As Gregorio entered the room, Xantippe, who was kneeling by a box into which she was placing clothes neatly folded, turned her head and said laughingly:  
“You are impatient, my friend; I have nearly—”
 
But recognising Gregorio, she did not finish the sentence. She sat down on the edge of the box. Her face became white, and the blood left her lips. With a great effort she remained quiet and folded her hands on her lap.
 
Gregorio looked at her for a moment, a cruel smile making his sinister face appear almost terrible, and his bloodshot eyes glared at her savagely. At last he broke the silence by shouting her name hoarsely, making at the same time a movement toward her. He looked like a wild animal about to spring upon his prey. Xantippe, however, did not flinch, answering softly:
 
“I am not deaf. What do you want here?”
 
“It is my room; I suppose I have a right to be here.”
 
“I apologise for having intruded.”
 
“None of your smooth speeches. The Englishman has schooled you carefully, I see. Can you say ‘good-bye’ in English yet?”
 
“Why should I say ‘good-bye’?”
 
“It is time. You will come back to me now.”
 
“Never.”
 
Gregorio laughed hysterically and stood beside her. His fingers played with her hair. In spite of her fear lest she should irritate him, Xantippe shrank from his touch. Gregorio noticed her aversion and said savagely:
 
“You must get used to me, Xantippe. From to-night we live together again. It is not necessary now for you to earn money.”
 
“I shall not come back to you. I have told you I hate you. It is your own fault that I leave you.”
 
“It will be my fault if you do leave me.”
 
He pushed her on to the mattress and held her there.
 
“Let us talk,” he said.
 
For a few minutes there was silence, and then he continued:
 
“Amos is dead, and our debts are paid.”
 
“How did you pay them?”
 
“With this,” and as he spoke he touched the handle of his knife. “Don’t shudder; he deserved it, and I shall be safe in a few days. These affairs are quickly forgotten. Besides, there is another reason why we should not live as we have lately been living.”
 
Xantippe opened her eyes as she asked, “What reason?”
 
Gregorio relaxed his hold, for the memory of his loss shook him with sobs. Cat-like, Xantippe had waited her opportunity and sprang away from his grasp. The movement brought the man to his senses. He rushed at her with an oath, waving the knife in his hand. Xantippe prepared to defend herself. They stood, desperate, before each other, neither daring to begin the struggle. Through the awful silence came the sound of sobs and a plaintive voice crying:
 
“Gregorio, come back, leave her; I love you.”
 
“Is Madam Marx outside?” hissed Xantippe.
 
“Yes.”
 
“Then go to her. I tell you I hate you.” She pointed to the half-filled box—“I was going to leave here to-night. I will never return to you.”
 
“You were going with the Englishman?”
 
“He is a man.”
 
Gregorio paused a moment, then in a suppressed voice, half choking at the words, said:
 
“Our son—do you know what has happened to him? You shall not leave me.”
 
“I know about our son. I am glad to think he is away from your evil influence. Let me pass.” Xantippe moved t............