Joseph Conrad: Nostromo

PART THIRD: THE LIGHTHOUSE 13. CHAPTER THIRTEEN (continued)

She argued earnestly against the probability of any attempt being
made; and at last the old man fell silent, chewing his white
moustache. Women had their obstinate notions which must be
humoured--his poor wife was like that, and Linda resembled her
mother. It was not seemly for a man to argue. "May be. May be,"
he mumbled.

She was by no means easy in her mind. She loved Nostromo. She
turned her eyes upon Giselle, sitting at a distance, with
something of maternal tenderness, and the jealous anguish of a
rival outraged in her defeat. Then she rose and walked over to
her.

"Listen--you," she said, roughly.

The invincible candour of the gaze, raised up all violet and dew,
excited her rage and admiration. She had beautiful eyes--the
Chica--this vile thing of white flesh and black deception. She
did not know whether she wanted to tear them out with shouts of
vengeance or cover up their mysterious and shameless innocence
with kisses of pity and love. And suddenly they became empty,
gazing blankly at her, except for a little fear not quite buried
deep enough with all the other emotions in Giselle's heart.

Linda said, "Ramirez is boasting in town that he will carry you
off from the island."

"What folly!" answered the other, and in a perversity born of
long restraint, she added: "He is not the man," in a jesting tone
with a trembling audacity.

"No?" said Linda, through her clenched teeth. "Is he not? Well,
then, look to it; because father has been walking about with a
loaded gun at night."

"It is not good for him. You must tell him not to, Linda. He will
not listen to me."

"I shall say nothing--never any more--to anybody," cried Linda,
passionately.