"How do you fight hate?" asked Lucienne.
"With hate," said de Selva. "I've been telling you. It's coming. It's here now. The new priest at Refugio is dead. Francisco Goya and his sons are dead. What more do you need to hear?"
Federicka Kolb and her cousin overheard de Selva, and Federicka began to sob, for she had known the Goyas for years.
"Why ... why?" she asked.
"The men who killed them cried Down with the haciendas!" said Lucienne.
Raul returned and said: "I have sent men to Refugio. I'll go there later myself."
Felipe Meson, an hacendado, in his fifties, sturdy, gray-headed, sunburned, with the face of a crippled hawk, gestured toward Raul.
"You're making a mistake at Petaca," he exclaimed. "You can't pacify the peons. You can't trust them. They'll kill you now."
"I haven't tried to pacify them," Raul explained. "I've tried to help them."
Everyone was crowded on the veranda, with servants going about, serving drinks and putting ice in glasses.