The family was assembled in the dining-room. I observed at once a certain sadness and unusual gravity on their faces. They all wore long faces, filled with a consternation that alarmed me excessively. Martí embraced me, however, with his accustomed cordiality, showing sincere delight at my arrival. I gave my hand to the others and, coming to Matilde, I said to her, without stopping to think:
"So you are a widow? I saw your husband in a station. We had no chance to speak, but we greeted each other."
I had not finished uttering these words before I was stupefied by her beginning to weep bitterly. She pressed my hand convulsively and, between the sobs that rent her breast, said:
"Thanks, Ribot! Many thanks! My husband was running away with the young lady."
"I saw a red-headed lady beside him, but I did not think—" I stammered, abashed.
"Yes, yes, the young lady," she sobbed.
"Forgive me, but what has been said can't be unsaid; but, yes, she seemed young to me."
"She would like to seem young! She is more than thirty years old!" she cried angrily; "more painted and bedizzened than a doll in a bazaar. You should see her mornings on her balcony!"
Martí came to my aid, saying in low tones:
"She was the young lady in the company acting at the theatre."