CHAPTER XI
They left us alone.
“Defend yourself. Lie. You lie so well!” I cried.
“Ah,” she answered. “You accuse me. Superb! After entering here like a thief, spoiling my dance, and scaring every one away.”
The usual scene of reproach, recrimination and explanation followed. At the end I drew her on to my knees.
“Listen,” I said. “I cannot live thus. If you stay here a day longer I will indeed leave you for ever, Conchita.”
Then she protested that she loved me, and had always loved me.
Again she tamed me with her words, and the scene ended as so many had ended—in her triumph. We returned to Seville, where I took a house for her. In that house she pretended that she had a lover. It was pretence, but at last I turned and struck her in the face!
She tried to stab me but failed. Then I beat her until I hurt my own hand. On her knees she craved my pardon, and opened her arms to me. I took her. She was virginal as on the day of her birth.