“Your sister said that?” interrupted Desnoyers, pale with wrath and amazement.

But he could do nothing but keep on longing for the bodily transformation of this enemy planted under his roof.  Ay, if she could only be changed into a man!  If only the evil genius of her husband could but take her place for a brief half hour! . . .

“But the war still goes on,” said Dona Luisa in artless perplexity.  “The enemy is still in France. . . .  What good did the battle of the Marne do?”

She accepted his explanations with intelligent noddings of the head, seeming to take them all in, and an hour afterwards would be repeating the same doubts.

She, nevertheless, began to evince a mute hostility toward her sister.  Until now, she had been tolerating her enthusiasms in favor of her husband’s country because she always considered family ties of more importance than the rivalries of nations.  Just because 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.