that fifteenth of november was, for nacha regules, one of the unforgettable days of her life; for it brought her intense happiness and at the same time almost unbearable sorrow. she had not gone to the house of the paralytic the day before, as she was occupied in moving to another boarding house. do?a lucía's had become distasteful to her since she had discovered that one of the men there was accustomed to spend the afternoon reading in one room while his wife received men in another. she had made inquiries of the other boarders, expressed her indignation, complained to do?a lucía. the husband thereupon sought an interview with her. he was a vigorous blond, with a yellow mustache, prominent eyes, and a misshapen mouth.

"you have the wrong idea about me," he began. "i'm an honorable man; i never owed a cent to anybody, and what's more, i don't owe anybody a cent now; and what my wife does is her own business, a private matter...."

nacha did not care to talk with him; so she told him he was quite right and put an end to the interview. however she left the house two days later. on account of an unpleasant incident at juanita's she ceased going there also; and julieta introduced her to her friend, the paralytic.

she arrived at this woman's house early one afternoon, and found her alone. the paralytic asked to be read to and nacha began reading aloud the interminable novel her employer was engaged upon. nacha had felt depressed and nervous when she arrived, although she had no special reason for feeling so; but this narrative full of absurd adventures, related in an even more absurd style, amused and diverted her. she read for nearly an hour. the paralytic, by no means stupid nor illiterate, had no very high opinion of such hair-raising stories; but she had no other book on hand to entertain herself with. at three o'clock the servant, with a suggestion of mystery in her manner, called her mistress out of the room. the paralytic rolled herself down the hall to the parlor. in a short time she returned and told nacha someone wanted to see her.

"who is it? tell me! if you don't i won't go—i can't—"

her heart was pounding violently as if it were the clapper of a swinging bell. fear vibrated through her and an indefinable distress; though she knew that monsalvat was there ... and yet ... trembling, she hesitated, not knowing whether to run away or throw herself into his arms.

"it's a friend of yours. why do you want to know who it is? i don't know him. he looks all right, and that's enough for me. he's waiting for you. go along! i tell you he's a friend—but what's the matter with you? are you afraid of something? if there is anything wrong i won't let you go—"

this put an end to nacha's indecision. fear of not seeing him took possession of her, soul and body, and pushed her down the corridor to the room where he was waiting. she was still trembling; she did not know what she was going to say, nor how she was going to act, and she wanted to cry. even at the door she hesitated, and felt faint; everything grew blurred around her. she heard the voice of the paralytic following her down the hall, calling, "go in! go right in!" she heard a voice clamoring from her heart commanding her to open the door.—then what happened she never knew. someone must have opened the door from within, and then closed it. she was trembling and weeping, her hands pressed to her face. she could not see monsalvat; but she felt his presence beside her.

when she raised her eyes she saw what anguish was, an anguish made up of torturing memories, and the presentiment of a fatality even then rearing insuperable obstacles between them; yet this pain only added to the intense joy of that moment.

"nacha, why did you drive me away that afternoon? that was the beginning of all the unhappiness i have had since. perhaps i didn't act as i should have done. well, then, i ask you to forgive me. since that day i have thought only of you. the problem of your life has become the problem of mine. i have searched for you in all the places i could think of—and how it hurt, nacha, not to find you...."

they stood there facing one another, her hands in his. nacha, in her emotion, lowered her head. she did not know how to act with this man who was so simple and so good. she felt that she too must be frank and straightforward. she had no right to conceal anything from him, disguise her real thoughts, lie to him. she could not foresee what the outcome of this meeting was to be. should she let herself be carried along by whatever happened? if monsalvat should want her, why she was his, body and soul! if not, what then?

and now she was beside him on the sofa, listening to what he was saying; and while he told her of all the efforts he had made to find her he wondered if the woman sitting beside him could be worthy of a passion such as his. fearful of analyzing his emotion, fearful that his thoughts might dwell too long on this doubt, he tried to put all his feeling and enthusiasm into his story. his words summoned before nacha, breathlessly listening, the long caravan of his dreams, his life of other years, and his life now; he talked to her of the ideals which tormented him, and without which he could not live; and he told her that at last he had found out the purpose of a man's life: to work for others, to live for those who have need of us.

