"I'll give you whatever money you need. But you are to bring her to her mother's the very first thing in the morning, understand?"
Moreno promised. He began to talk of Eugenia, of her beauty, of the luxury amid which she was reported to be living. It was a shame ... but what could be done about it? And he added philosophically, as if it might console Monsalvat:
"You mustn't take it too hard, doctor. That's the way things go in this world."
When they returned to the apartment with the oxygen, Aquilina was dead.
CHAPTER VIII
The fit of anger during which Nacha had ordered Monsalvat out of her house had quite passed by the time she returned from the cemetery. She could only marvel at her sudden refusal to hear more of what but a few moments before had offered her starving life the ideal it craved. Nevertheless, the regretful gentleness pervading her now was due undoubtedly to the soothing effect of her visit to Riga's grave. The thought of the dead poet made her repent of her sudden harshness towards Monsalvat. After that silent leave-taking from her friend, how indeed could she help yearning to turn away from the life she was leading?
And yet could she accomplish that? No practicable plan occurred to her; Monsalvat might have helped; but she, stupidly, had driven him away. Strange how certain she felt, nevertheless, that he would not continue offended, that he would forgive her for everything in the end. Still, it was not probable now that he would look for her. Where could she find him? What were his occupations? What places did he frequent? Alas! she knew nothing of him at all, except his name.
By some strange confusion in her imagination, the figures of Monsalvat and Riga began to blend in her memory. She could not think of one apart from the other. Was there, perhaps, some spiritual resemblance between them? Outwardly they were such different men. Monsalvat gave an impression of serenity, of poise; Riga, on the contrary, seemed all nerves, all tension. What had Riga, weak, sensitive, the typical neurotic, the creature of whim and circumstance, to set against Monsalvat's strength of mind and will? Evidently this courageous stranger who had broken his way into her intimacy so suddenly had most of the requirements for success. Riga was one of those men born to fall of their own weakness, even before the battle of existence overwhelms them. But both were generous, high-minded, incapable of envy, or meanness of any kind. What good luck to have met a friend like Monsalvat at just this moment! And what an irreparable misfortune to have lost him forever!
When Arnedo came home early in the evening, he brought his friends, and their women, with him as usual. Nacha was once more lost in gloom. She tried to talk, and jest in the spirit of the party, but her words seemed to stick in her throat, and her laughter had in it no note of gaiety. Moreover, all her attempts to conceal her real state of feeling were useless. Arnedo and his companions were not to be deceived; and Pampa's face openly expressed the displeasure he was experiencing. Finally he called one of the other men to an adjoining room and Nacha, suspecting something, and listening intently, overheard this dialogue between them.