“But,” I exclaimed, “how dare you deny the heroism of a woman, who, in order not to countenance her father’s indecencies, sacrifices her youth, and marries a man whom she cannot love? We have already discussed this subject, and I feel indignant that you do not appreciate the merit of her sacrifice.”
“Why, that’s just it! that’s just it!” vociferated Portal, beside himself. “I will twist the argument around: how dare you characterize as virtuous the action of a woman who accepts a repulsive husband, and does not prefer to sing in a theater, like Cinta, or scrub floors like the scullion who waits on us at Doña Jesusa’s? Why, what difference is there between your ideal angel and Belén, for instance? Belén puts up with her hateful protector, because it is for her interest to do so, in that she eats and spends and has a fine time. And that fine lady, your aunt——”
“Keep still, keep still!” I cried, getting excited in my turn. “If you say another word about that I shall believe that you are a worthless scamp, and will give you a beating, as sure as my name is Salustio. Don’t you dare to mention Carmiña in the same breath with Belén. Don’t you enrage me!”
“You are the one seeking a quarrel, you fag-end of——”
“Take care what you say!”
“Oh, well, you leave me alone—”
“You leave me alone, that’s all I want—”
And so forth. I do not add another detail, for the discreet reader will easily imagine what two good friends in a passion would say to each other. For two weeks I did not see Luis. The truth is, it seemed as though I had lost something, the practical reason of my life, the Sancho who used to moderate my quixotic flights. I did not know myself without his observations, his jests, his anger, and his preachings. At the hour when I used to go to his boarding-house in search of him, I would feel discontented and uneasy, and even homesick. I missed the habit which had become second nature—the pleasant, friendly intercourse, the intellectual friction, the disputes even. There were days when I actually thought that his old friendship was more to me than my lover’s dream. “Confound it,” I said to myself, “I did not know that he was so necessary to me. But the fact is I am not myself without him. No, indeed, I am not. But I will not give in. Let him come to me, if he wants to.”
Finally he did come, proving once more that he represented, in our friendship, good common sense, or whatever you may like to call that modest and pleasant quality which does not allow us to go beyond bounds, and teaches us not to make life bitter by foolish obstinacy or dramatic fastidiousness. Our reconciliation was effected in the most natural manner. One morning, as we were coming out of recitation, Portal nudged my elbow, and asked with a smile:
“Has the trouble gone away? Shall we make a treaty of peace?”