No wonder it had looked red at a distance, for the _erythema_ almost covered it, except where, on the forehead and cheeks, appeared purple spots and patches.
Of what did it remind me?
Great Heaven! I remembered.

It reminded me of the face of that girl I had seen lying in the _plaza_ of San Jose, in Mexico, over whom the old woman was pouring water from the fountain, much such a fountain as that before me, for half unconsciously, when planning this place, I had reproduced its beautiful design.

It all came back to me with a shock, the horrible scene of which I had scarcely thought for years, so vividly indeed that I seemed to hear the old hag's voice crying in cracked accents, "_Si, senor, viruela, viruela!_" I ought to have sent to warn the police and the health officers of the city, for I was sure that the man was suffering from what is commonly called confluent smallpox.

But I did not.

From the beginning there has been something about this terrible disease which physically and morally has exercised so great an influence over my destiny, that seemed to paralyse my mental powers.