"Well, I don't know."
"Well, I do."
"I was taking the fresh air."
"I guess you're fresh enough."
"You mean you are, señora."
"Close the balcony. You imagine that this house is something else."
"I? What have I done?"
"I don't have to tell you. For that sort of thing there's the house across the way, across the way."
"She means Isabel's," thought Petra.
The balcony was heard to shut suddenly; steps echoed in the entry, followed by the slamming of a door. For a long time the landlady continued her grumbling; soon came the murmuring of a conversation carried on in low tones. Then nothing more was heard save the persistent shrilling of the neighbouring cricket, who continued to scrape away at his disagreeable instrument with the determination of a beginner on the violin.