“You devil in skirts!”
She aimed a blow at Elena’s face; but the latter defended herself promptly, clutching at her assailant’s arm. The older woman was intensely pale, and her eyes had grown larger with amazement, while a feline light gleamed in their pupils. Then she said in a voice that was slightly hoarse,
“That will do! Don’t trouble ... I’ll consider the blow as given ... and I shan’t forget the gift! I’ll return something equivalent when the proper time comes....”
She let go her grip of Celinda’s arm. The girl seemed to have poured out all her rage. With arms hanging limp, she stood motionless, as though repenting of her attack on her enemy.
Elena made good use of this momentary respite, and climbing into the cart, tapped the driver on the shoulder to rouse him from the sleep in which he had been quite undisturbed by the scene going on within two feet.
As soon as they had progressed beyond the limits of the town, Elena caught sight of the park and the crowd streaming around it. A rider was cantering in the opposite direction as though coming back from the party. With a great sweep of his hat he saluted her. Recognizing Manos Duras, she smiled mechanically in response to his greeting. Then, without seriously taking account of what she was doing, she beckoned to him. The gaucho instantly swung his horse around and rode up to the cart, following alongside.
“How are you, señora? Why are you so pale?”
Elena made an effort to regain her serenity. She must still bear the traces of her recent violent emotions, and she wanted to reach the fiesta tranquil and smiling. No one must divine the insult she had just received....
As though eager to put an end as quickly as possible to her conversation with Manos Duras, she asked him gayly,
“You told me one day that you admired me and that you were ready to do anything I might ask you, no matter how terrible....”