THE gate closed. Through its bars I could see him going farther and farther away, his uncovered head bowed, until he was lost to sight among the trees. I stood alone in the middle of the road. A profound depression filled me; it was as if I had lost something that had been the chief interest of my existence.

With slow step I began my departure from that pleasant place, believing that I should never return to tread this path again. Indeed, these latest events had followed one another so hastily and precipitately that I could scarcely realize them. One moment I had been in that house as the accepted friend about to become a member of the family. The next, I left it as a stranger whose name would soon be forgotten. Yet in the midst of my sorrow, in the mournful night that had fallen upon my heart, shone one consoling star; it was Cristina's look of supplication. In that house, perhaps, my name would now no more be spoken, but she would never forget it. This thought gave me inexpressible consolation. I went on my way with a firmer step, and when I came to the last corner of the walls surrounding the estate, I stopped beside it. I looked at it sorrowfully for a little, then, going up to the stone, I kissed it many times. Then I went on again, blushing as if someone had seen me.

The moon on high bathed the country in luminous purity, transforming it into a sleeping lake. The plain stretched before me, bordered by the mountains whose crests seemed floating in the distance in a white mist. Here and there the little groves of orange-trees and laurel stood out in the fleecy whiteness, or great cypresses rose solitary and still, casting their shadows across the road. Beyond smiled the sea, reflecting the light of the moon.

The sweetness of that night penetrated my heart, refreshing it. The fields, still abounding in flowers and fragrant with the odors of ripe fruits, soothed my senses and calmed the fever of my thoughts. I went on with a lighter step. Valencia already slumbered lightly upon her couch of flowers. Her street lights shone afar like stars of earth. Those of the heavens formed a rich canopy above, protecting that fortunate city.

When at some distance from the country house, I felt the need of resting a little while. I did not care yet to be among people. It was necessary to get my thoughts together and contrive some plan of life in place of that that had, in one moment, been upset. I sat down on a stone, drew out a cigar, lighted it, and calmly began smoking. I had not been sitting there long when I heard the sound of an approaching carriage. At first I did not know whether it was coming from Valencia or CabaÑal. When I was convinced it was from the latter, I felt strangely uneasy, and thought of concealing myself; but instantly changing my mind, I determined to remain where I was. Soon I descried the horses; they drew near. It was Castell's cab, as I feared.

When he was quite close I planted myself in the middle of the road and called to the coachman in an imperative voice:

"Stop!"

He made a gesture of surprise, but stopped the horses almost as they came upon me. As he was pulling them in with the reins, obliging them to stop in time, the man recognized me and said:

"Good evening, Don Julian."

Castell had been leaning half out of the window. When I approached him he looked at me in surprise, then springing up with a fiery gesture he reached for his pocket, crying:

"If this is an attack, take care!"

"No, it is not an attack," I said, lifting my hand in sign of peace; "I wish to speak with you."

"Send me your seconds and I will speak with them," he said haughtily.

"Before doing that, it is necessary to speak with you a moment," I replied.

He stared at me a little while as if trying to discern my intentions. Convinced, doubtless, that they were not bellicose, he opened the cab door and said coolly:

"Get in!"

I sat down facing him. The carriage went onward.

"I desire to know," I said, at the end of a moment, "if it was you who let MartÍ know that he would find Cristina and me alone in the pavilion?"

He opened his eyes wide in no feigned surprise, and answered in an ungracious manner:

"I don't understand what you are saying to me."

I perceived that this was true, and I went on, modifying my tone.

"After you and I separated, she and I went along the acacia path to the pavilion, for the purpose of giving Cristina time to recover herself before going to the house. She found herself very much upset and did not care to present herself to her husband in that state. After we had been there a little while, MartÍ came unexpectedly. He was angry, naturally; sought an explanation with me, and in consequence I have left his house never to return."

"I knew nothing of it. Although I feel no obligation to give you any satisfaction whatever, since there is a question between us to be settled on other grounds, I will yet tell you that I did not speak one word to MartÍ about the affair. It rests with you to believe me, or not. But it certainly surprises me that after having had an explanation with him, you should leave his house and now be talking with me as cordially as ever."

"It is very simple. I did not speak one word about what I had just heard."

"You have allowed him to suspect you of treachery?" he asked in the greatest surprise.

"Yes, seÑor."

"And why have you done so?"

"For my pleasure."

He cast a hostile, suspicious glance at me, shrugged his shoulders, and remained silent. I broke the silence after a moment.

"The pleasures of men, Castell, are as varied as their physiognomies. However much you may have thought yourself in love with Cristina, I believe I was more. I adored her with all my soul, with all the powers of my heart. But to win her by treacherous means would, far from causing me joy, be the worst misfortune that could befall me upon earth. I should never sleep quietly again. I have made a cruel sacrifice, but I have made it for love of her, for the peace of my conscience. The tears that you see in my eyes now refresh my soul; they do not scorch it. I am going away, going away for good. You will remain, and perhaps time may bring it about that you can gain what I have so much desired; but wandering upon the sea, alone on the deck of my ship, I shall be happier than you. The stars of heaven shining above me will say: 'Be joyful, for you have done right.' The wind whistling through the rigging, the waves breaking against the sides will say: 'Joyful, joyful!'"

