Santa threw herself into Hipólito's arms, blinded by the flame of a love that, far from dying out, seemed destined to last until death, the death of the person in whose heart it burned or the death of the person who inspired it, or possibly beyond.

“You really love me so much, Hipo?” asked Santa, wondering how anyone could idolize her so infinitely now that she was sick and despised. “You don't think,” she continued softly, “that maybe, because you can't see me, you imagine me differently from what I am? … Don't you know,” she went on almost in a whisper, “that my beauty is gone? Didn't I tell you? Didn't I tell you that nobody wants me now, not even vagabonds off the street? … Don't you feel disgust? Don't you just feel sorry for me and want to do me a favor in the little time that I have left?”

There was a long, portentous pause. The musician gently extricated himself from Santa's arms, asked Jenaro to go bring something for supper, and pacing around the room with assurance, as if he were not blind at all, he stopped at her side and said:

“Listen.”

There was another pause. Hipólito bowed his head as if examining the floor. In reality, he was examining his feelings, looking back at how much he had suffered, at the long, lonely desolation of his heart. And finally, he spoke:

“I myself don't know how much I love you. Some things are impossible to know! … But, just imagine that they chopped me up in little pieces, know what I mean? Tiny, little pieces, and that a lot of men, a lot, scattered my pieces around in handfuls, all over creation—a handful here, another in China, which they say is far, far away—so that the bits of me were separated by mountains and forests and rivers. And say that you were in the middle of a desert, a thousand times sicker and poorer and uglier than now, so ugly that even the wild beasts were scared of you … well, Santita … if you were to call me the way you did today, and you swore you loved me … I'd come, just like today … the pieces of me would go back together, all by themselves, in a great miracle … and I'd come to you, to bless you and adore you, just like today, and I'd be with you until we die!”

“Yes, Hipo, I do love you, I swear that I do!” truly captivated, at last, and truly loving him. “Believe me, please! Tell me that you believe me!”

“You have no idea,” said Hipólito, turning away, without answering whether he believed or not in what she swore, completely transported. “You have no idea what it's like to live a whole life without love. God spared you from knowing what that's like. Be thankful! To the contrary, you received more love than you wanted. You toyed with love at first, then ground it under your shoe, but you never took it seriously, like a child that laughs when it breaks a toy or destroys a flower that can easily be replaced. You've been lucky … And I think you're still good inside, despite what you've been through. That's why you've finally decided to come with me and love me, something that nobody else has done, except my mother … How ugly can you be, compared to me? How much have you suffered, compared to me? I'm good, too … I mean, I'm no saint, but I'm good, and the proof is that I've never blasphemed against God, and I've made the best I can of this endless night that I live in …”