"There's no such person."
I absolutely did not understand it. There was nothing for me but to spit and go. Then she explained.
"What is it?" she said, still offended. "There's no such person, I tell you," and she extended her arms as if she herself did not understand why there should be no such person. "But I wanted him to be.... Am I then not a human creature like the rest of them? Yes, yes, I know, I know, of course.... Yet no harm was done to anyone by my writing to him that I can see...."
"Pardon me—to whom?"
"To Bolés, of course."
"But he doesn't exist."
"Alas! alas! But what if he doesn't? He doesn't exist, but he might! I write to him, and it looks as if he did exist. And Teresa—that's me, and he replies to me, and then I write to him again...."
I understood at last. And I felt so sick, so miserable, so ashamed, somehow. Alongside of me, not three yards away, lived a human creature who had nobody in the world to treat her kindly, affectionately, and this human being had invented a friend for herself!
"Look, now! you wrote me a letter to Bolés, and I gave it to someone else to read it to me; and when they read it to me I listened and fancied that Bolés was there. And I asked you to write me a letter from Bolés to Teresa—that is to me. When they write such a letter for me, and read it to me, I feel quite sure that Bolés is there. And life grows easier for me in consequence."
"Deuce take thee for a blockhead!" said I to myself when I heard this.