Desnoyers’ entrance into the family made his father-in-law pay less attention to business.

City life, with all its untried enchantments and snares, now attracted Madariaga, and he began to speak with contempt of country women, poorly groomed and inspiring him with disgust.  He had given up his cowboy attire, and was displaying with childish satisfaction, the new suits in which a tailor of the Capital was trying to disguise him.  When Elena wished to accompany him to Buenos Aires, he would wriggle out of it, trumping up some absorbing business.  “No; you go with your mother.”

The fate of his fields and flocks gave him no uneasiness.  His fortune, managed by Desnoyers, was in good hands.

“He is very serious,” again affirmed the old Spaniard to his family assembled in the dining roam—­“as serious as I am. . . .  Nobody can make a fool of him!”

And finally the Frenchman concluded that when his father-in-law spoke of seriousness he was referring to his strength of character.  According to the spontaneous declaration of Madariaga, he had, from the very first day that he had dealings with Desnoyers, perceived in him a nature like his own, more hard and firm perhaps, but without splurges of eccentricities.  On this account he had treated him with such extraordinary circumspection, foreseeing that a clash between the two could never be adjusted.  Their only disagreements were about the expenses established by Madariaga during his regime.  Since the son-in-law was managing the ranches, the work was costing less, and the people working more diligently;—­and that, too, without yells, and without strong words and deeds, with only his presence and brief orders.

The old man was the only one defending the capricious system of a blow followed by a gift.  He revolted against a minute and mechanical administration, always the same, without any arbitrary extravagance or good-natured tyranny.  Very frequently some of the half-breed peons whom a malicious public supposed to be closely related to the ranchman, would present themselves before Desnoyers with, “Senor Manager, the old Patron say that you are to give me five dollars.”  The Senor Manager would refuse, and soon after Madariaga would rush in in a furious temper, but measuring his words, nevertheless, remembering that his son-in-law’s disposition was as serious as his own.

“I like you very much, my son, but here no one overrules me. . . .  Ah, Frenchy, you are like all the rest of your countrymen!  Once you get your claws on a penny, it goes into your stocking, and nevermore sees the light of day, even though they crucify you. . . !  Did I say five dollars?  Give him ten.  I command it and that is enough.”

The Frenchman paid, shrugging his shoulders, whilst his father-in-law, satisfied with his triumph, fled to Buenos Aires.  It was a good thing to have it well understood that the ranch still belonged to Madariaga, the Spaniard.