That evening Torres went to the lodgings at the address Nacha had sent him. He found a respectable house, the tenants of which appeared to be shop employees and their families.
"You don't know what I've been through," murmured Nacha. "We met one afternoon, and I—"
Torres knew something of this meeting.
"But you don't know why I acted as I did," Nacha continued. "It was because I loved him; because I didn't want to do him harm. So that he, distinguished and fine as he is, shouldn't be ruined by associating his life with that of a ... someone like myself.... You see? Since that day I have lived straight; and somehow, I'm still alive, although really I am dying ... with grief.... But this I accept, for his sake, and to make up for the kind of life I led before. I accept it so that he may not have to suffer, so that he will forget me, and be happy, and go on with the kind of life he ought to have—even though I die of it. What good am I?"
They were alone, facing each other over a small table, lit by a small lamp which had been pushed to one side. Torres felt the shadows of the room pressing around his throat, choking him. Nacha's face alone stood out, catching the light. The doctor was thinking of the frightful pranks Destiny can play.
But this emotion passed, and the man of the world, laden with prejudices, falsehood, cruelties—and good, withal, replaced the plain and honest man of feeling.
"You couldn't know what I've been through," Nacha repeated. "Since that afternoon I have earned my living by work. First there were days of discouragement, when I went hungry. Then I found employment in a shop. Eleven hours a day and thirty dollars a month! I get a bonus too. But there are fines for the slightest thing. Altogether I earn about sixty dollars more or less—there's no rest during those eleven hours. Sometimes they send me with a load of goods up to the fifth floor. We aren't allowed to use the elevators. It isn't a gay life, you see. But it's for him, so I don't mind! Not so that he'll love me—I'm not worthy of living with him—just to deserve, even at a distance, a little of the love he has for me!"
Torres looked away from her; it occurred to him that this change in Nacha was a danger for Monsalvat. He believed he must save his friend once for all, and to accomplish that required a lie. He reflected that it was really too bad that deceit should at times be necessary, even to accomplish good results. Something inquired of him if he really believed that the purpose he had in view was "good." He hesitated a moment; but he remembered the world's opinion, the world's morality, the world's sentiments. He turned towards Nacha, and with a gesture as if he was casting from him an unpleasant thought, and in a hard voice, he said:
"You must not see him again, Nacha, ever. Anyway, he has forgotten you. Yes! He is in love with another woman, and is thinking of getting married. You don't want to wreck his plans, eh?"
She could not see. Everything was dark. She felt a "yes" come mechanically from her throat, and she put out a hand, so inert, that it barely felt the rapid pressure of another hand. Then came the noise of a closing door, and the sound of retreating footsteps. But darkness remained, empty ... and endless.