"Who knows? A woman may be tired, may she not? You talk a great deal for a man of your years!"
"Oh, it is only to you, Señora. It is as well some one knows who is a friend,—that pretty white baby of a woman has the 'money eye.' Some one should warn Doña Raquel, for who knows where it will end? You know the Arteaga men."
Ana nodded her head.
"We all know them; but, thanks to God, the right woman has come into the family. I do not know what she will do—Estevan's daughter; but Rafael will learn what a curb-bit means if he go too far. Women who do not care whether they live or die are more reckless than the wildest man, Victorio; and Rafael will do well to say good-bye to heretic pets."
Victorio shrugged his shoulders, and did not quite believe. Of course a woman could do a lot with a man if he was not so foolish as to marry her, but after that what could she do but keep the home and obey? Some of them found other amusements when their husbands rode abroad, but what more could they do than that, even the most powerful?
Of course if Doña Raquel were not his wife, Rafael might be faithful: Victorio acknowledged he knew how that was himself. There was a woman who kept his house, and now after four years of content, the padre was at him for a marriage fee, and was putting the devil in the woman's head, and there was discord. All had been content for all those years, but when the marriage was even talked of, there was trouble; and Victorio had no use for it except, of course, if the woman was dying, or if he was—then the padre could get the marriage made. The money was saved up in case of such need for absolution, but otherwise—
Ana interrupted him angrily, though she knew he voiced the masculine opinion of the valley. She had heard the padre complain that the women had also refused marriage for the same reason; so there was little could be done, and she knew that if Rafael Arteaga should fail openly within the year of his marriage, there would be laughs and shrugs, and the marriage fees would be fewer than ever. The example of their superiors was all that was needed to break all the little invisible bonds told of in the prayer-books, but remembered so little in the everyday life.
"Oh, you need not rail at me, Doña Ana," protested Victorio; "I am only one—and I feed my children! You do not believe so much in Rafael Arteaga yourself; and, after all, it may come right. It depends most on the woman."
"Doña Raquel Arteaga?"
"Never! She is only a wife; it is the other who is still the woman."