There was a short pause.
"This man—has he written to you?"
"Yes."
"Have you seen him again since that night?"
"Yes."
"And you have written to him?"
"I have written to him also. O señora! why do you look at me in that way? You are not my mother."
"Would to God that I were not! Rejoice in the harm you are doing me. You are killing me; you have given me my death-blow!" cried Doña Perfecta, with indescribable agitation. "You say that that man—"
"Is my husband—I will be his wife, protected by the law. You are not a woman! Why do you look at me in that way? You make me tremble. Mother, mother, do not condemn me!"
"You have already condemned yourself—that is enough. Obey me, and I will forgive you. Answer me—when did you receive letters from that man?"