nacha was listening in silence. sometimes she had dreamed of what this meeting of theirs would be like; and she had imagined that nothing at such a moment could serve their emotion but abandonment—kisses, caresses more than humanly sweet. for such, to her then, was love; but now she understood that there was a love greater than that. she was undaunted, but surprised. she did not know whether to delight in it or be saddened by it. the man she was listening to was not of her world; to her he was an enigma, something perhaps too far above her for her groping comprehension. she could not hope ever to understand him. how could she, poor fallen woman that she was, destitute of every possession, rise to the world of a being such as he? and sadness cast a beautifying shadow over her face. monsalvat noticed the distress in her eyes and asked why she was troubled. she made a great effort not to burst into tears, using all her strength of will to master her weakness. and she won. suddenly she perceived that she too was strong, for her will had made its decision.

"i am sad ... because ... i do not love you. and i know that i never shall!"

monsalvat, in complete stupefaction, looked at her. he could not understand. he had always believed this woman loved him. he had felt, as one feels a human presence that can neither be heard nor seen, the presence of a great love between them. and now ... it was impossible! what was the secret of this baffling mystery? could nacha be once more under arnedo's control? he tried to prove to her that it was himself she loved; and as do all lovers, he presented arguments that sober sense would have declared absurd. the whole strength of his case lay in the tone of his voice, and the sincerity of his emotion.

"no, i do not love.... it's no use. i can never love you. you have been very kind to me, very generous, and loyal. i love you as a friend ... but that is all."

her words seemed only to show monsalvat to what extent this passion possessed him. at times he had believed that the feeling animating him was simply a desire to regenerate this girl who was worthy of a better fate than the one he saw her struggling with, a desire to save another human being from falling to the lowest depths of evil, a desire to accomplish something for the sake of good; since, up to that time he had lived only for himself. at the same time he believed that he loved her; but this love of his seemed to mingle with all these other feelings and desires. now, with genuine terror, he saw that all his ideals, all his desires of regeneration for her and for himself, were either disappearing, or retreating to the background of his consciousness. at that moment he was nothing but a man in love, and she the adored woman! nacha was no longer a wanton needing to be saved. all that had not the slightest importance. it was blotted out of his mind, in fact; and there remained only the body and soul of a woman for whom he would have given his life. in his absorption in this tremendous fact he quite forgot himself; and he was shaken by a convulsion that rose from the depths of his soul.

"yes, you love me, nacha, and you must belong to me—for life. i promise to make you happy. whatever tenderness, whatever good there is in me is all for you, nacha. i'll do whatever you want, whatever you command...."

he was suddenly startled and he checked himself. how far was he going? the idea of offering himself as a husband passed through his mind. he grew red, and was deeply distressed. the idea seemed absurd. then, as it occurred to him that this was the only means of winning nacha, he clung to the idea desperately. she could not refuse such an offer. it would make her understand the extent of this affection. a man of his position, a man of talent, respected in the community, marrying a girl who had offended against its code! nacha would be thankful; she would know how to value such a sacrifice.

"nacha," he began solemnly, "i shall make you my wife. you must marry me...."

nacha was profoundly stirred. she tried to speak and could not, so hard was she fighting for self control. she only could know what a ghastly struggle that was because she knew how she loved him. she had loved him too much before. it was worse now, after hearing his generous words. a voice whispered to her to throw herself into his arms. something in the very centre of her being was impelling her towards him; but another voice told her she had no right, outcast as she was, to marry this man; that such an act would make her guilty forever of having destroyed him as a part of society. a sacrifice was demanded of her! she must be more generous even than he, subdue herself, suffer, submit to her fate, refrain from dragging him down with her! she did not know where the voice came from. it may have been crying out to her from that afternoon when she first listened to monsalvat telling her to suffer in order to find redemption; but it was a voice that awed her tormented soul even while it bade her speak and leave this man. then the strange serenity of sacrifice came to her rescue. she was pale as death, and smiled so as not to weep. she summoned all the love within her not to let her yield.

"yes, you must marry me," monsalvat was insisting desperately.

"no."

"what is it, nacha? why are you so strange? i love you, you love me...."

her will triumphed. she called to mind other moments of her life and made one supreme effort. then she began to laugh.

