way I saw the same child that I had seen several days before, alone and crying in the quarter of Las Tenerías. He was still alone and crying, and the poor child had his hands in his mouth as if he were eating his fingers. In spite of that, nobody noticed him. I also passed him by indifferently; but, afterwards a little voice reproached me, and I turned back, and took him with me, giving him some bits of bread. My commission accomplished, I ran to the Plazuela de San Felipe, where, since the affair of Las Arcadas, were the few men of my battalion who were still alive. It was now night; and although there had been firing in the Coso between one sidewalk and the other, my comrades were held in reserve for the following day, because they were dropping with fatigue. On arriving, I saw a man who wrapped in his military cloak was walking up and down, taking notice of nobody. It was Augustine Montoria.
“Augustine, is it thou?” I asked, going up to him. “How pale and changed thou art? Have they wounded thee?”
“Let me alone,” he answered bitterly, “I am in no mood for comrades.”
“Are you mad? What has happened to you?”
“Leave me,” he answered, pushing me away, “I tell you that I want to be alone. I do not want to see anybody.”
“Friend!” I cried, understanding that some terrible trouble was on the soul of my companion, “if misfortune is upon you, tell it to me, and let me share your sorrow.”
“Do you not know it, then?”
“I know nothing. You know that I was sent with twenty men to the Calle de las Arcadas. Since yesterday, since the explosion of San Francisco, you and I have not seen each other.”
“It is true,” he replied. “I have sought death in this barricade of the Coso, and death has passed me by. Numberless comrades fell beside me, and