As Laurent drove us into town, Angélica explained that early in the morning, Martin had taken their instruments to the theater. (“God bless him!” was Catalina’s excited contribution.) Ignoring her sister’s outburst, Angélica said there would be a variety of events during the week: parades, folkloric dances, art shows, and even tango dancing on the last day. One of the highlights of the festivities, Catalina pitched in, was the election of the Queen of Vinces, which Angélica had won some years ago. I already knew this. Julia had mentioned it during breakfast. In the last couple of days, the maid had also opened up to me. I wondered if she was mimicking her mistresses’ recent kindness—being that she seemed to look up to her so much—or if she was grateful that I’d found a new job for her cousin Mayra at Martin’s house.

“It’s so bright tonight,” I said. Vinces seemed more alive than any other night, as if the city itself also wore its best garments for the festivities.

“President Baquerizo Moreno has a special fondness for us because of all the cacao we’ve produced,” Angélica said. “We were one of the first towns in the region to have electricity.”

“After producing eighty thousand tons of cacao a year, he ought to be grateful,” Laurent said, surprising me with his insight. It was the first time he’d said anything remotely interesting.

I stared at him as he absently rubbed Angélica’s hand. Maybe his frivolous image was just a façade.

Teatro Olmedo was small but impressive. The auditorium was crammed with red-cushioned seats placed in a semicircle and raised boxes on either side. Cream-colored columns flanked the stage and a pair of carmine velvet curtains descended from an elliptical arch.

The place slowly filled up. I recognized a few faces from Bingo Night. Some greeted me with a nod, but others blatantly ignored me. The chatter around me was mostly in French rather than in Spanish. Apparently, this was the place where the Parisian community gathered.

Minutes before my sisters performed, I found myself in a strange state of nervousness—glancing behind me every so often, drying my hands on my pants. Meanwhile, Laurent was more interested in the people behind us than his wife onstage. As soon as the curtains opened, the room became silent. A sense of pride took over me. Sitting with their instruments under the warm lights, my sisters formed a breathtaking view. Their backs were perfectly straight, their necks elongated and graceful, their heads slightly tilted. They sat with such elegance and poise it was impossible to look elsewhere.