Gregorio Macomer, her husband, whom she hated and despised, but whom she was saving, or trying to save, with herself, carried the effrontery of his sham-honest face and cold manner through it all, unmoved, so far as she could see.

Only once or twice in the course of the day he had laughed suddenly and nervously, with a contraction of the face and a raising of the flat upper lip that showed his sharp yellow teeth.

No one noticed it but Matilde, and it frightened her.

But hitherto he had said nothing more since he had first confided to her, as to his only possible helper, the nature of his danger.
She had not reproached him with what he had done.

The danger itself was too great for that, and perhaps she had suspected its approach too long to be surprised at his confession.