“Well, it’s a question of District matters, you see,” the old man answered.  “All I’ve been telling you boys, happened long before your day, and your parents, who knew the Doctor and his daughter, have always been careful not to bring this woman into their conversation; for, as Rafael’s mother says, she’s the disgrace of Alcira.  From time to time we got a bit of news; something that Cupido fished out of the newspapers and spread all over town, or something that that silly dona Pepa would let drop, while telling inquisitive people about the glories her niece was winning abroad; anyhow, all a heap of lies that were invented I don’t know where or by whom.  They kept all that quiet, banking the fire, so to speak.  If it hadn’t got into the girl’s head to come back to Alcira, you would never have heard of her probably.  But now she’s here, and they’re telling all they know, or think they know, about her life, digging up tales of things that happened years and years ago.  You take my word for it, boys, I’ve always considered her a high-flyer myself, but, just the same, people here do tell awful whoppers ... and swear to them.  She can’t be as bad as they say ...  If one were to swallow everything one hears!  Wasn’t poor don Ramon the greatest man the District ever produced?  Well, what don’t they say about him?...”

And the conversation drifted away from Doctor Moreno’s daughter.  Rafael had learned all he wished to know.  That woman had been born within a few hundred yards of his own birthplace.  They had passed their childhood years almost side by side; and yet, on meeting for the first time in their lives, they had felt themselves complete strangers to each other.

This separation would increase with time.  She made fun of the city, lived outside its circle of influence, in the open country; she would not meet the town halfway, and the town would not go to her.

How get to know her better, then?...  Rafael was tempted as he walked aimlessly about the streets, to look up the barber Cupido in his shop that very afternoon.  That merry rogue was the only person in all Alcira who entered her house.  But Brull did not dare, for fear of gossip.  His dignity as a party leader forbade his entering that barbershop where the walls were papered with copies of “Revolution” and where a picture of Pi y Margall reigned in place of the King’s.  How could he justify his presence in a place he had never visited before?  How explain to Cupido his interest in that woman, without having the whole city know about it before sundown?

Twice he walked up and down in front of the striped window-panes of the barbershop, without mustering the courage to raise the latch.  Finally he sauntered off toward the orchards, following the riverbank slowly along, with his gaze fixed on that blue house, which had never before attracted his attention, but which now seemed the most beautiful detail in that ample paradise of orange-trees.