During the Sunday lunch the young ladies were apt to make comments upon
the persons and merits of the young men of the village and neighboring
ranches, who had lingered at the church door in order to chat with them.

"Don't fool yourselves, girls!" observed the father shrewdly. "You
believe that they want you for your elegance, don't you? . . . What
those shameless fellows really want are the dollars of old Madariaga,
and once they had them, they would probably give you a daily beating."

For a while the ranch received numerous visitors. Some were young men of
the neighborhood who arrived on spirited steeds, performing all kinds of
tricks of fancy horsemanship. They wanted to see Don Julio on the most
absurd pretexts, and at the same time improved the opportunity to chat
with Chicha and Luisa. At other times they were youths from Buenos Aires
asking for a lodging at the ranch, as they were just passing by. Don
Madariaga would growl--

"Another good-for-nothing scamp who comes in search of the Spanish
ranchman! If he doesn't move on soon . . . I'll kick him out!"

But the suitor did not stand long on the order of his going, intimidated
by the ominous silence of the Patron. This silence, of late, had
persisted in an alarming manner, in spite of the fact that the ranch was
no longer receiving visitors. Madariaga appeared abstracted, and all the
family, including Desnoyers, respected and feared this taciturnity.
He ate, scowling, with lowered head. Suddenly he would raise his eyes,
looking at Chicha, then at Desnoyers, finally fixing them upon his wife
as though asking her to give an account of things.