“I am an adulteress,” Julia repeated, to convince herself of a fact whose reality did not change her essential being. She was different only in the eyes of others: she had become the object of their contempt, their rejection.

Isabel listened to the gossip about her rival with secret delight. Finally she could leave to others the arduous task of suspecting deceptions, the sad necessity of discovering them and the unwelcome privilege of punishing. Her unruffled behavior filled the murmuring voices of Ciudad Real with admiration. Just look at her—a true Santa Rita de Casia! A fine example for all the quick-tempered young wives who martyrize their husbands over nothing. The bishop himself paid a special visit to Isabel to recommend patience, the only quality among all Christian virtues that is comparable to charity.

The bishop’s exhortations made Isabel laugh inwardly. But long years of hypocrisy enabled her to improvise a more appropriate reaction. “It’s not my own situation that pains me. All this is very little compared to what I deserve for my sins. What worries me is my daughter.”

“What does Idolina have to do with this?”

“She has become very attached to . . . to that woman.”

“How can this be? La Alazana is an improper, I would say even a dangerous companion.”

“I know, Monseñor, but I can’t forbid Idolina to see her. She’s so lonely!”

“You must keep a close watch on them, at least. Are you present when they see each other?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It’s more than I can bear, Monseñor!”

“Yes. I understand. But someone will have to intervene.”

“Tell her yourself, Don Alfonso. Idolina pays no attention to anything I say. If I ask her for something, she’ll do anything she can to give me the opposite.”

Idolina listened to His Excellency’s sermon, her jaws stubbornly clenched shut. This old man was a nobody, even if he was covered with silks and amethysts. Ranks, titles. . . . Idolina knew what appearances hid: dirt and lies. Let the adults who created them and worshiped them believe in these distinctions. Adults! Primly sticking out their little fingers to pick up a cup of chocolate, wiping the corners of their mouths with the edge of a napkin, gathering up their skirts to keep them from dragging in puddles. But when they are alone they flaunt their vices. Idolina did not know what those vices were, where they were practiced or how. But she sensed the atmosphere of carnality emanating from women and men alike, she caught their winks of complicity, their hungering look-out for what they called “the chance.” Idolina was intensely conscious of their disdain for her because she was a girl, because she would never grow up, because she would never decipher their secrets, because she would always look on from outside, from the opposing side, at the assembly of satisfied, surfeited adults. With all her wounded purity, corrupt innocence and aimless passion, she hated them.