"We began wrong. If the world had gone on the same as before, perhaps we would have been able to keep on our feet and be triumphant. Our surroundings sustained us: we were like children."
But the Universal cataclysm had made them lose their balance forever. They were toppling over, with gaps that could never be brought together, ready to fall in a heap.
"We belong to another period, and no one can protect our frailty. I feel pity for you, Michael; and you must feel the same for me, for me, whom you have wronged so deeply!"
The Prince, in spite of his dejected humility, protested. He had been imprudent: that was sure. His aggression in the Casino and the miserable duel had caused a stupid scandal to be sure. But what irreparable harm did she mean, that caused her such profound sorrow? How could his madness, which injured him only, making him the object of comments and laughter, cause her such despair?
Alicia interrupted him with a gesture of impatience, as though she felt it impossible to make him understand her thoughts.
"Look," she said pointing to the church door. "Before, I could go in there. Remember the last time that we saw each other on this spot. I had just been praying, and talking with my son; it was an illusion perhaps; but illusions help us to live. And now it is impossible for me; I feel remorse where before I found hope. And I have you to thank for this, you who took away the last consolation that I had invented for myself."
She no longer looked at the Prince with hostile gaze. Her trembling voice, and her moist eyes, were those of a poor woman making an effort to hide her emotion. Michael stammered in embarrassment, not knowing what to do or say. Had he really been able to do her such an evil turn? When? How?
Alicia, deaf to his questions, was thinking only of herself and her misfortune.
"I had a son, and I lost him," she went on saying. "He was my hope, my one reason for living. The suffering made me look for consolation. What would become of us if we did not have the power of deceiving ourselves by creating new illusions? And I had a second son, a son whom I invented, sad, condemned to die, but young like the other, unfortunate like the other, and lacking a mother to bring joy to his last days. I wanted to be that mother. I can feel only the sweet, protecting joy of maternity; my rôle as a woman is over: all I can see in a man is a son, and you take away this last consolation! You robbed me of my poor joy!"
Lubimoff began to understand. Alicia was talking about Martinez; and he felt once more the sting of jealousy.