As he said this, the blind man turned toward the candle, and its light illuminated his pockmarked face and his horrid eyes without irises, which seemed to gaze vaguely at the very sorrows he evoked, at the accumulated pain that he detailed, at his whole melancholy, loveless life. Deeply moved, Santa looked at him, paying no attention to the ugliness of this last lover and, to the contrary, discovering something beautiful in his face triply marked by childhood fever, lifelong suffering, and moral and material poverty. He had drunk his bitter cup to the dregs, uncomplaining and alone, like a martyr.

A great wave of pity swept her toward Hipólito, and she knelt at his feet, embracing his knees. At that very moment, the pet dove flew in from one of the other, darkened rooms and landed on the shoulder of its master. And in the weak candlelight that flickered against the clouds of shadow that filled the room, the blind man stood stock still, like a statue symbolizing irreparable, eternal human suffering, a statue abandoned somehow at one of life's many crossroads, weathered by time and the elements, but standing firm, finally attracting to itself the living signs of winged and earthly love, the dove on his shoulder and the woman at his feet.

Jenaro arrived carrying their dinner and, with his buzzing vivacity, restored motion to the tragic tableau. Without asking permission, the boy lit the lamp, set the table, opened the window to let in a few stars, and clapped his hands to seat Hipólito and Santa. He served them with the precise movements of a professional waiter, crumbled some bread for Jaws who, with outstretched neck and tail, threaded his way across the table between glasses and plates to eat them, and, at the moment when Jenaro opened the large bottle of inexpensive beer with a pop that he had assured by giving it a little shake, he poured the foaming brew and announced with comic flair:

“Champagne at ten smackers a bottle, from Elvira's house, the former employer of us all!”

The boy was as thrilled by the new state of affairs as was his patrón, the piano player, who dined with a dreamy expression, his face turned toward Santa, exactly as if he could see her. That was what most surprised Santa. Why, every time she looked at him, did he seem to know and “look” at her as well? Nor was that the last wonder of the evening. When supper was over, as if he were a mind reader, Hipólito asked for the bottle of brandy and said tactfully to Santa, who was dying for a drink:

“Have a little sip of this. It's what I have after supper, and it wouldn't be right for you to let me drink alone.” And with amazing accuracy, without spilling a drop, he poured two or three shots of liquor into the bottom of a large glass.

Then, in order not to mortify her with his presence, he got up and called Jenaro out to the apartment's homely little terrace, where the two had an animated conversation of which Santa was able to catch only bits and pieces: