king your life, when tired of land, for the slightest
motive...."

She paused again and then continued.

"Honor is worth more than life for certain men,--respectability, the
preservation of the place that they occupy. Only the man that would
risk his honor and position for me, who would descend to the lowest
depths without losing his will to live, would ever be able to convince
me.... That indeed would be a sacrifice!"

Ferragut felt alarmed at such words. What kind of sacrifice was this
woman about to propose to him?... But he grew calmer as he listened to
her. It was all a fancy of her disordered imagination. "She is crazy,"
again affirmed the hidden counselor in his brain.

"I have dreamed many times," she continued, "of a man who would rob for
me, who would kill if it was necessary and might have to pass the rest
of his years in prison.... My poor thief!... I would live only for him,
spending night and day near the walls of his prison, looking through
the bars, working like a woman of the village in order to send a good
dinner to my outlaw.... That is genuine love and not the cold lies, the
theatrical vows of our world."

Ulysses repeated his mental comment, "She certainly is crazy"--and his
thought was so clearly reflected in his eyes that she guessed it.

"Don't be afraid, Ferragut," she said, smiling. "I have no thought of
exacting such a sacrifice of you. All this that I am talking about is
merely fancy, a whimsy invented to fill the vacancy of my soul. 'Tis
the fault of the wine, of our exaggerated libations,--that to-day have
been without water,--to the gods.... Just look!"

And she pointed with comical gravity to the two empty bottles that were
occupying the center of the table.

Night had fallen. In the dark sky twinkled infinite eyes of starry
light. The immense bowl of the gulf was reflecting their sparkles like
thousands of will o' the wisps. The candle shades in the restaurant
were throwing purplish spots upon the table covers, casting upon the
faces of those who were eating around them violent contrasts of light
and shade. From the locked rooms were escaping sounds of kisses,
pursuit and falling furniture.

"Let us go!" ordered Freya.

The noise of this vulgar orgy was annoying her as though it were
dishonoring the majesty of the night. She needed to move about, to walk
in the darkness, to breathe in the freshness of the mysterious shade.

At the garden gate they hesitated before the appeal