"Indeed I am! That is why I insisted that you dine with me this
evening. I cannot waste more time here, for necessity calls me away.
You shall go as my wife."
"Do you think I would remarry on the very day I find myself a widow?"
"The world will never know."
"You dare to say that!" Her tone was one of disgust, of finality. "I
wonder how I have listened to so much. It is horrible."
"You are still a little hysterical, and you exaggerate. If I had more
time I could afford to wait." He ogled her with his luminous gaze. "I
would let you play with me to your heart's content and exercise your
power until you tired and were ready to surrender."
Alaire raised her head proudly, her nostrils dilated, her eyes ablaze
with hostility. "This is very humiliating, but you force me to tell you
that I hate you."
Longorio was incredulous rather than offended. He drew himself up to
his full height and smiled, saying, "That is impossible." Then,
ignoring her impatience: "Come! You cannot deceive me. The priest is
waiting."
When Alaire spoke next it was with an expression and with a tone of
such loathing that his yellow face paled "Your conceit is
insufferable," she breathed.
After a brief struggle with himself, the Mexican cried, hoarsely: "I
will not be refused. You wish me to tame you, eh? Good! You have found
your master. Make your choice, then. Which shall it be, surrender
or--compulsion?"
"So! You have been lying, as I thought. Compulsion! Now the real
Longorio speaks."
He flung up his hands as if to ward off her fury. "No? Have I not made
myself clear? I shall embrace you only with the arms of a husband, for
this is not the passion of a moment, but of a lifetime, and I have
myself to consider. The wife of Mexico's next President must be above
reproach; there must be no scandal, no secrets hidden away for enemies
to unearth. She must stand before the people as a perfect woman; she
must lend prestige to his name. When I speak of compulsion, then, I
mean the right of a husband--"
Alaire uttered an exclamation of disgust and turned away, but he
intercepted her, saying: "You cannot hold me at bay. It is destiny. You
shall be mine tonight. Think a moment! We are alone in the heart of a
country lacking in every law but mine. Your friends do not know where
you are, and, even if they knew, they could not help you. Your nation's
protest would avail nothing. Outside of these walls are enemies who
will not let you leave this house except under the protection of my
name."
"Then I shall never leave it," she told him.
For the first time Longorio spoke roughly: "I lose patience. In God's
name have I not waited long enough? My strength is gone." Impulsively
he half encircled her with his thin arms, but she seemed armored with
ice, and he dropped them. She could hear him grind his teeth. "I dare
not lay hands upon you," he chattered. "Angel of my dreams, I am faint
with longing. To love you and yet to be denied; to feel myself aflame
and yet to see you cold; to be halted at the very doors of Paradise!
What torture!"
The fellow's self-control in the midst of his frenzy frightened Alaire
more than did his wildest avowals; it was in something of a panic that
she said:
"One moment you tell me I am safe, the next you threaten me. You say I
am free, and yet you coerce me. Prove your love. Let me go--" "No! No!
I shall call the priest."
Longorio turned toward the door, but halfway across the floor he was
halted by a woman's shriek which issued from somewhere inside the
house. It was repeated. There was an outburst in a masculine voice,
then the patter of footsteps approaching down the tiled hallway.
Dolores burst into her mistress's presence, her face blanched, her hair
disordered. She flung herself into Alaire's arms, crying:
"Señora! Save me! God's curse on the ruffian. Oh--"
"Dolores!" Alaire exclaimed. "What has happened?"