The first idea that came to him with returning self-possession was, "I'll go at once to the office of 'The Youth' and reduce them all to fragments."
He put on his hat and left the room, but on the staircase another side of the picture presented itself to him--the great scandal and commotion he would cause in the town, the laughing-stock he would be in the place, and how his enemies, or rather those of his father-in-law, would delight in turning upon him.
He remounted the staircase and returned to the Club to think a minute. After taking two or three turns up and down the room without knowing if he were moving or motionless, he altered his mind.
He took the paper, folded it deliberately, put it in his pocket, then went slowly down the iron staircase, and turned homeward with a slow step, pale face, and stony glance.
His sense of strength and rage had restored his self-possession.
"Is the señorita in her room?" he asked the servant who opened the door.
"I think so, señor; I will ask the maid."
"No, no; don't ask anybody; I will go myself."
And he went up to the room which they had had since the duke had occupied the first floor. On passing from the passage he did not notice Doña Paula, who was sitting near the door, and who was aghast at his strange expression of countenance. Venturita was standing before the mirror. On seeing her husband she said, without turning her head:
"Hollo! I thought you had gone out. What is up now?"
Gonzalo drew the paper from his pocket, unfolded it slowly, and handed it to her, saying:
"And what is this?" asked the girl in surprise.
"It contains a very interesting little story. Read it. Here in the third column, underneath these verses."
There were three or four pots of flowers in the room, which had been used for the portrait that was standing against the wall, waiting to be hung up in the drawing-room. Gonzalo's eyes grew dark as they fell upon this picture of his wife, redder than a rose and more golden than a canary, and with a mystic expression on her face such as he had never seen.
The duke had talked of sending the portrait to the Salon in Paris. While Ventura read the paper he kept his eyes fixed upon her face with breathless attention, but she did not waver under his gaze; she only grew a little pale as she read the last lines and returned him the paper.