Don Alfonso had been trying for some time to keep her back; but the more he insisted on her remaining, the more anxious she was to be going.
Now then, as he was walking toward the entrance of the Retiro and considering on the one hand how soon he would be obliged to leave her, and on the other that the step that he had taken was too bold for him to be able to retrieve it, he resolved "to throw the fish into the water"; and so he said, pausing again:—
"All this time you have not asked me why I followed you these last afternoons."
The young wife felt herself trembling more violently than ever, her face grew pale, her legs failed under her. She did not wish or was not able to find words to answer his question.
"Then I am going to tell you; because I feel for you, Maximina, what hitherto I have never felt for any woman in this world. From the very beginning of my acquaintance with you, I have been inspired with a lively admiration, irresistible, all-controlling. Afterward, I perceived that this admiration was rapidly changing into love, and I struggled with all my might to resist it. It was useless.—I have known many women; I have loved, or believed that I loved, a few; but I swear to you that the feeling which they inspired was very different from that which now dominates me. I met them on equal terms, I saw their good points and their defects, I admired, and was kindled by their beauty; but now! now, it is not alone love which I feel, it is a deep adoration for your simple and open nature, a respect which until now tied my tongue, although the secret struggled to escape. In my eyes you might have read it whenever I looked at you. It is months since my heart has thus been filled by your beauty and goodness, Maximina...."
This gentle caballero said all this string of gush with trembling lip and excited gestures, such as are the stock in trade of seducers, provided they, like him, are "men of the world." Observation has taught me that the "men of the world" who have been called dandies, fops, and dudes[46] are not espirituales, or, to avoid a Gallicism, do not speak with any greater wit and grace than in novels. In life, and above all when they are shaken from that languid and blasé appearance characteristic of them, they are apt to be as vulgar and absurd as the latest medical student.
Poor Maximina was so disturbed at hearing this amorous jargon, of which she understood only the general tenor, that her pallor changed to a livid hue, then the blood rushed suddenly to her face, her eyes grew dim, and she was ready to fall.
By what seemed like an automatic movement which she afterward could not explain, she abruptly quitted her companion, and started to run, crying: "Plácida! Plácida!" until she caught up with her, and then she said:—
"Run, run! how ill I feel!"
Both ran quite a while, until fatigue compelled them to relax their efforts; but by this time they were a long distance from Saavedra, who stood in the same spot, full of amazement and chagrin at her sudden and unexpected flight.