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When I first met her, I asked: 'What shall I give you? She answered: 'A box at the Teatro Real. Why, that's a bagatelle! Only a little more than thirteen hundred pesetas for fourteen plays. And here we are. I tell you the little lady doesn't ask much." Darlés answered nothing.
She felt a proud, unhealthy emotion, like that of man when he meets his friends and they know some woman has killed herself for love of him. Candelas, who could read Alicia's thoughts, exclaimed: "Strange if the criminal were Enrique Darlés!" "I don't think it could be!" "Well, now it might." "That would be a terribly bad thing for him to have done." "Of course!"
Then, feeling that his last strength was running out, he added with a little gesture: "There it is, on the bureau. Just raise up those papers " The scene was poignant, melodramatic with sad romanticism. At last the Magdalene's eyes grew wet. "Boy, boy!" she sobbed. "What have you done?" Darlés only repeated: "You'll find it there, on the bureau."
Darlés raised his head, and proudly looked the old man in the eyes, with the hauteur of one still innocent. "What are you interfering for?" he demanded. "What's the idea?" "We can't waste any more time on you," answered the jeweler. "If I'm not mistaken, you're not overburdened with money." He turned to his clerk again. The clerk stared in amaze.
There were diamond, turquoise, sapphire, topaz necklaces. The student hesitated. A dizzying pleasure, bitter-sweet, enveloped this nearness to crime. He kept asking: "What's this one worth? And this?" "This is very cheap. Two thousand pesetas." "How about this ruby one?" "Forty-five hundred." Darlés took them up, studied them carefully, put them down again.
Darlés ventured to raise one of the heavy curtains just a little, that shut the outer box off from the inner one. A young woman was sitting there, with her back to him and her elbows on the railing of the box. She was all in white. He could see the tempting outlines of her firm hips, beneath the childish insufficiency of her girdle. Her shoulders were plump and of flawless perfection.
The evening before their first and only night together, Darlés had just happened to find her in one of those fits of the blues, of eclectic relaxation, in which the volatile feminine sense of ethics swings equidistant from good and evil. Her virtues and her vices, alike, were arbitrary and without any exact motive.
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