"But you must not intoxicate yourself in any fashion. I abhor drunkards."
I did not wish to follow this advice; and though it is true I drank little more, I insisted upon gazing at the fascinating lady. I continued chatting like a dentist, and in the midst of my prattle I came near giving utterance to more than one endearing phrase; but Doña Cristina, ingeniously and prudently, cut these off before I had a chance to say them.
We both rose from our seats. We went to the balcony to look at the traffic and movement on the wharf. With her permission, I was smoking a Havana cigar. As her beautiful head occupied my thoughts more than the traffic on the wharf, I noted that a little shell comb was falling out of her hair.
"If I were this little comb I should be very content with my place. I would make no effort to escape."
And boldly, with no thought of what I did, I raised my hand to her head and put the comb back in place.
She turned as red as a cherry, her eyes fell, and she remained silent for several seconds; at last, looking me in the face with a lofty expression, she said in a changed tone:
"Señor, I do not know what motive induces you to take any liberties with me. The service you have rendered us entitles you to my gratitude, but not to treat me without respect."
My semi-intoxication was dissipated as by magic. It left me petrified and ashamed as I had never before been in my life and never expect to be again, and I scarcely had power to murmur a few words of excuse. I believe she did not hear them. She turned her back disdainfully and left the room.
In about one moment afterwards there flashed through my mind an idea that did not lack a certain probability, that is to say, that I was superfluous in that place. And without waiting to examine it with sufficient attention in the light of reasonable and serious criticism, I put it immediately in practice, taking my hat and removing myself before any grass had a chance to grow under my feet.
Though I was on shipboard and in the consignee's office and in other parts of the city, shame did not quit me all day long. It was fastened to my face with a red seal and I was unspeakably mortified. My friends laughed and murmured such words as "Martel tres estrellas," "Jamaica," "Anís del Mono," and others which sounded like marks of liquors, but I knew what ailed me, and this increased my woe. On the next day, after washing and scrubbing myself energetically with soap, it seemed as if there were some bits of that red seal still adhering to my skin.