The young woman was in her bedroom. From time to time, Berlanga heard her sigh deeply. Her sighs were long and tremulous, like those of a child still troubled in its dreams after having cried itself to sleep.
The silversmith exclaimed:
"Oh, Rafaela!"
He had to call her twice more. At last, in a kind of groan, the young woman answered:
"Well, what do you want?"
Slyly and proudly the silversmith grinned to himself. That question of hers practically amounted to forgiveness. The sweet moment of reconciliation was close at hand.
"Come here!" he ordered.
Another pause followed, during which the will of the man and of the woman seemed to meet and struggle, with strange magnetism, in the stillness of the dark house.
"Come, girl!" repeated the smith, softening his voice.
Then he added, after a moment: