"You are a very prudent young woman," said the old lieutenant to her in a low voice. "You have done well to hand over the letter.... In this way you will assure yourself of a peaceful future." With dull eyes, and biting her lips, she looked at him as he walked away. Luckily, Aunt Isabel passed her at this moment. Maria Clara summoned enough strength to catch hold of her aunt's dress. "Aunt," she murmured. "What is the matter with you?" asked the latter, frightened, as she saw the young woman's face. "Take me to my room!" she begged, clinging to the arm of the old woman in order to raise herself to her feet. "Are you sick, my child? You seem to have lost all your strength. What is the matter with you?" "A little sick to my stomach ... the crowd in the sala ... so much light ... I need to rest. Tell father that I am going to sleep." "You are cold! Do you want some tea?" Maria Clara shook her head negatively. She closed the door of her room and locked it, and, her strength failing her, she fell to the floor, at the feet of an image, weeping and sobbing: "Mother, mother, my mother!" The moonlight was shining through the open window and door which led out upon the azotea. The orchestra continued playing gay waltzes. The laughter and the hum of conversation could be heard in her bedroom. A number of times her family, Aunt Isabel, Doña Victorina, and even Linares, knocked at her door, but Maria Clara did not move. There was a rattle in her throat. Hours passed. The pleasures of the table ended, and dancing followed. Her little candle burned out, but the maiden lay quietly on the floor, the rays of moonlight shining upon her at the foot of an image of the Mother of Jesus. Gradually the noises in the house died away, the lights were put out, and Aunt Isabel again knocked at the door of her room. "Let us leave her; she is sleeping," said her aunt. "At her age, with nothing to trouble her, she sleeps like a corpse." When all was again silent, Maria arose slowly and glanced around her. She saw the azotea and the small climbing plants bathed in the melancholy light of the moon. "A peaceful future! Sleeping like a corpse!" she murmured in a low voice, and turned toward the azotea. The city was quiet. Only the noise of an occasional carriage passing over the wooden bridge could be heard in the stillness of the night, while the tranquil waters of the river were reflecting the moonlight. The maiden raised her eyes to the pure, sapphire-colored sky. Slowly she took off her rings, her hair-combs, her earrings, and her breast-pin, and placing them upon the balustrade of the azotea she looked out toward the river. A banca, loaded with rice grass, stopped at the foot of the landing on the bank of the river at the rear of the house. One of the two men who were propelling the boat went up the stone steps, leaped over the wall, and a few seconds afterward, steps were heard coming up the azotea.