"no, i couldn't love you. all this is ridiculous anyway! such make-believe is unworthy of you. i put you out of my house once before, and i'll do it again. you simply want to make fun of me, because i'm a poor girl, and defenceless. you wanted to make a fool of me, getting me to swallow all this stuff! but now it's my turn to laugh at you, just as i did in the cabaret. i—married! and to you, a crazy man!"

she broke into a laugh that was loud and false and harsh.

monsalvat remained seated, his hands clasped over his head; he was dizzy with pain, and he could not understand....

"you are mad ... you have gone mad!" he exclaimed.

was she really fainting? she saw monsalvat cover his face with his hands; she turned to the wall and leaned against it, letting herself weep for a brief moment. there was relief in that. with renewed strength, she sat down on a chair and waited. soon monsalvat stood up. he too was pale as he came near her and, barely looking at her, held out his hand.

"some time ... you will ... let me see you?" he faltered.

"no. why should i? i don't love you. leave me. and if it's true that you love me, forget me as soon as you can. go, please! i am ill, and want to be alone...."

monsalvat did not insist. he could not have done so. he took his hat and went away, stumbling like a man who has come to the end of his strength. one might have thought him sick, or crazy, or perhaps drunk, as he staggered out. crossing that threshold was like wrenching his soul from his body; and in the little parlor that knew only shabbiness and shame, grief remained, lending it a dignity it had never known before.

nacha could no longer hold her anguish at bay. she snatched off her hat with a frantic gesture, and tore it into bits. moaning and weeping she fled into one of the other rooms and threw herself down on the bed.

the cripple rolled her wheel chair to the door and looked in. believing that she understood nacha's trouble, she did not disturb her, but went away again. she talked to the girls awhile; but the tragedy she saw close at hand saddened her; for it reminded her of old intimate griefs of her own. she too, in her youth, had known love, in far away italy; and that love had been maimed and destroyed. after that, dishonor and vice seemed a small matter; yet, at times, even now, she went back in thought to the home of her childhood, so different in its simple beauty from the wretchedness of her present surroundings. but here she was, old, crippled, with no choice but to go on in the familiar rut. why let herself be saddened then? she had known life, and found that melancholy had a bad effect on the liver! so she chatted with the girls, merrily, as was her custom whenever she felt a touch of sadness.

but someone came in, and asked for nacha. the cripple rolled her chair into the bedroom where the girl was still weeping, her head almost hidden by the pillow.

"nacha child! don't cry that way! why let yourself suffer so? no man is worth it. you know that. you are worth more than the best of them, you have a good heart ... and they...."

she muttered an obscene word to herself and began to laugh.

"come, nacha, someone wants to see you. they are all alike! no one of them is worth more than another. they're all rotten—just good to ruin women and then desert them. come, child, come—here's a friend!"

she patted nacha on the shoulder, and told her she would send her caller in. nacha suddenly sat up. she wiped away her tears and said quietly, "no, se?ora. don't send him. i am going away for good."

"but, child, why? are you angry with me?" the old cripple exclaimed, astonished by nacha's tone. "aren't you ever coming back to my house?"

"neither to your house nor to any other. i am not angry. you have been very kind to me, and i shall never forget it."

"well then...." the woman did not know what to make of the girl's words.

nacha was silent while she smoothed her hair, and straightened her dress. then she kissed the cripple, took both her hands and said, her lips quivering with pain:

"it's because ... i want to be worthy ... of that man's love...."

"oh, i see. you want to be respectable for awhile, and then get married...."

the cripple spoke with the certainty of a woman who understands what she is talking about. nacha's expression, however, indicated that her purpose was not quite as the cripple supposed.

"what is it then? tell me. you know i like you, child, and respect you. and i'd do for you anything you ask. if you want to live decent, and need money, i'll give it to you—i'll save so i can!"

nacha was touched.

"you are good, se?ora. i thank you from my very heart; and because i know how good you are, i'll tell you. no, i'm not going to get married. i couldn't let him marry me. but he loves me—so much! and if he gives me such great love, i want to be decent. not to get married, no, just to be worthy of living in his thoughts, and in his heart...."

the paralytic drew the girl's head down to her twisted old lips and kissed her. freeing herself from the woman's embrace, nacha hastily left the room.

as she fled down the stairs she realized that it was many years since she had felt as happy as at that moment!