tugged importunately at her clothing。 Marta slapped them down again。
〃Here； nina； roses crying for you！〃
〃Look； chiquita； carnations begging to be bought。 Ten centavitos。 Five。 Any price you say。 Only take them； take them！〃 It was late and the market was about to disband。
Marta halted。 〃Here are some。 Will these do； nina？〃
Conchita glanced around； but without halting her ascent。 〃No； up here at the top。 I always buy from this one at the end。〃
The stall she indicated； as a matter of fact； had a less sizable assortment to offer than many of those they had just passed。 The vendor was an old woman with a face as finely lined as though mosquito netting had been drawn over it。
〃Some of these。〃 Conchita picked up a single white rose and held it to her face outside the veil； causing a small indentation to appear with indrawn breath。
〃Si； little； angel； si！〃 the vendor jabbered； bustling to collect them。 〃White roses； as beautiful； as young； as you are yourself。〃
〃And gardenias；〃 Conchita instructed。
Marta held out her arms for the unbound accumulation。 〃I'll carry them； they may tear your clothes。〃 She handed the old woman a coin； turned to pick her way down the slippery steps。
The vendor； however； was not yet satisfied。 〃Look； a little cluster of white violets to go with them。 The last one left。〃 She laid one finger craftily alongside her nose for a moment； glanced after the retreating chaperon。 〃I've been saving them for you all day。 Free！ I give them to you free！〃 She pulled twice at the girl's skirt； almost as though it were a bell cord。
The girl took them； moved down the steps in the wake of her panion； holding them close to her face。 They were platted together on a single； large leaf of some sort。 She had extracted the thinly folded note twined around their stems even before she re…entered the carriage。 She opened it with one hand； read it； holding it down out of sight on the side away from Marta； as they jounced back through the narrow； erratically turning streets on their way to the cemetery。
Just a few words。 The oldest message in the world； that said nothing； that said everything。 〃Sweetness of my life。 Will you go there again today？ I will be waiting。 I have counted the hours all week long； since the last time。 Sweetness of my life； have mercy on me。〃