against day-laborers or middlemen, was tolerance itself toward the
lavish expenditures of her husband in maintaining his political
sovereignty over the region.

Every election opened a new breach in the family fortune. Don Ramón
would receive orders to carry his district for some non-resident, who
might not have lived there more than a day or two. So those who governed
yonder in Madrid had ordered--and orders must be obeyed. In every town
whole muttons would be set turning over the fires. Tavern wine would
flow like water. Debts would be cancelled and fistfulls of _pesetas_
would be distributed among the most recalcitrant, all at don Ramón's
expense of course. And his wife, who wore a calico wrapper to save on
clothes and stinted so much on food that there was hardly anything left
for the servants to eat, would be arrayed in splendor when the day for
the contest came around, ready in her excitement to help her husband
throw the entire house through the window, if need be.

This, however, was all pure speculation on her part. The money that was
being scattered so madly broadcast was a "loan" simply. Some day she
would get it back with interest. Already her piercing eyes were
caressing the tiny, dark-complexioned, restless little creature that lay
across her knees, seeing in him the privileged heir-apparent who would
one day reap the harvest from all such family sacrifices.

Doña Bernarda had taken refuge in religion as in a cool, refreshing
oasis in the desert of vulgarity and monotony in her life. Her heart
would swell with pride every time a priest would say to her in the
church:

"Take good care of don Ramón. Thanks to him the wave of demagogy halts