She would take no advice.  She was like a hungry warrior in an enemy’s country asked to surrender arms in exchange for gold.  Once the necessity was satisfied, he would become a prisoner,—­would be vilified and on a par with the miserable creatures who a few hours before were receiving his blows.  She would meet courageously all dangers and sufferings rather than lay aside her helmet and shield, the symbols of her superior caste.  The gown more than a year old, shabby, patched shoes, negligee with badly mended rents, did not distress her in the most trying moments.  The important thing was to possess a stylish hat and to preserve a fur coat, a necklace of pearls, emeralds, diamonds,—­all the honorable and glorious coat-of-mail in which she wished to die.

Her glance appeared to pity the ignorance of the sailor in venturing to propose such absurdities to her.

“It is impossible, Ulysses....  Take me with you!  On the sea is where I shall be safest.  I am not afraid of the submarines.  People imagine them as numerous and close together as the flagstones of a pavement, but only one vessel in a thousand is the victim of their attacks....  Besides, with you I fear nothing; if it is our destiny to perish on the sea, we shall die together.”

She became insinuating and enticing, passing her hands over his shoulders, pulling down his neck with a passion that was equal to an embrace.  While speaking, her mouth came near to that of the sailor, the lips arched, beginning the rounding of a caressing kiss.

“Would you live so badly with Freya?...  Do you no longer remember our past?...  Am I now another being?”

Ulysses was remembering only too well that past, and began to recognize that this memory was becoming too vivid.  She, who was following with astute eyes the seductive memories whirling through his brain, guessed what they were by the contraction of his face.  And smiling triumphantly, she placed her mouth against his.  She was sure of her power....  And she reproduced the kiss of the Aquarium, that kiss which had so thrilled the sailor, making his whole body tremble.

But when she gave herself up with more abandon to this dominating ascendancy, she felt herself repelled, shot back by a brutal hand-thrust similar to the blow that had hurled her upon the cushions at the beginning of the interview.

Some one had interposed between the two, in spite of their close embrace.

The captain, who was beginning to lose consciousness of his acts, like a castaway, descending and descending through the enchanting domains of limitless pleasure, suddenly beheld the face of the dead Esteban with his glassy eyes fixed upon him.  Further on he saw another image, sad and shadowy,—­Cinta, who was weeping as though her tears were the only ones that should fall upon the mutilated body of their son.

“Ah, no!... No!”

He himself was surprised at his voice.  It was the roar of a wounded beast, the dry howling of a desperate creature, writhing in torment.