The people who milled around outside the courtroom could read the large sign on the wall that announced the barbarous precept contained in Article 134 of the Penal Code: “The law does not specify how a jury is to arrive at its verdict.” So innocence or guilt could be decided on the basis of subjective impressions alone? And the flaming final words of Article 134 seem designed to finish undermining the Justice they pretend to serve, dulling sentiments of clemency, sweeping away all pity toward the innocents that the most hardened criminals leave behind, blinding the jury to the gallows that stands grimly behind the formulaic speeches: “Members of the jury shirk their principle duty if they take into account, during their deliberations, the punishment stipulated by the penal code if the accused is judged to be guilty as charged.”

Impatient groans began to be heard in the witness waiting room. Were they going to be called to testify or not? The room darkened gradually as the light that entered from the courtyard through the window grill made subtle preparations to withdraw for the evening. The bailiff again. This time accompanied by the man whose job was to light the oil lamp hanging from the ceiling while, outside in the courtyard, at the same moment, a colleague lit the lamp that swung suspended over the central fountain. Pepa and the girls surrounded the bailiff. When were they going to get out of there?

“We have a job to do,” affirmed Pepa without blushing.

The bailiff had a good laugh, indicating that he knew the nature of the job, and told them not to get their hopes up, it was going to be a while, probably into the wee hours of the morning, according to the message that the judge had sent to his wife:

“They want to get this thing finished,” he added. “Imagine … it's been only a month and a half since the crime. We've been working hard!”

Pepa got indignant, but the girls were secretly delighted to think about Elvira back at the house all by herself, confronted by the frustrated clientele, pulling her hair and demonstrating her mastery of the very foulest Spanish.

In the meantime, Santa explained to Hipólito why she had not yet set up house with Rubio. It was his capricious wife. She had returned unexpectedly from the thermal baths at Puebla, where she had gone in pursuit of the maternity that would probably continue to elude her. Santa also reiterated just how well Rubio treated her. In fact, Rubio already considered her his responsibility, and he had offered, of course, to pay all the costs of renting and furnishing their love nest.

“He sends me letters and telegrams every day. He's a perfect gentleman! I really think I've hit the jackpot with him, don't you, Hipo?”

“Santita,” replied the musician, “I don't know if he's that much of a gentlemen, but what I do know is that it seems like he's got money, a big pile of it, too, which recommends him for sure. What matters is that he gives you what you are worth, what a poor guy like me would give you if he could … what I will give you someday, I swear. Rubio's got to hide you, but I'd never do that. You know what I think about guys like Rubio who get to be with you but have to sneak around to do it? I feel sorry for them! The idiots! What more do they want than to be with you? As far as I'm concerned, Santita …”