There was no response. We pursued in silence the remaining distance to the gate. When we reached it, he paused and, without looking at me, said in a trembling voice:
"Although I feel it very much, I cannot do less than accept your resolution. Perhaps I am making myself ridiculous in your eyes and in those of anyone who might know of what has passed; but what would you? I prefer to be considered absurd rather than see disturbed in the slightest degree the tranquillity that until now I have enjoyed."
"You are right," I said. "In your place I should do the same. To-morrow morning early I shall leave Valencia, and it may be that we shall never meet again. I desire you to know, none the less, that this is one of the profoundest griefs of my whole life. I appreciate your friendship more than you realize. I am grateful for your affectionate hospitality, and I shall never console myself for having unintentionally caused you the least trouble. If some day you have need of me, all that I have is yours."
"Thank you, thank you, Ribot," he murmured, moved.
He put one hand on the latch of the gate, and with the other lifted his hat. I did not care to let him see that I knew he did this to avoid taking my hand, so, without extending my own, I went out into the road.
"_Adios_, Martí," I said, turning my head, "God keep you always as happy as you have been until now."
The gate closed. Through its bars I could see him going farther and farther away, his uncovered head bowed, until he was lost to sight among the trees. I stood alone in the middle of the road. A profound depression filled me; it was as if I had lost something that had been the chief interest of my existence.
With slow step I began my departure from that pleasant place, believing that I should never return to tread this path again. Indeed, these latest events had followed one another so hastily and precipitately that I could scarcely realize them. One moment I had been in that house as the accepted friend about to become a member of the family. The next, I left it as a stranger whose name would soon be forgotten. Yet in the midst of my sorrow, in the mournful night that had fallen upon my heart, shone one consoling star; it was Cristina's look of supplication. In that house, perhaps, my name would now no more be spoken, but she would never forget it. This thought gave me inexpressible consolation. I went on my way with a firmer step, and when I came to the last corner of the walls surrounding the estate, I stopped beside it. I looked at it sorrowfully for a little, then, going up to the stone, I kissed it many times. Then I went on again, blushing as if someone had seen me.