I took a fourth path. I submitted to her own way of treating me. Each evening I returned to my cozenage, looking at her, and waiting, waiting. Little by little, I think, she was more softened towards me. It even seemed sometimes that she had not really intended me the harm that had in fact been done. But the tavern life she now made me lead did not suit me. It never has or can. The Señora Perez was there too. She seemed to know nothing of what had happened. Did she lie? I heard her Memoirs once more, and paid for her glasses of Eau-de-vie. My sole instants of joy were provided by the dances of Concha. Her triumph was the dance named _The Flamenco_. What a tragic dance! It is, so to speak, all passion expressed in three acts. I always see her in that dance. She was resplendent. During a month she tolerated me in what may be called the dressing-room, at the rear of the stage where the dances took place. I had not even the right to see her home; I kept my “place” near her on conditions--no reproaches as to the past or the present. As to the future I did not know anything, and had no idea whatever what would be the solution of my most pitiable adventure of body and spirit. Then came a night when, with other dancers, she danced, with bosom bared, in a room up-stairs. There were two rich Englishmen present. I went up to her, and said-- “Follow me. Do not be afraid. But come or beware!” But again, she dared and defied me. CHAPTER XI They left us alone. “Defend yourself. Lie. You lie so well!” I cried. “Ah,” she answered. “You accuse me. Superb! After entering here like a thief, spoiling my dance, and scaring every one away.” The usual scene of reproach, recrimination and explanation followed. At the end I drew her on to my knees. “Listen,” I said. “I cannot live thus. If you stay here a day longer I will indeed leave you for ever, Conchita.” Then she protested that she loved me, and had always loved me. Again she tamed me with her words, and the scene ended as so many had ended--in her triumph. We returned to Seville, where I took a house for her. In that house she pretended that she had a lover. It was pretence, but at last I turned and struck her in the face! She tried to stab me but failed. Then I beat her until I hurt my own hand. On her knees she craved my pardon, and opened her arms to me. I took her. She was virginal as on the day of her birth. CHAPTER XII AND LAST André returned to Seville. He there met Concha Perez. As they were starting for Paris a letter came by hand addressed to her. A little later in life André knew that the letter was as follows-- “_My Conchita, I pardon you. I cannot live where you are not. Return to me. Now it is I who kneel to you. I kiss your feet._ “MATEO.” THE NEW PLEASURE CHAPTER I