The news of Rafael’s affair spread like wildfire meanwhile, considerably magnified as it passed from mouth to mouth.  People told hair-raising tales of that expedition down the river, of walks through the orange groves, of nights spent at dona Pepa’s house, Rafael entering in the dark, in his stocking feet, like a thief; of silhouettes of the lovers outlined in suggestive poses against the bedroom curtain; of their appearing in windows their arms about each other’s waists, looking at the stars—­everything sworn to by voluntary spies, who could say “I saw it with my own eyes”—­persons who had spent whole nights, on the river-bank, behind some fence, in some clump of bushes, to surprise the deputy on his way to or from his assignations.

In the cafes or at the Casino, the men openly envied Rafael, commenting with eyes a-glitter on his good fortune.  That fellow had been born under a lucky star!  But later at home they would add their stern voices to the chorus of indignant women.  What a scandal!  A deputy, a public man, a “personage” who ought to set an example for others!  That was a disgrace to the constituency!  And when the murmur of general protest reached the ears of dona Bernarda, she lifted her hands to heaven in despair.  Where would it all end!  Where would it all end!  That son of hers was bent on ruining himself!

Don Matias, the rustic millionaire, said nothing; and, in the presence of dona Bernarda, at least, pretended to know nothing.  His interest in a marriage connection with the Brull family counselled prudence.  He, too, hoped that it would all blow over, prove to be the blind infatuation of a young man.  Feeling himself a father, more or less, to the boy, he thought of giving Rafael just a bit of advice when he came upon him in the street one day.  But he desisted after a word or two.  A proud glance of the youth completely floored him, making him feel like the poor orange-grower of former days, who had cringed before the majestic, grandiose don Ramon!

Rafael was intrenched in haughty silence.  He needed no advice.  But alas!  When at night he reached his beloved’s house—­it seemed to be redolent with the very perfume of her, as if the furniture, the curtains, the very walls about her had absorbed the essence of her spirit—­he felt the strain of that insistent gossip, of the persecution of an entire city that had fixed its eyes upon his love.

Two against a multitude!  With the serene immodesty of the ancient idylls, they had abandoned themselves to passion in a stupid, narrow environment, where sprightly gossip was the most appreciated of the moral talents!

Leonora grew sad.  She smiled as usual; she flattered him with the same worship, as if he were an idol; she was playful and gay; but in moments of distraction, when she did not notice that he was watching, Rafael would surprise a cast of bitterness about her lips—­and a sinister light in her eyes, the reflection of painful thoughts.