I rose up abruptly, and I saw kneeling on top of him Porquita, my maid, clinging like a wild cat to him with desperate energy, tearing off his beard, his moustache, and the skin of his face.
Then, as if another idea had suddenly taken hold of her mind, she rose up, and, flinging herself on the corpse, she threw her arms around the dead man, kissing his eyes and his mouth, opening the dead lips with her own lips, trying to find in them a breath and a long, long kiss of lovers.
My husband, picking himself up, gazed at me. He understood, and falling at my feet, said:
"Oh! forgive me, my darling, I suspected you, and I killed this girl's lover. It was my keeper that deceived me."
But I was watching the strange kisses of that dead man and that living woman, and her sobs and her writhings of sorrowing love—
And at that moment I understood that I might be unfaithful to my husband.
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