Sebastiano rose slowly.
“Good-night,” he said to José.
Manuel and Carlos said good-night also, and went out together, walking side by side down the white moonlit road; but Sebas-tiano moved away from the shadowing vines with a lingering step, and José went with him a short distance. Something in his hero’s air of gravity and abstraction somewhat overawed him.
“She has not been entertained,” said Sebastiano at last.
“Yes, yes,” said José. “She has had pleasure all the day. And she is fond of pleasure.”
“She said there had been too many hours in the day.”
José rubbed his head a little reflectively for a moment, and then his countenance somewhat brightened.
“She wished to lie a little for amusement,” he said, affectionately. “There is no wrong in her—Pepita—but sometimes, to be amused, she will tell a little lie without sin in it, because she knows we understand her. She does not expect us to believe. We who are used to her know her better. You will also understand in time.”
“Then I may come again?” asked Sebas-tiano.
The heavy body of José almost trembled with simple pleasure.