“I am glad to have the chance,” continued Xantippe, “of talking to you, for we may now understand each other.  I have made the greatest sacrifice, and because it was for our son’s sake I forgave you.  I wept, but, as I wept, I said, ‘It is hell for Gregorio too.’  But when I looked from the window this afternoon I knew it was not hell for you.  I knew you did not care what became of me.  It was pleasant for you to send me away to make money while you drank and kissed at the Penny-farthing Shop.  I came suddenly to know that the man had spoken truth.”

“What man?” asked Gregorio, huskily.

“The man!  The man you bade me find.  Because money is not gathered from the pavements.  You know that, and you sent me out to get money.  When I first came back to you I flung the gold at you; it burned my fingers, and your eagerness for it stung.  But I did not quite hate you, though his words had begun to chime in my ears:  ’In my country such a husband would be horsewhipped.’  When you were kind I was little more than a dog you liked to pet.  I thought that was how all women were treated.  I know differently now.  You will earn money through me, for it is my duty to my son, but you have earned something else.”

“Yes?” queried Gregorio.

“My hate.  Surely you are not surprised?  I have learned what love is these last few days, have learned what a real man is like.  I know you to be what he called you, a cur and a coward.  I should never have learned this but for you, and I am grateful, very grateful.  It is useless to swear and to threaten me with your fists.  You dare not strike me, because, were you to injure me, you would lose your money.  You have tried to degrade me, and you have failed.  I am happier than I have ever been, and far, far wiser.  When a woman learns what a man’s love is, she becomes wiser in a day than if she had studied books for a hundred years.”

Xantippe ceased speaking and, taking her son in her arms, closed her eyes and fell asleep quietly, a gentle smile hovering round her lips.

Gregorio scowled at her savagely, and would have liked to strike her, to beat out his passion on her white breast and shoulders.  But she had spoken only the truth when she said he dare not touch her.  With impotent oaths he sought to let off the anger that boiled in him.  He feared to think, and every word she had uttered made him think in spite of himself.  The events of sixty hours had destroyed what little of good there was in the man.  Save only the idolatrous love for his child, he scarcely retained one ennobling quality.

Little by little his anger cooled, his shame died out of him, and he began to wonder curiously what manner of man this was whose words had so stirred his wife.  Wondering he fell asleep, nor did he awaken till the sun was risen.

While eating his breakfast he inquired cunningly concerning this wise teacher of the gospels of love and hate, but Xantippe for a time did not answer.