Joseph Conrad: Nostromo

PART SECOND: THE ISABELS 5. CHAPTER FIVE (continued)

For a long time he talked into her ear from behind, softly, with
a half smile and an air of apologetic familiarity. Her fan lay
half grasped on her knees. She never looked at him. His rapid
utterance grew more and more insistent and caressing. At last he
ventured a slight laugh.

"No, really. You must forgive me. One must be serious sometimes."
He paused. She turned her head a little; her blue eyes glided
slowly towards him, slightly upwards, mollified and questioning.

"You can't think I am serious when I call Montero a gran' bestia
every second day in the Porvenir? That is not a serious
occupation. No occupation is serious, not even when a bullet
through the heart is the penalty of failure!"

Her hand closed firmly on her fan.

"Some reason, you understand, I mean some sense, may creep into
thinking; some glimpse of truth. I mean some effective truth, for
which there is no room in politics or journalism. I happen to
have said what I thought. And you are angry! If you do me the
kindness to think a little you will see that I spoke like a
patriot."

She opened her red lips for the first time, not unkindly.

"Yes, but you never see the aim. Men must be used as they are. I
suppose nobody is really disinterested, unless, perhaps, you, Don
Martin."

"God forbid! It's the last thing I should like you to believe of
me." He spoke lightly, and paused.

She began to fan herself with a slow movement without raising her
hand. After a time he whispered passionately--

"Antonia!"

She smiled, and extended her hand after the English manner
towards Charles Gould, who was bowing before her; while Decoud,
with his elbows spread on the back of the sofa, dropped his eyes
and murmured, "Bonjour."