The very idea of death either for Paula or
myself was simply unbearable. "Stop!" I cried, in such a terrible tone that
Paula, I could see, was frightened. "You mustn't die! I cannot live, and I
_won't_ live without you! I know I'm not good, but if you weren't here to
help me what would I do?"
My overwrought nerves, due to the happenings at that afternoon visit at
Celestina's, combined with what Teresa had suggested, were too much for me,
and here I broke down completely.
"Oh, Lisita!"--there was real consternation in Paula's voice, "I'm so sorry
I hurt you! You must get to bed, and don't let's talk any more tonight."
I dreamed of Paula the whole night long. I saw her either dying or dead, or
in heaven with the angels; but in the morning all my fears had disappeared
and a few days later I even forgot the whole thing.
A week passed, and we had seen nothing of the Breton. Paula mentioned him
several times, and I know she was praying for him. Teresa had gone to see
Celestina, but she hadn't seen anything of him either. Apparently he had
gone out early each day, and had returned very late. He had been the
principal subject of our conversation as each night we came together in the
big warm kitchen on those long winter evenings.
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