“‘I have always thought that you would kill me. The first time I saw you, I had just met a priest at the door of my house. And that night when we left Cordova, didn’t you see anything? A hare crossed the road between your horse’s feet. It is written.’
“‘Carmen, don’t you love me any more?’ I asked her.
“She made no reply. She was seated with her legs crossed, on a mat, and making figures on the ground with her finger.
“‘Let us change our mode of life, Carmen,’ I said to her in suppliant tone. ‘Let us go somewhere to live where we shall never be parted. You know, we have a hundred and twenty ounces buried under an oak, not far from here. Then, too, we have funds in the Jew Ben-Joseph’s hands.’
“She smiled and said:
“‘Me first, then you. I know that it is bound to happen so.’
“‘Reflect,’ I continued; ‘I am at the end of my patience and my courage; make up your mind, or I shall make up mine.’
“I left her and walked in the direction of the hermitage. I found the hermit praying. I waited until his prayer was at an end; I would have liked to pray, but I could not. When he rose I went to him.
“‘Father,’ I said, ‘will you say a prayer for some one who is in great danger?’
“‘I pray for all who are afflicted,’ he said.