“And I told you that God forbid my love for you ... and it is true; God did forbid it. I felt it in my soul, but yet ... you see, you should not have taken the answer. You should have asked once more.”
“But I had asked you so often, and in so many different ways.”
“Well, now I ask you,” and she went up to him and laid her hands on his shoulders; “I ask you: ‘Do you still love me?’” Leon’s nature rebelled against a lie. He paused to question his conscience. For an instant he thought that a generous falsehood would be the nobler course; but then he revolted against the notion of a mock devotion. Almost before he had thought out the matter the truth broke from his lips.
“No.... My God ... mine, María, compels me to say No.”
She dropped back into her seat. It was with a sort of roar that she exclaimed:
“Your God is a fiend!”
“You have no claim to anything more than my respect.”
“You love some one else?” she went on, gnawing the corner of her handkerchief, “tell me the truth.... I know you are truthful ... confess it and I will leave you in peace for ever.”
“But I deny your right to ask,” said Leon after a moment’s hesitation.
“Deny my right if you will; but reply.”