Alaire began the mockery of playing hostess with extreme distaste, and
as the meal progressed she experienced a growing uneasiness. Longorio's
bearing had changed since his arrival. He was still extravagantly
courteous, beautifully attentive; he maintained a flow of conversation
that relieved her of any effort, and yet he displayed a repressed
excitement that was disturbing. In his eyes there was a gloating look
of possession hard to endure. Despite her icy formality, he appeared to
be holding himself within the bounds of propriety only by an effort of
will, and she was not surprised when, at the conclusion of the meal, he
cast restraint aside.
She did not let him go far with his wooing before warning him: "I won't
listen to you. You are a man of taste; you must realize how offensive
this is."
"Let us not deceive each other," he insisted. "We are alone. Let us be
honest. Do not ask me to put faith in your grief. I find my excuse in
the extraordinary nature of this situation."
"Nothing can excuse indelicacy," she answered, evenly. "You transgress
the commonest rules of decency."
But he was impatient. "What sentiment! You did not love your husband.
You were for years his prisoner. Through the bars of your prison I saw
and loved you. Dios! The first sight of your face altered the current
of my life. I saw heaven in your eyes, and I have dreamed of nothing
else ever since. Well, Providence opened the doors and set you free;
God gave heed to my prayers and delivered you to me. Now you pretend to
grieve at your deliverance; you ask me to respect the memory of your
jailer! Decency? Delicacy? What are they except artificialities, which
vanish in times of stress? Alexander the Great, Caesar, Napoleon,
Porfirio Diaz--they were strong, purposeful men; they lived as I live.
Señora, you dally with love."
Alaire's face was white with anger as she replied: "You cause me to
forget that you are my guest. Are you the man I considered you or the
man you are reported to be?"
"Eh?"
"Are you the gentleman, the friend, you pretended to be, or--the vandal
whom no woman can trust? You treat me as if you were my jailer. What do
you mean? What kind of man are you to take advantage of my bereavement?"
After a moment's consideration Longorio began haltingly: "I don't know
what kind of man I am, for you have changed me so. There was a
time--I--I have done things--I have scorned all restraint, all laws
except those of my desires, and so, perhaps, I am a vandal. Make sure
of this, however--I shall not injure you. Christ is no more sacred to
me than you, my heart's treasure. You accuse me of indelicacy because I
lack the strength to smother my admiration. I adore you; my being
dissolves, my veins are afire with longing for you; I am mad with the
knowledge that you are mine. Mad? Caramba! I am insane; my mind
totters; I grope my way like a man blinded by a dazzling light; I
suffer agonies. But see! I refuse to touch you. I am a giant in my
restraint. The strength of heroes is mine, and I strangle my impulses
as they are born, although the effort kills me. Señora, I await the
moment of your voluntary surrender. I wait for you." He extended his
arms, and Alaire saw that his olive features were distorted with
emotion; that his hands, his whole thin, high-strung body were shaking
uncontrollably.
She could summon no coherent words.
"You believed I was a hawk and would seize you, eh?" he queried. "Is
that why you continue to shrink? Well, let me tell you something, if my
tongue will frame the thoughts in my mind. My passion is so deep and so
sacred that I would not be content with less than all of you. Your lips
would not satisfy mine unless they were hot with love, your kisses wet
with desire. I must have you all, and so I wait, trembling. I say this
so badly that I doubt if you understand. Listen, then: to possess you
by force would be--well, as if I sacked a cathedral of its golden
images and expected to gain heaven by clutching the Madonna in my arms.
Señora, in you I see the priceless jewel of my life, which I shall wear
to dazzle the world, and without which I shall destroy myself. Now let
me tell you what I can offer you, what setting I can build for this
treasure. Marriage with Luis Longorio--"
Alaire could not control a start.
As if quickened by his intensity, the man read her thought. "You did
not imagine that I offered you anything less?"
"What was I to think? Your reputation--"
"Mother of God!" breathed the general. "So! That is what you meant a
moment ago. That is why you refuse my embraces. No, no! Other women
have feared me and I have laughed in their hair as they tore at my
arms, but you--you will be my wife, and all Mexico shall bow at your
feet." He checked her denial with a gesture. "Wait until I tell you the
vision I have seen during these days of my despair. I see Mexico made
whole by my hands; a land of peace and plenty; a people with one name
upon their lips--the name of Longorio the Deliverer; and you as the
first lady of them all. You know me for a man of tremendous ability in
every line. Well, I know myself, too. I have measured myself carefully,
and I have no weakness. There is no other like me. Pancho Gomez? Bah!
He is a red-handed bandit of no culture. Candeleria, his chief? The
idol of the ignorant and a dreamer of no force. Potosi? He is President
today, but what of tomorrow? Those who surround him are weaklings, and
he stumbles toward oblivion. Who will succeed him? Who will issue from
the coming struggle as the dominant figure of Mexico? Who but that
military genius who checks the Yankee hordes and saves the fatherland?
I am he. Fate points the path of glory and I am her man of destiny. You
see, then, what I bring you--power, position, riches. Riches? Caramba!
Wait until my hands are in the treasury. I will load you with gold and
jewels, and I will make you the richest woman in the world. Señora, I
offer you dominion. I offer you the President's palace and Chapultepec.
And with all that I offer you such passionate love as no woman of
history ever possessed."
He paused, spent by the force of his own intensity; it was plain that
he expected an immediate surrender.
Alaire's lips parted in the faintest of mocking smiles. "You have great
confidence in yourself," she said.
"Yes. I know myself as no one knows me."
"Why do you think I care for you?"
Longorio's eyes opened. His expression plainly showed that he could not
imagine any woman in her senses failing to adore him.
"Don't you take much for granted?" Alaire insisted.
The Mexican shook his head. Then his face lightened. "Ah! Now I see.
Your modesty forbids you to acknowledge your love--is that it? Well, I
know that you admire me, for I can see it. All women admire me, and
they all end by loving me." His chest arched imperceptibly; with a
slender finger he delicately smoothed his black eyebrows. Alaire felt a
wild impulse to laugh, but was glad she had subdued it when he
continued: "I am impetuous, but impetuosity has made me what I am. I
act, and then mold fate to suit my own ends. Opportunity has delivered
to me my heart's desire, and I will not be cheated out of it. Among the
men I brought with me to La Feria is a priest. He is dirty, for I
caught him as he was fleeing toward the border; but he is a priest, and
he will marry us tonight."