Joseph Conrad: Nostromo

PART FIRST: THE SILVER OF THE MINE 8. CHAPTER EIGHT (continued)

Her arms and neck emerged plump and bare from a snowy chemisette;
the blue woollen skirt, with all the fullness gathered in front,
scanty on the hips and tight across the back, disclosed the
provoking action of her walk. She came straight on and laid her
hand on the mare's neck with a timid, coquettish look upwards out
of the corner of her eyes.

"Querido," she murmured, caressingly, "why do you pretend not to
see me when I pass?"

"Because I don't love thee any more," said Nostromo,
deliberately, after a moment of reflective silence.

The hand on the mare's neck trembled suddenly. She dropped her
head before all the eyes in the wide circle formed round the
generous, the terrible, the inconstant Capataz de Cargadores, and
his Morenita.

Nostromo, looking down, saw tears beginning to fall down her
face.

"Has it come, then, ever beloved of my heart?" she whispered. "Is
it true?"

"No," said Nostromo, looking away carelessly. "It was a lie. I
love thee as much as ever."

"Is that true?" she cooed, joyously, her cheeks still wet with
tears.

"It is true."

"True on the life?"

"As true as that; but thou must not ask me to swear it on the
Madonna that stands in thy room." And the Capataz laughed a
little in response to the grins of the crowd.

She pouted--very pretty--a little uneasy.

"No, I will not ask for that. I can see love in your eyes." She
laid her hand on his knee. "Why are you trembling like this? From
love?" she continued, while the cavernous thundering of the gombo
went on without a pause. "But if you love her as much as that,
you must give your Paquita a gold-mounted rosary of beads for the
neck of her Madonna."