se Desnoyers
happened to be a Frenchman and Karl a German, she was not going to
quarrel with Elena. But suddenly this forbearance had vanished. Her son
was now in danger. . . . Better that all the von Hartrotts should die
than that Julio should receive the most insignificant wound! . . . She
began to share the bellicose sentiments of her daughter, recognizing in
her an exceptional talent for appraising events, and now desiring all of
Chichi's dagger thrusts to be converted into reality.

Fortunately La Romantica took herself off before this antipathy
crystallized. She was accustomed to pass the afternoons somewhere
outside, and on her return would repeat the news gleaned from friends
unknown to the rest of the family.

This made Don Marcelo wax very indignant because of the spies
still hidden in Paris. What mysterious world was his sister-in-law
frequenting? . . .

Suddenly she announced that she was leaving the following morning; she
had obtained a passport to Switzerland, and from there she would go to
Germany. It was high time for her to be returning to her own; she was
most appreciative of the hospitality shown her by the family. . . . And
Desnoyers bade her good-bye with aggressive irony. His regards to
von Hartrott; he was hoping to pay him a visit in Berlin as soon as
possible.

One morning Dona Luisa, instead of entering the neighboring church as
usual, continued on to the rue de la Pompe, pleased at the thought of
seeing the studio once more. It seemed to her that in this way she might
put herself more closely in touch with her son. This would be a new
pleasure, even greater than poring over his photograph or re-reading his
last letter.

She was hoping to meet Argensola, the friend of good counsels, for she
knew that he was still living in the studio. Twice he had come to see
her by the service stairway as in the old days, but she had been out.

As she went up in the elevator, her heart was palpitating with pleasure
and distress. It occurred to the good lady that the "foolish virgins"
must have had feelings like this when for the first time they fell from
the heights of virtue.

The tears came to her eyes when she beheld the room whose furnishings
and pictures so vividly recalled the absent. Argensola hastened from the
door at the end of the room, agitated, confused, and greeting her with
expressions of welcome at the same time that he was putting sundry
objects out of sight. A woman's sweater lying on