Although the German was soon far from the ranch, he did not long remain alone. In a few days, the Romantica followed him. . . . Iseult of the white hands went in search of Tristan, the knight.
This event did not cause Madariaga’s desperation to break out as violently as his son-in-law had expected. For the first time, he saw him weep. His gay and robust old age had suddenly fallen from him, the news having clapped ten years on to his four score. Like a child, whimpering and tremulous, he threw his arms around Desnoyers, moistening his neck with tears.
“He has taken her away! That son of a great flea . . . has taken her away!”
This time he did not lay all the blame on his China. He wept with her, and as if trying to console her by a public confession, kept saying over and over:
“It is m
