It was from Hamburg that I wrote to the shipping house, asking permission to remain over one voyage at home, to arrange certain family affairs. Meanwhile it had come about that I was not able to think of anything but the wife of Martí. Not even in dreams did she leave my mind; every word she had spoken sounded ceaselessly in my ears, as if I had in my brain a phonograph charged with conversations, and in my heart I felt every one of her gestures and movements. On returning towards Valencia the delight of thinking that soon I was going to enjoy a sight of my idol produced in me a sentiment of mingled shame and remorse. I feared a disdainful reception from her, and I feared also an affectionate and cordial one from her husband.
I did not intend to lodge in his house, to hush my noisy conscience. After spending six days in Alicante, I went to Valencia with a friend who chanced along, and made him an excuse for not going to the house of Martí. I did not go directly to see him, preferring to go later. I went out first to take a walk in the streets. But while walking through one of the principal streets, I saw not far distant three ladies looking at the fashions in a shop-window.
As I drew near I perceived that one of them was Cristina, and the other two, Doña Clara and Doña Amparo. I hastened up to them, and saluted them standing behind them. (How could I do such a thing?)
Cristina turned her head; and, as if she had seen something alarming, she gave a cry and ran forward hastily a few steps. My astonishment was great and the surprise of these ladies was scarcely less. Perceiving at once the strangeness of her conduct, and as if ashamed, she turned and came and welcomed me with unusual amiability. She explained her cry and her flight by declaring that a few moments ago she had given a bit of alms to a poor creature who had been a criminal, and all at once, without knowing why, it seemed to her as if he had followed them and was going to attack her. Doña Amparo and Doña Clara were satisfied with this, and laid her attack of nerves to her condition; they wished her to come into a shop and take a quieting draught, but Cristina said no.
I knew better than this, and walked on with them, saddened because I knew.
Martí received me with lively delight, professing to be vexed with me because I had not sought the hospitality of his house; but I, fortified by my excuse, held fast, and would not give in. Sabas also showed pleasure at seeing me. I could not do less than offer him my compassion on seeing in his face traces plainer than ever of his arduous labors beneath the sun. The result of these, by what I could gather, was the acquisition of an amber mouthpiece with his initials engraved upon it, of which he was so proud that it seemed as if all the vigils and anxieties that it had cost him had been well spent.
It was not necessary to inquire what impression my arrival made upon Castell. His cold, ceremonious courtesy made unnecessary any inquiries of that sort. Really it seemed to me that the lightly disdainful attitude that he held towards all the world was a little emphasized towards me. Perhaps I was ill-tempered, but a secret instinct warned me that this man hated me, and I paid him in his own coin.
Cristina was now quite advanced in her maternal expectations. Although women do not consider themselves beautiful at this time, except to their husbands, I found her more beautiful and interesting than ever, an indubitable proof of the depth of the affection wherewith she had inspired me. Her imaginary fears and her agitations at sight of me only increased it, and I credited her lack of courtesy to these imaginary fears. I noted that after the meeting she took pains not to look at me; but the very haughtiness with which she did it showed that some agitation ruled her spirit, and that I was not absolutely indifferent to her. Such was at least my illusion at the time.
Although I was not lodged in his house, the cordiality of Martí and my secret longing forced me to go every day to dine and spend some time with them. It was impossible for me to hide my love. At the risk of being observed (not by Martí, who was innocence personified, but by the others), I scarcely quitted the sight of Cristina. Whenever occasion presented, I made plain what was passing in my soul. If she dropped anything upon the floor, I was there to hasten and pick it up. If she glanced towards the door, I had already run to close it. If she complained of any ill feeling, I proposed all the remedies imaginable. In short, I showed to all concerned a lively interest and anxiety that came from my heart. She received these attentions with a serious face, sometimes with a certain diffidence; but I understood that she would not permit herself to take the slightest notice, and this sufficed me.
One day I grew more daring. Showing no such intention, I went nearer and nearer to her until my arm touched her dress. Then she got up brusquely and placed herself elsewhere. These silent rebuffs produced a melancholy impression upon me. But I was compensated by other enjoyments, fanciful, perhaps, but that did not hinder their being delicious. When we were sitting at table, although as I have said she took great pains not to look at me face to face, she could not help glancing about, and her eyes would meet and thrill my own. When this happened, I believed I could see that her face colored slightly.