“He is not––using you––at all!” she panted. “Evil thoughts are––are using you. And all––they can do––is to kill themselves––and you!”
“Madre Maria! Is such a sad fate in store for me, my beautiful hada?” He chuckled and reached out again for the bottle. “Another little thought of wine, my love. It’s only a thought, you know. Ha! ha! I must remember to tell Don Antonio of this!––Maldita!”
His clumsy movement had upset the bottle. Struggling to save its contents, he relaxed his hold on Carmen. Like a flash she wormed her supple body out under his arm, slid to the floor, and gained the window.
“Dios y diablo! Maldita! Maldita!” shrilled Diego, aflame with wrath. “Cursed wench! when I lay these hands again on you––!”
Struggling to his feet, he made for the girl. But at the first step the light rug slid along the smooth tiles beneath his uncertain tread. He threw out an arm and sought to grasp the table. But as he did so, his foot turned under him. There was a sharp, snapping sound. With a groan the heavy man sank to the floor.
For a moment Carmen stood as if dazed. Diego lay very still. Then the girl picked up her torn dress and approached him carefully. “It was his bad thoughts,” she whispered; “he slipped on them; they threw him! I knew it––I just knew it!”
Passing to one side, she gained the door, threw back the bolt, and hurried out into the rotunda. Crouched on the floor, the stiletto clasped in her hand, sat Ana, her face drenched with tears, and her chest heaving. When she saw the girl she sprang to her feet.
“Carmen! Ah, Dios! your dress!––Madre Maria! I could not save you; I could not break through the heavy door; but I can punish him!” She burst into a flood of tears and started into the room.
“No, Anita!” cried the girl, throwing herself into the woman’s arms. “He is punished! He did not hurt me––God would not let him! Look! Anita, look!” pointing to the body on the floor.