He had not stayed in
Sulaco to quarrel with Antonia.
Martin Decoud was angry with himself. All he saw and heard going
on around him exasperated the preconceived views of his European
civilization. To contemplate revolutions from the distance of the
Parisian Boulevards was quite another matter. Here on the spot it was
not possible to dismiss their tragic comedy with the expression, "_Quelle
farce!_"
The reality of the political action, such as it was, seemed closer, and
acquired poignancy by Antonia's belief in the cause. Its crudeness hurt
his feelings. He was surprised at his own sensitiveness.
"I suppose I am more of a Costaguanero than I would have believed
possible," he thought to himself.
His disdain grew like a reaction of his scepticism against the action
into which he was forced by his infatuation for Antonia. He soothed
himself by saying he was not a patriot, but a lover.
The ladies came in bareheaded, and Mrs. Gould sank low before the little
tea-table. Antonia took up her usual place at the reception hour--the
corner of a leathern couch, with a rigid grace in her pose and a fan in
her hand.
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