She laughed mockingly, showing her fine white Gypsy teeth.
"Am I indiscreet in speaking as I did about this girl of the Busne? Did I not undress and dress her with my own hands?"
"But you need not tell these things to me. I think her beautiful to death!"
"Oh, you cannot love her!"
"Love her? I do not know."
"Ah, but if you once turned your eyes upon poor wistful me—chachipe! you would soon know whether you loved me! I would make you hunger for me like a famished wolf, I would make your blood race and burn! When I danced the jota, or the Romalis, or merely moved languorously about, you would suffer all the thirsty bitterness of hell, all the exalted sweets of heaven!"
Jacinto Quesada looked away.
"But I do not desire to love you, Paquita."
"Si, si; but ah, if you only would! Could you not love me only a little—you who are so proud and courageous, you who are so strong and absolute?"
Jacinto Quesada turned his head and plunged his austere glance into her deep yearning eyes.