“No! Stop singing!” she cried in perfect Tagal. “Stop! These verses bore me!”
Sisa stopped. The orderly thought: “Ah, she knows the Tagal!” And he regarded his mistress with admiration.
She saw she had betrayed herself, became ashamed, and shame in her unfeminine nature meant rage. She showed the door to the imprudent orderly, and shut it behind him with a blow. Then she took several turns around the room, wringing the whip in her nervous hands. At last, planting herself before Sisa, she said to her in Spanish: “Dance!”
Sisa did not move.
“Dance! Dance!” she repeated in a threatening voice. The poor thing looked at her with vacant eyes. The vixen took hold of one of her arms and then the other, raising them and swaying them about. It was of no use. Sisa did not understand.
In vain Doña Consolacion began to leap about, making signs for Sisa to imitate her. In the distance a band was playing a slow and majestic march; but the creature leaped furiously to another measure, beating within herself. Sisa looked on, motionless. A faint curiosity rose in her eyes, a feeble smile moved her pale lips; the alféreza’s dance pleased her.
The dancer stopped, as if ashamed, and raised the terrible whip, well known to thieves and soldiers.
“Now,” said she, “it’s your turn! Dance!” And she began to give light taps to the bare feet of bewildered Sisa, whose face contracted with pain; the poor thing tried to ward off the blows with her hands.
“Ah! You’re beginning, are you?” cried Doña Consolacion, with savage joy, and from lento, she passed to allegro vivace.
Sisa cried out and drew up first one foot and then the other.