As Gregorio entered the room, Xantippe, who was kneeling by a box into which she was placing clothes neatly folded, turned her head and said laughingly:
“You are impatient, my friend; I have nearly—”
But recognising Gregorio, she did not finish the sentence. She sat down on the edge of the box. Her face became white, and the blood left her lips. With a great effort she remained quiet and folded her hands on her lap.
Gregorio looked at her for a moment, a cruel smile making his sinister face appear almost terrible, and his bloodshot eyes glared at her savagely. At last he broke the silence by shouting her name hoarsely, making at the same time a movement toward her. He looked like a wild animal about to spring upon his prey. Xantippe, however, did not flinch, answering softly:
“I am not deaf. What do you want here?”
“It is my room; I suppose I have a right to be here.”
“I apologise for having intruded.”
“None of your smooth speeches. The Englishman has schooled you carefully, I see. Can you say ‘good-bye’ in English yet?”
“Why should I say ‘good-bye’?”
“It is time. You will come back to me now.”