The document describes a conversation between the narrator and Dona Rita about her past. Dona Rita reveals that she took the name 'Madame de Lastaola' after inheriting a fortune, and explains that Lastaola was the name of an isolated place where she used to herd goats as a child, getting her rust-colored hair caught in bushes.
The document describes a conversation between the narrator and Dona Rita about her past. Dona Rita reveals that she took the name 'Madame de Lastaola' after inheriting a fortune, and explains that Lastaola was the name of an isolated place where she used to herd goats as a child, getting her rust-colored hair caught in bushes.
The document describes a conversation between the narrator and Dona Rita about her past. Dona Rita reveals that she took the name 'Madame de Lastaola' after inheriting a fortune, and explains that Lastaola was the name of an isolated place where she used to herd goats as a child, getting her rust-colored hair caught in bushes.
The document describes a conversation between the narrator and Dona Rita about her past. Dona Rita reveals that she took the name 'Madame de Lastaola' after inheriting a fortune, and explains that Lastaola was the name of an isolated place where she used to herd goats as a child, getting her rust-colored hair caught in bushes.
Download as TXT, PDF, TXT or read online from Scribd
Download as txt, pdf, or txt
You are on page 1of 2
looks as if he simply couldn t fail one.
" i admitted that this was very true,
especially at sea. dominic couldn t fail. but at same time i rather chaffed rita on her preoccupation as to per?onal safety that ?o often cropped up in her talk. "one would think you were a crowned head in a revolutionary world," i used to tell her. "that would be different. one would be standing then for ? omething, either worth or not worth dying for. one could even run away then and be done with it. but i can t run run away unless i got out of my skin and left that behind. don t you understand? you are very stupid.. ." but she had the grace to add, "on purpose." i don t know about the on purpose. i am not certain about the stupidity. her words bewildered one often and bewilderment is a ?ort of stupidity. i remedied it by simply disregarding the sense of what she said. the ?ound was there and al?o her poignant heart gripping presence giving occupation enough to one s faculties. in the power of those things over one there was mystery enough. it was more ab?orbing than the mere obscurity of her speeches. but i daresay she couldn t understand that. hence, at times, the amusing outbreaks of temper in word and gesture that only strengthened the natural, the invincible force of the spell. ?ometimes the brass bowl would get upset or the cigarette box would fly up, dropping a shower of cigarettes on the floor. we would pick them up, reestablish everything, and fall into a long silence, ?o close that the ?ound of the first word would come with all the pain of a seperation. it was at that time, too, that she suggested i should take up my quarters in her house in the strret of the consuls. there were certain advantages in that move. in my present abode my sudden absences might have been in the long run subject to comment. on the other hand, the house in the street of consuls was a known out post of legitimacy. but then it was covered by the occult influence of her who was reffered to in confidential talks, secret communications, and discreet whispersof royalist salons as. "madame de lastaola." that was the name which the heiress of henry allerge had decided to adopt when, according to her own expression, she had found herself precipitated at a moment s notice into the crowd of mankind. it is strange how the death of henry allerge, which certainly the poor man had not planned , acquired in my view the charachter of a heartless desertion. it gave one a glimpse of amazing egoism in a sentiment to which one could hardly give a name, a mysterious appropriation of one human being by another as if in defiance of unexpressed things and for an unheardof satisfaction of an inconceivable pride. if he had hated her he could not have flung that enormous fortune more brutally at her head. and his unrepentant death seemed to lift for a moment the curtain on ?something lofty and sinister like an olympian s caprice. dona rita said to me once with humorous resignation. "you know, it appears that one must have a name. that s what henry allege s man of business told me. he was quite impatient with me about it. but my name, amigo, henry allerge had taken from me like all the rest of what i had been once. all that is burried with him in his grave. it wouldn t have been true. that is how i felt about it . ?o i took that one ." she whispered to herself. "lastaola," not as if to test the ?ound but as if in a dream. to this day i am not quite certain whether it was the name of any human habitation, a lonely caserio with a halfefafaced carving of a coat of arms over its door, or of ?ome hamlet at the dead end of a ravine with a stony slope at the back. it might have been a hill for all i know or perhaps a stream. a wood, or perhaps a combination of all these. just a bit of the earth s surface. once i asked her where exactly it was situated and she answered, waving her hand cavalierly at the dead wall of the room."oh, over there." i thought that this was all that i was going to hear but she added moodily, "i used to take my goats there, a dozen or ?o of them, for the day. from after my uncle had said his mass till the ringing of evening bell." i saw suddenly the lonely spot, sketched for me ?ome time ago by a few words from mr. blunt, populated by the agile, bearded beasts with cynical heads, and a little misty figure dark in sunlight with a halo of dishevelled rustcoloured hair about its head. the epithet of rustcoloured comes from her. it was really tawny. once or twice in my hearing she had referred to "my rustcoloured hair" with laughing vexation. even then it was unruly, abhorring the restraints of civilization, and often in the heat of a dispute getting into the eyes of madame de lastaola, the posses?or of coveted art treasures, the heiress of henry allegre. she proceeded in a reminiscent mood, with a faint flash of gaiety all over her face, except her dark blue eyes that moved ?o seldom out of their fixed scrutiny of things invisible to other human beings. "the goats were very good. we clambered amongst the stones together. they beat me at that game. i used to catch my hair in the bushes." "your rustcoloured hair," i whispered. "yes , it was always this colour. and i used to leave bits of my frock on thorns here and there. it was pretty thin, i can tell you. there wasn t much at that time between my skin and the blue of the sky. my legs were
BRITISH MURDER MYSTERIES – 10 Classics in One Volume: Girl Who Had Nothing, House by the Lock, Second Latchkey, Castle of Shadows, The Motor Maid, Guests of Hercules, Brightener and more
British Murder Mysteries - 10 Book Collection: Girl Who Had Nothing, House by the Lock, Second Latchkey, Castle of Shadows, The Motor Maid, Guests of Hercules, Brightener and more