Jarameño only became convinced of the truth of Santa's illness when he went into her room (which smelled of medicine), felt her burning forehead, and witnessed her delirium. She fixed her wide, feverish eyes on him and did not recognize him at all. For an hour he sat by the foot of her bed, without smoking or drinking, taciturn and motionless. He listened long and attentively to descriptions of her symptoms, asked about the doctor who was treating her, and also asked, four or five times, if she needed anything. He was back the next day, and the next, and the next, quietly withdrawing to a corner of the room to watch her get treatment, afterward returning to sit at the foot of her bed, still taciturn and motionless. On the fifth day, when Santa seemed to be a bit better, Elvira had announced her inhumane determination to evict the girl and send her to the hospital. The matador had risen, forced the madam out of Santa's room into the courtyard, and there, in front of “her girls,” Pepa, and all the servants, he had blistered her with a hail of colorful terminology, no doubt considered Spanish in Spain, but mostly incomprehensible in Mexico, except that it was quite clear he was saying nothing good. His listeners did catch the terms bitch and harlot, along with many apparent synonyms, applied in this case not to Santa but to Elvira herself, along with an obvious threat of violence, a generous offer to pay all costs, and the strict injunction to keep his role in the matter a secret. Let her live with anyone she wanted, and be happy, and never again be a prostitute—that part they understood.

As Santa got better, el Jarameño visited less often and stopped going to her room. He simply got an update on her condition, asked if she needed anything, and left. When she was almost well and herself again, he did not come back.

Hipólito, no dummy, was not going to tell Santa about all this! And, to square it with his conscience, he decided not to tell her about Elvira's behavior, either. Hushing up the bad might somehow compensate for hushing up the good, or so he hoped. So he talked about how sick she had been and how much he had worried about her:

“Can you imagine what it was like for me to think I might lose you? That I might never again smell you, or hear you, or see you the way that I see you, inside?”

Rubio was waiting at the rented love nest and emerged to help Santa get out of the coach, almost carrying her and setting her down unsteadily on the sidewalk. Knowing the Hipólito must be in agony, she made a point of thanking him and insisted that Rubio do the same.

“Don't forget to come visit me, Hipo, because Rubio says it's okay. And bring Jenaro, Hipo. Be sure to come with Jenaro!”