“What are you telling me, child! I suppose it’s like the old saying, ‘Faces we know, hearts we don’t.’ But listen, take my advice: keep quiet. Don’t tell anyone about this and don’t let them suspect it, because all you’ll do is make people laugh at you. If you knew how jealous your friends are! They’re saying La Alazana is a choice morsel while they have to make do with whatever moth-eaten thing they can find because nowadays it’s not like it was back when there were so many good-looking women around. Let them keep on saying it. Why should you give them the satisfaction of knowing it’s not true? And if you want to have a little fun with someone else, no one’s going to give you any problems. I know you, you sly dog. You’re hankering for a maid’s starched apron or even an Indian girl’s faded tzec. Leave it to me, I’ll take care of everything. I was beginning to miss having something to do for you. Don’t you think I know that in jail and in bed is where friends meet?”

Cifuentes did not accept her offer. For the moment, he did no more than think it over. Because when he added it all up, in the final analysis, Isabel, his wife, had succeeded in keeping him in a state of tension and expectation far longer than this new woman.

Julia’s glowing good health immunized her against hysterical outbursts, her perfect confidence in herself and her attractions freed her from jealousy, and a certain moral insensitivity easily calmed her scruples. For her, even the most complicated adulterous liaison would quickly become a normal situation.

Leonardo observed other symptoms as well. Julia was taking on a satisfied, matronly look that infuriated him. He began to annoy her just to see how she would react: last-minute excuses for not coming to her house, strange perfumes suddenly releasing their scent from between the folds of a handkerchief, inexplicable moments of distraction. Doña Mercedes, ever the faithful servant, delicately pointed out to Julia the danger that Cifuentes might, one day soon, get fed up with her.

Julia took heed. All she needed was for this rancher, this peasant to whom she had condescended, to whom she had lowered herself, to give himself the luxury of humiliating her. The insult went beyond Julia personally: the provinces were scoffing at the elegance, the good taste and, ultimately, the superiority of the capital.

How have I been careless? Julia asked herself, squeezing an indiscreet blackhead in front of the mirror. Her instincts told her how to make up the lost ground. It was simple; her caresses were painstakingly counterbalanced by moments of coldness, feigned absences, deliberate forgetfulness. But Leonardo, an old hand with a great deal of experience in these matters, sensed the deception from afar and watched it coming with a sarcastic smile.