She became silent, remaining in a pensive attitude, as though relishing this period of her recollection, the most pleasing of her existence.
"Upon going over to the steamer for you," she continued a few moments afterward, "I understood just what you represented in my life. What need I had of you!… The doctor was preoccupied with the Italian events. I was only counting the days, finding that they were passing by with more slowness than the others. One … two … three … 'My adored sailor, my amorous shark, is going to come…. He is going to come!' And what came suddenly, while we were still believing it far away, was the blow of the war, rudely separating us. The doctor was cursing the Italians, thinking of Germany; I was cursing them, thinking of you, finding myself obliged to follow my friend, preparing for flight in two hours, through fear of the mob…. My only satisfaction was in learning that we were coming to Spain. The doctor was promising herself to do great things here…. I was thinking that in no place would it be easier for me to find you again."
She had gained a little more bodily strength. Her hands were touching Ferragut's knees, longing to embrace them, yet not daring to do so, fearing that he might repel her and overcome that tragic inertia which permitted him to listen to her.
"When in Bilboa I learned of the torpedoing of the Californian and of the death of your son…. I shall not talk about that; I wept, I wept bitterly, hiding myself from the doctor. From that time on I hated her. She rejoiced in the event, passing indifferently over your name. You no longer existed for her, because she was no longer able to make use of you…. I wept for you, for your son whom I did not know, and also for myself, remembering my blame in the matter. Since that day I have been another woman…. Then we came to Barcelona and I have passed months and months awaiting this moment."
Her former passion was reflected in her eyes. A flicker of humble love lit up her bruised countenance.
"We established ourselves in this house which belongs to a German electrician, a friend of the doctor's. Whenever she went away on a trip leaving me free, my steps would invariably turn to the harbor. I was waiting to see your ship. My eyes followed the seamen sympathetically, thinking that I could see in all of them something of your person…. 'Some day he will come,' I would say to myself. You know how selfish love is! I gradually forgot the death of your son…. Besides, I am not the one who is really guilty: there are others. I have been deceived just as you have been. 'He is going to come, and we shall be happy again!'… Ay! If this room could speak … if this divan on which I have dreamed so many times could talk!… I was always arranging some flowers in a vase, making believe that you were going to come. I was always fixing myself up a little bit, imagining it was for you…. I was living in your country, and it was natural that you should come. Suddenly the paradise that I was imagining vanished into smoke. We received the news, I don't know how, of the imprisonment of von Kramer, and that you had been his accuser. The doctor anathematized me, making me responsible for everything. Through me she had known you, and that was enough to make her include me in her indignation. All our band began to plan for your death, longing to have it accompanied with the most atrocious tortures…."
Ferragut interrupted her. His brow was furrowed as though dominated by a tenacious idea…. Perhaps he was not listening to her.
"Where is the doctor?"…
The tone of the question was disquieting. He clenched his fists, looking around him as though awaiting the appearance of the imposing dame. His attitude was just like that which had accompanied his attack on Freya.
"I don't know where she's traveling," said his companion. "She is probably in Madrid, in San Sebastian, or in Cadiz. She goes off very frequently. She has friends everywhere…. And I have ventured to ask you here simply because I am alone."