"That's utterly ridiculous," she cried, her black eyes snapping. "Not one Indian in ten thousand can read or write. Is Díaz too old to think?" "They can read at the point of a gun," said Serrato, the young Colima mayor, his lips twisting. Federicka took up the challenge: "All of us can remember faithful Indians. When Lucienne's mother and father drowned in the surf, who tried to save them? The Indians who were fishing nearby. Itzla drowned. He gave his life. When my father built the railroad to Cuernavaca, he learned to like them." "Long live Porfirio Díaz," cried Serrato dully. "Long live Díaz," others echoed. "Maybe I've drunk too much coffee," Roberto muttered under his breath. "What's all this?" "I'm no Díaz man. How do you feel about Petaca and what I'm doing?" Raul asked him. "Well," said Roberto, grinning, "Fernando, like Díaz, has served his time. I want to see what you can do." He opened his silver cigarette case and rubbed a smudge from the initials. He felt sleepy, tired of this room and its old-fashioned furniture. A little sickish, he headed for the porch and the cool sea air. Being alone could be comforting. "I tell you, we're in for bad times," de Selva sermonized before a group. "Our haciendas are threatened by renegades. Don Raul was wounded by one of those fools who wants to grab our land. We have to carry guns ... I go about armed." Raul led Lucienne to the long, cool porch and they danced to a Strauss waltz ... the ocean beating hard. "Hold me close, Raul." "Are you falling asleep?" "I've been thinking of my presents, what fun it's going to be, opening them." "When will you open them?" "At lunch tomorrow ... just the two of us." "Open them now." "It's fun to wait. When there aren't so many people around." "Shall I tell you what Roberto gave you?" "Tell me ... please." "Two gold-plated faucets for your bathroom ... in fourteen karats." "Oh, no. I'll never believe that. How silly!" "Come on, let's open his package." "All right, let's open it, let's open all my presents." They went into the living room, laughing heartily. Roberto listened to their laughter, as he got ready for bed, his bedroom door half-open. He envied their love. A fine house in Colonia Vallarta had not added up to happiness for him. His wife thought him a clown, not a wit. Now, the Díaz news had disheartened him and he tossed his shirt over one of Lucienne's plants, beside the four-poster. Stretching, he breathed in the cool air, glad to be back by the ocean. It would be fun to see how Lucienne felt about those faucets tomorrow ... he had paid a pretty penny for them.... In the morning, Raul met Lucienne in the greenhouse, whose salt-rimed windows faced the sea, a ramshackle Swiss-style conservatory built by her father when he, too, had dabbled in plants and flowers. When Raul came in, she was adjusting salt screens. "Good morning. You're up early."