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 language and exclaimed with unnecessary vigor: “I swear by the Virgin Mary and the heart of St. Rose of Lima that all that has to do with the letter will be secret.”

“Even from Esteban,” prompted the Perichole.

“Even from Esteban.”

“Well, that’s better.” She motioned him to sit down at a table where writing materials were already laid out. As she dictated she strode about the room, frowning, swinging her hips. With her arms akimbo, she hugged her shawl about her shoulders defiantly.

“Camila Perichole kisses the hands of Your Excellency and says—No, take another piece of paper and begin again. The señora Micaela Villegas, artist, kisses the hands of Your Excellency and says that, being the victim of the envious and lying friends that Y. E.’s goodness permits about Him, she can no longer endure Y. E.’s suspicions and jealousy. Y. E.’s servant has always valued Y. E.’s friendship and has never com-