The light of the moon illuminated his face. I saw a smile gradually spread over it.

"These same waves that will say such agreeable things to you will think nothing of swallowing you like a fly some day. The winds will help them finish the task, and the stars of heaven will be present with all possible serenity. You are living in a profound error, Ribot. There is no other happiness upon earth except in possessing what one desires."

"Although to get it you stab a friend to death from behind?"

There was a moment of suspense, but he presently said firmly:

"Although to get it 'twere necessary to walk over men."

"There is neither good nor evil, then?"

"In life the good of some is the evil of others, and it will be so to the end of time. You may have seen some time a nest of swallows? The little ones wait anxiously for the arrival of the mother; she comes gently, opens her bill and, with loving care, feeds them one by one. How interesting! How full of tenderness such a sight! But the insects that have been destroyed and fall into the beak of the swallow to serve her in feeding her children—does the spectacle seem so tender and interesting to them? On the other hand, you see a man go stealthily up to another, knock him down with a blow, take the money out of his purse and carry it away to his house to buy bread for his children. How horrible! You shudder and hurry quickly away from such a scene. But why? If you were an insect you would go along there buzzing joyously."

"But we are given a conscience."

"Conscience does not prevent us from being fatally fettered. You find yourself in love with Cristina, the same as I am; both of us desire her. You are held back by fear of remorse, but I pursue my undertaking with no fears whatever. We both follow an instinct. Mine is more sane, because it tends to augment my vitality, while yours tends to diminish your strength. You need not laugh nor be so much surprised. Remorse in a world where necessity rules is absurd. Think you that the heroes of Homer and Aeschylus hesitated at fratricide or incest? Yet they were, nevertheless, the most noble examples of human kind."

"I am far from opposing you in augmenting your vitality," I replied, ironically; "but would it not be better that you seek a wife of your own, rather than another's."

"Another's, another's!" he repeated under his breath. "That is conventional, like all the rest."

He remained thoughtful for several minutes, looking out at the landscape through the window. I watched him with a mixture of curiosity and repugnance. Those blue eyes of his with their steely reflections inspired me for the first time with a sudden dread.

"The virtuous? DraÛpadÎ," he began saying slowly, without taking his eyes from the scene, "one of the most interesting heroines of antiquity had five husbands, all brothers. Those heroes enjoyed her love in common, without dishonor or remorse. If we lived in like simplicity, to aspire to Cristina would be moral and plausible; we should be offering a woman two new protectors. Why does it cause you so much horror to share a woman with a friend? The world began in that way and will end in that way."

"It may end as it chooses!" I exclaimed. "Now and evermore, it will be a sin voluntarily to cause pain."

"Don't be a child, Ribot," he replied with his irritating self-sufficiency. "There is only one undeniable truth in this world, and that is the common impulse of plants and animals, insects and man. In the serene region where life abides, everlasting life, sorrow and death, signify nothing. The one supreme end of the universe is to augment the intensity of this life."

I did not respond. I remained thoughtful and silent in my turn for some time, gazing out of the other window at the road. At last I saw the first houses of the suburbs.

"Will you have the kindness to ask the man to stop?" I said; "I wish to get out here; and to-morrow I leave Valencia without fighting with you. Attribute this to cowardice if you like. It will be a new sacrifice for me to make on the altar of my love, and to the friendship that I owe MartÍ. I do not aspire to be a Homeric hero like you, nor dream of leaping triumphantly upon the bodies of my enemies. Will you stop?"

He gave me a big, contemptuous stare, and pulled the cord, saying coldly:

"I don't know whether or not you are a coward; but I can tell you on the spot that you are one of those people who are self-deceived, and live in delusions concerning themselves and the world about them."

The cab stopped. I opened the door and stepped out upon the ground.

"Adios, Castell," I said, without giving him my hand. "You may seek that happy region which I do not desire to know. I will remain in this other that is more sorrowful yet more honorable."

He shrugged his shoulders without answering, and turned his eyes away from me disdainfully, as he again pulled the cord. Then he leaned back comfortably. The carriage departed, and I began walking slowly towards my hotel. I followed the white highroad whereon scattering houses now cast shadows, until I reached the city's streets, and lost myself in their labyrinth.

In the Calle del Mar I found myself in front of the house of Cristina. On her bedroom balcony grew a rose-mallow. I made sure that nobody saw me, then I climbed up to it and picked some of its leaves. I went to the hotel, and up to my room, and was soon sleeping sweetly with those leaves held fast in my hand.