It was too much to bear. I left for Madrid, and tried to get fond of an
Italian dancer. I returned to Seville, then went to Granada, Cordova,
Jérez. I sought for Concha Perez. At Cadiz we met again. One evening
I entered a drinking saloon. She was there dancing before sailors and
fishermen. At the moment I saw her I trembled and throbbed. I must have
become pale, and I felt as though I had no breath, no force, no will. I
dropped down upon the seat nearest the door, and head in hands watched
her. Her dance finished she came towards me. All knew her. From all
sides came cries of “Conchita” that made me shudder. On all sides she
cast glances. Here a smile, there a laugh, a shrug, a flower accepted,
a drink sipped. She sat at my table facing me, and desired coffee.
I said in a low voice that I tried to steady--
“Then you fear nothing, Concha, not even death.”
“You would not kill me.”
“Do you dare me to.”
“Yes, here or where you will. I know you, Don Mateo, as though you were
borne in my bosom nine months.”
Bitter reproaches followed, and I taunted her. She rose, furious, and,
vowing by her father’s tomb that she was virtuous, left me.