"Why I know you!" exclaimed the other—the plump lady who, at a dinner at Ruiz de Castro's, had been so oratorical in her defense of the established order.
Monsalvat shook hands coldly with both ladies. They tried to conceal the surprise and pain his obviously distressful circumstances caused them.
"Is what that woman says true?" Monsalvat inquired again.
"Yes, Monsalvat, but—"
He paid no attention to Isabel's excuses.
"Then this woman is quite right. You have no charity in you. You are doing this kind of thing for selfish motives, and nothing else—just to occupy your time, fill conspicuous positions in charity organizations!"
Launched on this theme, he drove harshly, savagely ahead, as though executing judgment. Wrapped in his overcoat which was too loose for him, now and then moving his shoulders in a gesture of scorn, his eyes wide open, and seemingly larger so emaciated was his face, he presented an extraordinary spectacle as he denounced these stylish, distinguished, perfumed ladies, so out of place in that dreary courtyard of the slums. They listened to him without a word. Isabel, indeed, unnoticed by Monsalvat, softly stole from the group and went up to the woman whose outcries had started the scene, giving her all the money she had in her purse. Nor did Monsalvat observe that when she returned she removed a glove and took a ring from her finger. Suddenly, and quite humbly she said:
"Here, Monsalvat, take this, please sell it; and give the money to this woman."
Monsalvat took the ring.