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hus at every step evidences of the joy of living； of hidden beauty； of consummated love following her course through this land of death and desolation。
In the distance sounded feebly her father's voice：
〃Not yet？〃
The two elders were growing impatient； anxious to find their son's resting place as soon as possible。
A half hour thus dragged by without any resultalways unfamiliar names； anonymous crosses or the numbers of other regiments。 Don Marcelo was no longer able to stand。 Their passage across the irregularities of the soft earth had been torment for him。 He was beginning to despair。 。 。 。 Ay； they would never find Julio's remains！ The parents； too； had been scrutinizing the plots nearest them； bending sadly before cross after cross。 They stopped before a long； narrow hillock； and read the name。 。 。 。 No； he was not there； either； and they continued desperately along the painful path of alternate hopes and disappointments。
It was Chichi who notified them with a cry； 〃Here。 。 。 。 Here it is！〃 The old folks tried to run； almost falling at every step。 All the family were soon grouped around a heap of earth in the vague outline of a bier； and beginning to be covered with herbage。 At the head was a cross with letters cut in deep with the point of a knife； the kind deed of some of his comrades…at…arms〃DESNOYERS。〃 。 。 。 Then in military abbreviations； the rank； regiment and company。
A long silence。 Dona Luisa had knelt instantly； with her eyes fixed on the crossthose great； bloodshot eyes that could no longer weep。 Till then； tears had been constantly in her eyes； but now they deserted her as though overcome by the immensity of a grief incapable of expressing itself in the usual ways。
The father was staring at the rustic grave in dumb amazement。 His son was there； there forever！ 。 。 。 and he would never see him again！ He imagined him sleeping unshrouded below； in direct contact with the earth； just as Death had surprised him in his miserable and heroic old uniform。 He recalled the exquisite care which the lad had always given his bodythe long bath； the massage； the invigorating exercise of boxing and fencing； the cold shower； the elegant and subtle perfume 。 。 。 all that he might come to this！ 。 。 。 that he might be interred just where he had fallen in his tracks； like a wornout beast of burden！
The bereaved father wished to transfer his son immediately from the official burial fields； but he could not do it yet。 As soon as possible it should be done； and he would erect for him a mausoleum fit for a king。 。 。 。 And what good would that do？ He would merely be changing the location of a mass of bones； but his body； his physical semblanceall that had contributed to the charm of his personality would be mixed with the earth。 The son of the rich Desnoyers would have become an inseparable part of a poor field in Champagne。 Ah； the pity of it all！ And for this； had he worked so hard and so long to accumulate his millions？ 。 。 。
He could never know how Julio's death had happened。 Nobody could tell him his last words。 He was ignorant as to whether his end had been instantaneous； overwhelminghis idol going out of the world with his usual gay smile on his lips； or whether he had endured long hours of agony abandoned in the field； writhing like a reptile or passing through phases of hellish torment before collapsing in merciful oblivion。 He was also ignorant of just how much was beneath this moundwhether an entire body discreetly touched by the hand of Death； or an assemblage of shapeless remnants from the devastating hurricane of steel！ 。 。 。 And he would never see him again！ And that Julio who had been filling his thoughts would become simply a memory； a name that would live while his parents lived； fading away； little by little； after they had disappeared！ 。 。 。
He was startled to hear a moan； a sob。 。 。 。 Then he recognized dully that they were his own； that he had been accompanying his reflections with groans of grief。
His wife was still at his feet； kneeling； alone with her heartbreak； fixing her dry eyes on the cross with a gaze of hypnotic tenacity。 。 。 。 There was her son near her knees； lying stretched out as she had so often watched him when sleeping in his cradle！ 。 。 。 The father's sobs were wringing her heart； too； but with an unbearable depression； without his wrathful exasperation。 And she would never see him again！ 。 。 。 Could it be possible！ 。 。 。
Chichi's presence interrupted the despairing thoughts of her parents。 She had run to the automobile； and was returning with an armful of flowers。 She hung a wreath on the cross and placed a great spray of blossoms at the foot。 Then she scattered a shower of petals over the entire surface of the grave； sadly； intensely； as though performing a religious rite； accompanying the offering with her outspoken thoughts〃For you who so loved life for its beauties and pleasures！ 。 。 。 for you who knew so well how to make yourself beloved！〃 。 。 。 And as her tears fell； her affectionate memories were as full of admiration as of grief。 Had she not been his sister； she would have liked to have been his beloved。
And having exhausted the rain of flower…petals； she wandered away so as not to disturb the lamentations of her parents。
Before the uselessness of his bitter plaints； Don Marcelo's former dominant character had come to life； raging against destiny。
He looked at the horizon where so often he had imagined the adversary to be； and clenched his fists in a paroxysm of fury。 His disordered mind believed that it saw the Beast； the Nemesis of humanity。 And how much longer would the evil be allowed to go unpunished？ 。 。 。
There was no justice； the world was ruled by blind chance；all lies； mere words of consolation in order that mankind might exist unterrified by the hopeless abandon in which it lived！
It appeared to him that from afar was echoing the gallop of the four Apocalyptic horsemen； riding rough…shod over all his fellow… creatures。 He saw the strong and brutal giant with the sword of War； the archer with his repulsive smile； shooting his pestilential arrows； the bald…headed miser with the scales of Famine； the hard… riding spectre with the scythe of Death。 He recognized them as only divinities； familiar and terrible…which had made their presence felt by mankind。 All the rest was a dream。 The four horsemen were the reality。 。 。 。
Suddenly； by the mysterious process of telepathy； he seemed to read the thoughts of the one grieving at his feet。
The mother； impelled by her own sorrow； was thinking of that of others。 She； too； was looking toward the distant horizon。 There she seemed to see a procession of the enemy； grieving in the same way as were her family。 She saw Elena with her daughters going in and out among the burial grounds； seeking a loved one； falling on their knees before a cross。 Ay； this mournful satisfaction； she could never know completely！ It would be forever impossible for her to pass to the opposite side in search of the other grave； for； even after some time had passed by； she could never find it。 The beloved body of Otto would have disappeared forever in one of the nameless pit