This silence, of late, had persisted in an alarming manner, in spite of the fact that the ranch was no longer receiving visitors.

Madariaga appeared abstracted, and all the family, including Desnoyers, respected and feared this taciturnity.
He ate, scowling, with lowered head.

Suddenly he would raise his eyes, looking at Chicha, then at Desnoyers, finally fixing them upon his wife as though asking her to give an account of things.
His Romantica simply did not exist for him.

The only notice that he ever took of her was to give an ironical snort when he happened to see her leaning at sunset against the doorway, looking at the reddening glow--one elbow on the door frame and her cheek in her hand, in imitation of the posture of a certain white lady that she had seen in a chromo, awaiting the knight of her dreams.
Desnoyers had been five years in the house when one day he entered his master's private office with the brusque air of a timid person who has suddenly reached a decision.
"Don Julio, I am going to leave and I would like our accounts settled." Madariaga looked at him slyly.

"Going to leave, eh?
.