Janna bit her lip; she seemed to hesitate, as if passing through a kind of interior struggle. At last, she appeared to decide upon her course.
“So much the worse, it makes no difference. You look sad, I want you to be glad. But promise me that you laugh, I want to see you laugh and hear you say: Ah, well! that is good. Poor Señor Marco! you know, you promised me that you would give me whatever I should ask – ”
“Yes! but tell me!”
She looked into Marco’s eyes and said:
“I have the address.”
Marco turned pale. All his blood flowed back to his heart.
“The address you asked me for!”
She added as if she were making an effort:
“The address – you know well enough!”
“Yes!” stammered Marco.
“Of Star Butterfly!”
Having pronounced this word, she sighed deeply.
Marco sprang up from the bank on which he was sitting, and took her wildly by the hand.
“Oh! come! show me the way, tell me! ask me for whatever you will! Where is it?”
“Come with me,” she answered. “I am not sure of the street and the number; it is away on the other side from here, but I know the place very well. I will show you.”
She withdrew her hand and added in a tone which would have pierced the heart of an observer, but which did not even touch the intoxicated and transported Marco:
“Oh! how glad you are!”