I therefore determined to clear my mind of these thoughts. I sought to distract myself from such imaginings, to forget the beautiful Valenciana, and recover my peace. Thanks to my efforts, and even more to my prosaic occupations, I succeeded. But on skirting the eastern coast on my return trip from Hamburg, when I doubled the cape of San Antonio and there spread before my view the incomparably lovely plain that holds Valencia and surrounds it with its garden of eternal verdure like a brooch of emerald, the image of Doña Cristina appeared to me in form more ideal, more seductive than ever; it took possession of my imagination never to leave it again.
I do not know how it was, but the day after arriving at Barcelona I hastily adjusted the most important matters, left the ship in charge of the first officer, and took the train for Valencia. I arrived at dusk, went to a good hotel, dined, changed my clothes, and made the most careful toilette I had ever made in my life. Then I went out to look up the house of Martí.
Not until then did I take account of the folly I had committed. I well knew that Martí would receive me with open arms, and would be delighted at my visit. But what would his wife think of it? Would she not suspect that its motive was an interested one, and put herself on her guard? The idea that she might think that I sought payment in annoying gallantry for my service at Gijon was abhorrent. I was tempted to return to the hotel, go to bed, and leave the next day without letting anybody know that I was in Valencia. Nevertheless, an irresistible impulse pressed me to see her again. An instant, only for an instant, to engrave her image most profoundly in my soul and then to go away and dream of it through all my life!
Walking slowly I came to the Plaza de la Reina, the most central and lively place in the city. The night was serene, the air warm, the balconies were open; before the cafés people were sitting outdoors. And to think that there in Hamburg I had left the poor Germans shivering with cold! I took a seat under the awning of the Café del Siglo, as much for the sake of calming myself as to wait until they had finished supper at the house of Martí. When I thought it was time, I entered the Calle del Mar, which was near by. I followed its course, agitated and joyous, and stopped before the number that Martí had indicated. It was one of the most sumptuous houses of the street, elegant, of modern construction, with a high principal story, crowned by a handsome upper story. The great portal was adorned by statues and plants and illuminated by two clusters of gaslights. One of the windows was open and at that moment there escaped the lively notes of a piano. "Is it she who is playing?" I asked myself with emotion. I enjoyed the music for a moment, and at last approached the door. The porter called a servant, whom I told that I wished to see his master on urgent business. I was shown into the office. Martí appeared without delay. What a cry of surprise! what a cordial embrace he gave me! Then taking me through a corridor, speaking to me meanwhile in a whisper that his wife might not fail to be surprised, he ushered me into a room full of people.
"Cristina, here comes the bad man!"
She was at the piano. At the sound of her husband's voice she turned her head; her eyes met mine. She instantly turned them away and back to the piano just as quickly, as if she had seen something sad or alarming. But controlling herself almost in the same moment, she rose, and, advancing towards me with a forced smile, she extended her hand.
"I am very glad to see you, Captain Ribot. We are immensely pleased to have you visit us."
I felt my heart constricted, and I could not help responding with a certain carelessness:
"There is no occasion for such feeling. It is entirely casual. I had some business to look after in Valencia and on that account you see me here."
Martí embraced me anew.