“I do not understand you?”
“I daresay not; it is quite possible that you do not; but who will understand me ... who?”
He clasped his hands over his head with a bitter groan of despair; and María, respecting his anguish, refrained from making the impertinent remarks she was accustomed to indulge in on such occasions. At last she repeated her former suggestion:
“You can study as much as you like here. Let us live together. You will not interfere with my religious exercises, nor I with your studies. We shall be two recluses—I devoted to faith and you to atheism.”
“A beautiful prospect indeed! Nay, what I crave is not a cell, but a home; I have no contempt for the joys of life; I ask to enjoy them, in all moderation and honesty; I do not want a life of fevered exaltation, but a wholesome and practical life, the only life that leads to true human virtue, to duties fulfilled, to a free conscience, to peace and honour. What I want now is what I looked for when I married you. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I understand. What I do not understand is why, in order to gain such a home, you must quit Madrid.”
“You quit it with me.”
“I!”
“Where I go you must go.”
“San Antonio! help me to do my duty!” said María with sanctimonious resignation. “And where do you propose to take me?”