Don Tadeo shrugged his shoulders, but made no reply.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, with a gesture of fury, "this man is a bar of iron; nothing can touch him—no words are sufficiently strong to move him! Demon! demon! oh, with what joy I could tear you to pieces! But no," she added, after a moment's pause, "I am wrong, Don Tadeo; pardon me, I know not what I say; grief makes me mad! Have pity on me! I am a woman—I am a mother. I adore my child, my poor little girl whom I have not seen so long, who has lived deprived of my kisses and my love! Restore her to me, Don Tadeo. See, I am on my knees at your feet! I supplicate you, I weep! Don Tadeo, restore me my child!"
She cast herself at the feet of Don Tadeo, and seized his poncho.
"Begone, señora, begone!"
"And is that all?" she cried, in a choked, husky voice; "Is that all? I implore you, I drag myself panting with grief through the dust at your feet, and you laugh at me. Prayers and threats are equally powerless with you. Beware, Don Tadeo, beware!"
Don Tadeo smiled disdainfully.
"What punishment can you impose upon me more terrible than your presence?" he said.
"Senseless man!" she resumed; "Fool! Do you imagine, then, that you alone are in my power?"
"What do you mean by that?" Don Tadeo cried, starting up.
"Ah, ah!" she exclaimed, with an expression of ferocious joy, "I have hit the mark this time, have I?"