"She who has cast you off; she who disdains you, who will not suffer you on her lands? And have you come to be so low, so base and mean as that?"
"I have sunk no lower than a woman who could follow after a lover who had grown manifestly cold."
"Ah," she answered sadly, "if I could so forget my pride as to follow you, do not think your reproaches can touch me now." Then suddenly she sank at the bedside and clasped his hand in both of hers. Her beautiful hair, unbound, tumbled about her shoulders; her eyes, swimming with tears, were turned up to his; her lips trembled with the intensity of her passion. In a voice low, husky, sweet as a dove's, she addressed him. "Oh, dearest, come back to me; come back to me. Let me love you again. Don't you see my heart is breaking? There is only you in all the world for me. I was a proud woman once. See now what I have brought myself to. Don't let it all be in vain. If you fail me now, think how it will be for me afterward—to know that I—I, Rubia Ytuerate, have begged the love of a man and begged in vain. Do you think I could live knowing that?" Abruptly she lost control of herself. She caught him about the neck with both her arms. Almost incoherently her words rushed from her tight-shut teeth.
"Ah, I can make you love me. I can make you love me," she cried. "You shall come back to me. You are mine, and you cannot help but come back."
"Por Dios, Rubia," he ejaculated, "remember yourself. You are out of your head."
"Come back to me; love me."
"No, no."
"Come back to me."
"No."
"You cannot push me from you," she cried, for, one hand upon her shoulder, he had sought to disengage himself. "No, I shall not let you go. You shall not push me from you! Thrust me off and I will embrace you all the closer. Yes, strike me if you will, and I will kiss you."