Again I glanced at him sideways. I was the taller of the two and

as it happened I met in the light of the street lamp his own
stealthy glance directed up at me with an agonized expression, an

expression that made me fancy I could see the man's very soul
writhing in his body like an impaled worm. In spite of my utter

inexperience I had some notion of the images that rushed into his
mind at the sight of any man who had approached Dona Rita. It was

enough to awaken in any human being a movement of horrified
compassion; but my pity went out not to him but to Dona Rita. It

was for her that I felt sorry; I pitied her for having that damned
soul on her track. I pitied her with tenderness and indignation,

as if this had been both a danger and a dishonour.
I don't mean to say that those thoughts passed through my head

consciously. I had only the resultant, settled feeling. I had,
however, a thought, too. It came on me suddenly, and I asked

myself with rage and astonishment" target="_blank" title="n.吃惊；惊异">astonishment: "Must I then kill that brute?"
There didn't seem to be any alternative. Between him and Dona Rita

I couldn't hesitate. I believe I gave a slight laugh of
desperation. The suddenness of this sinisterconclusion had in it

something comic and unbelievable. It loosened my grip on my mental
processes. A Latin tag came into my head about the facile descent

into the abyss. I marvelled at its aptness, and also that it
should have come to me so pat. But I believe now that it was

suggested simply by the actual declivity of the street of the
Consuls which lies on a gentle slope. We had just turned the

corner. All the houses were dark and in a perspective of complete
solitude our two shadows dodged and wheeled about our feet.

"Here we are," I said.
He was an extraordinarilychilly devil. When we stopped I could

hear his teeth chattering again. I don't know what came over me, I
had a sort of nervous fit, was incapable of finding my pockets, let

alone the latchkey. I had the illusion of a narrow streak of light
on the wall of the house as if it had been cracked. "I hope we

will be able to get in," I murmured.
Senor Ortega stood waitingpatiently with his handbag, like a

rescued wayfarer. "But you live in this house, don't you?" he
observed.

"No," I said, without hesitation. I didn't know how that man would
behave if he were aware that I was staying under the same roof. He

was half mad. He might want to talk all night, try crazily to
invade my privacy. How could I tell? Moreover, I wasn't so sure

that I would remain in the house. I had some notion of going out
again and walking up and down the street of the Consuls till

daylight. "No, an absent friend lets me use . . . I had that
latchkey this morning . . . Ah! here it is."

I let him go in first. The sickly gas flame was there on duty,
undaunted, waiting for the end of the world to come and put it out.

I think that the black-and-white hall surprised Ortega. I had
closed the front door without noise and stood for a moment

listening, while he glanced about furtively. There were only two
other doors in the hall, right and left. Their panels of ebony

were decorated with bronze applications in the centre. The one on
the left was of course Blunt's door. As the passage leading beyond

it was dark at the further end I took Senor Ortega by the hand and
led him along, unresisting, like a child. For some reason or other

I moved on tip-toe and he followed my example. The light and the
warmth of the studioimpressed him favourably; he laid down his

little bag, rubbed his hands together, and produced a smile of
satisfaction; but it was such a smile as a totally ruined man would

perhaps force on his lips, or a man condemned to a short shrift by
his doctor. I begged him to make himself at home and said that I

would go at once and hunt up the woman of the house who would make
him up a bed on the big couch there. He hardly listened to what I

said. What were all those things to him! He knew that his destiny
was to sleep on a bed of thorns, to feed on adders. But he tried

to show a sort of polite interest. He asked: "What is this
place?"

"It used to belong to a painter," I mumbled.
"Ah, your absent friend," he said, making a wry mouth. "I detest

all those artists, and all those writers, and all politicos who are
thieves; and I would go even farther and higher, laying a curse on

all idle lovers of women. You think perhaps I am a Royalist? No.
If there was anybody in heaven or hell to pray to I would pray for

a revolution - a red revolution everywhere."
"You astonish me," I said, just to say something.

"No! But there are half a dozen people in the world with whom I
would like to settle accounts. One could shoot them like

partridges and no questions asked. That's what revolution would
mean to me."

"It's a beautifully simple view," I said. "I imagine you are not
the only one who holds it; but I really must look after your

comforts. You mustn't forget that we have to see Baron H. early
to-morrow morning." And I went out quietly into the passage

wondering in what part of the house Therese had elected to sleep
that night. But, lo and behold, when I got to the foot of the

stairs there was Therese coming down from the upper regions in her
nightgown, like a sleep-walker. However, it wasn't that, because,

before I could exclaim, she vanished off the first floor landing
like a streak of white mist and without the slightest sound. Her

attire made it perfectly clear that she could not have heard us
coming in. In fact, she must have been certain that the house was

empty, because she was as well aware as myself that the Italian
girls after their work at the opera were going to a masked ball to

dance for their own amusement, attended of course by their
conscientious father. But what thought, need, or sudden impulse

had driven Therese out of bed like this was something I couldn't
conceive.

I didn't call out after her. I felt sure that she would return. I
went up slowly to the first floor and met her coming down again,

this time carrying a lighted candle. She had managed to make
herself presentable in an extraordinarily short time.

"Oh, my dear young Monsieur, you have given me a fright."
"Yes. And I nearly fainted, too," I said. "You looked perfectly

awful. What's the matter with you? Are you ill?"
She had lighted by then the gas on the landing and I must say that

I had never seen exactly that manner of face on her before. She
wriggled, confused and shifty-eyed, before me; but I ascribed this

behaviour to her shocked modesty and without troubling myself any
more about her feelings I informed her that there was a Carlist

downstairs who must be put up for the night. Most unexpectedly" target="_blank" title="ad.意外地；突然地">unexpectedly she
betrayed a ridiculousconsternation, but only for a moment. Then

she assumed at once that I would give him hospitalityupstairs
where there was a camp-bedstead in my dressing-room. I said:

"No. Give him a shake-down in the studio, where he is now. It's
warm in there. And remember! I charge you strictly not to let him

know that I sleep in this house. In fact, I don't know myself that
I will; I have certain matters to attend to this very night. You

will also have to serve him his coffee in the morning. I will take
him away before ten o'clock."

All this seemed to impress her more than I had expected. As usual
when she felt curious, or in some other way excited, she assumed a

saintly, detached expression, and asked:
"The dear gentleman is your friend, I suppose?"

"I only know he is a Spaniard and a Carlist," I said: "and that
ought to be enough for you."

Instead of the usual effusive exclamations she murmured: "Dear me,
dear me," and departedupstairs with the candle to get together a

few blankets and pillows, I suppose. As for me I walked quietly
downstairs on my way to the studio. I had a curious sensation that

I was acting in a preordained manner, that life was not at all what
I had thought it to be, or else that I had been altogether changed