This was what Nacha had been dreading. She could not blame Doña Lucía, who was well within her right. All night long she tried to devise some means of escaping the inevitable. Should she try a hand at a gambling table, buy a lottery ticket, ask someone to lend her money...? But at two o'clock the next day she put on her street clothes and started off for the house of Signora Sanmartino, avoiding Julieta's clear eyes as she did so; for she was ashamed, not so much because of the act itself as because of what it signified, the betrayal of a feeling which had ennobled her and purified her in the eyes of her companions.
Nacha knew Juanita Sanmartino of old. Although Juanita was an Italian she might have been Queen Victoria's own sister. The same complexion, the same downward curving nose, the same odd and rather ridiculous way of wearing her hair. Like Mme. Annette, she had a daughter, and for her daughter's sake traded in the misfortunes of other women. Her daughter, a pretty girl of fourteen, lived in the house; and her pristine innocence seemed quite untouched by her surroundings.
Nacha returned crushed. She paid for a few days' board; then went to her room, and threw herself on her bed, weeping.
Suddenly she felt a presence in the room and sat up. More skeleton-like than ever, Ana María stood looking at her. Nacha gave a little scream. The girl tried to take her hand, but Nacha drew away, shuddering, from the touch of her skin.
"Why ... are you afraid ... of me?"
Ana María's words struck her ear like a voice from beyond the grave. It was growing dark; but Nacha had not the courage to get up and turn on the light, nor did she know what to reply. So she waited, hoping Julieta would come in.
"Tell me again about Monsalvat," commanded Ana María feverishly.
"I think he must have loved me very much, don't you? Who else would have done what he did for me? And yet sometimes I think it was not for me at all, but for his sister who was betrayed, and who is lost, as I am lost. I think he did for me what he wanted to do for her."
Ana María's expression was very strange, her eyes wild as though she saw something as ghastly as death. Nacha, terrified, was about to cry out; but Ana María sat silent, her wasted body scarcely able any longer to hold the unhappy spirit that was trying desperately to tear itself out of it. Finally she stood up and went out of the room, but with an unsteady step, leaning on the articles of furniture she passed. When Julieta and Sara came in, Nacha told them about Ana María's unaccountable behavior.
"Perhaps she knew Monsalvat. Perhaps he was a lover of hers," suggested Sara.