After all that had happened I had three paths open before me--
To leave her for ever;
To force her to stay with me;
To take her life.
I took a fourth path. I submitted to her own way of treating me. Each
evening I returned to my cozenage, looking at her, and waiting, waiting.
Little by little, I think, she was more softened towards me. It even
seemed sometimes that she had not really intended me the harm that had
in fact been done. But the tavern life she now made me lead did not
suit me. It never has or can. The Señora Perez was there too.
She seemed to know nothing of what had happened. Did she lie? I heard
her Memoirs once more, and paid for her glasses of Eau-de-vie.
My sole instants of joy were provided by the dances of Concha. Her
triumph was the dance named _The Flamenco_. What a tragic dance! It
is, so to speak, all passion expressed in three acts. I always see her
in that dance. She was resplendent. During a month she tolerated me in
what may be called the dressing-room, at the rear of the stage where
the dances took place. I had not even the right to see her home; I kept
my “place” near her on conditions--no reproaches as to the past or the
present. As to the future I did not know anything, and had no idea
whatever what would be the solution of my most pitiable adventure of
body and spirit.
Then came a night when, with other dancers, she danced, with bosom
bared, in a room up-stairs. There were two rich Englishmen present.
I went up to her, and said--
“Follow me. Do not be afraid. But come or beware!”
But again, she dared and defied me.