"Juliette, will you be my wife?"
She opened her eyes and looked at me without answering. I thought that she had not heard me, and I repeated my question.
"I heard you very plainly," she replied in an indifferent tone—then held her peace anew.
I thought that my question had displeased her, and my anger and grief were terrible; but, from respect for Spanish gravity, I manifested neither, but began to pace the floor again.
At the seventh turn Juliette stopped me, saying: "What is the use?"
I made three turns more; then I threw away my cigarette, and, drawing a chair to her side, sat down.
"Your position in society must distress you?" I said to her.
"I know," she replied, raising her exquisite face and fixing upon mine her blue eyes wherein apathy seemed to be always at odds with melancholy,—"yes, I know, my dear Aleo, that I am branded in society with an ineffaceable designation, that of kept mistress."
"We will efface it, Juliette; my name will purify yours."
"Pride of the grandee!" she rejoined with a sigh. Then, turning suddenly to me and seizing my hand, which she put to her lips in spite of me, she added: "Do you really mean that you will marry me, Bustamente? O my God! my God! what comparisons you force me to make!"