XXVI.
There was nothing new at the Badiola. My absence had been very short. They celebrated my return. Juliana's first look expressed infinite gratitude.
"You have done well to return so quickly," said my mother with a smile. "Juliana could not get any rest. Now, we hope you will not leave us again. Apropos, did you think of that lace? No? What a memory you have!"
As soon as I was alone with Juliana, she said:
"I did not dare hope you would return so quickly. How grateful I am!"
In her attitude, in her voice, there were timidity, humility, tenderness. Never had I been so struck by the contrast between her face and the rest of her person. On that face there was, continually visible to me, a special expression of sorrow that expressed the constant revolt of this woman against the shame that had fallen upon her. That expression never left her under any circumstance; it could be visibly seen through the diversity of other fugitive expressions which, no matter how strong, could not efface it; it was fixed and adherent, and it moved me to pity, and took from me my anger.
"What did you do while I was away?" I asked her.
"Waited for you. And you?"
"Nothing. I wanted to return."
"To see me?" she asked, timid and humble.