"Come," I said, with affected indifference, "you two are going to bed and I into the city."
"Won't you wait until we can order the carriage?" asked Cristina timidly.
"No; I have an appetite for a stroll in the light of the moon. Hasta mañana. Good-night."
I offered Emilio my hand.
"No," he said, with an unusual gravity. "I am going with you as far as the farthest gateway. I, too, feel like a stroll."
I gave my hand to Cristina. For the first time in her life she pressed it with singular force, at the same time giving me an anxious look of supplication. I, moved to the depths of the soul, answered her eyes with my own, promising her in that way that she might depend upon me.
We walked away slowly, taking the path that led to the entrance gate. Martí walked with his hat in his hand, and preserved an obstinate silence. I waited for him to break it before we parted, promising myself to be faithful to the silent promise that I had made to Cristina. So it was he who, as we approached the boundary wall, paused and, without looking at me, spoke:
"Married men, Ribot, often have an exaggerated susceptibility. Not only do their own affections torment them, but the fear of becoming objects of ridicule sometimes obliges them to be suspicious even when they are by nature confiding. The friends of such men do well to avoid awakening this susceptibility, conducting themselves on all occasions with care and delicacy. By this means friendship is yoked to gratitude."
"You are right," I replied. "So far in my life I have managed to fulfil this obligation towards all men with whom I have had to do, not merely towards friends, as you say, but towards men of my general acquaintance. An unfortunate accident placed me in a situation that wounds your amor proprio, if not your honor. Understand, however, that Cristina——"
"We will not talk of Cristina," he interrupted, gazing firmly into my eyes. "Every night of the year before going to sleep I give thanks to God for having united me to her. To-night will be the same as the others."