She walked across the room toward Raul. It was as if she had something unusual to say. She was smiling. But suddenly the floor began to shake, at first slightly, then with marked undulation. She reached out for him and they held each other. Raul waited for the underearth rumbling. She began to sob. "Take me away. Yes ... yes ... I'll go to Guadalajara and live. Take me away, Raul. Raul ... I have to go. I can't bear it here. All these quakes, these killings." She paused and caught her breath. "Will there be ashes and lava and smoke again?" He kissed her forehead. "You know it wasn't a bad quake," he said. She held to him, as she had during her grinding pains before Vicente had been born: those tortures had made a groveling animal of her. Oh, to be in love again, to be treasured, to be kissed every morning and every night.... "Raul, I feel another quake!" Terrified, she broke away and went to the door leading to the stair and stood under the door frame. "I think there won't be another one," he said calmly. "I want to be with you.... Let me sit at the dining table with you. I can't bear it alone." The husky voice moved him as much as what she said. Taking her arm, he led her downstairs. She curled her feet under her legs on a chair next to his. A new maid, a charming village girl, served, walking lightly, humming, her stiff skirt swishing. Angelina mentioned the quake to her and the maid said, with a shrug, "It was nothing." A tall kerosene lamp with a pewter base and blue shade lit the table. All the windows stood open; the air, warm with _pastora_ clouds, did not move. A dead moth lay beside Raul's plate; he pushed it about with a spoon, too tired to think. "Father set fire to his bed while you were gone," she said. "What ... was he smoking?" "Cigarette or matches ... anyhow, Chavela threw water on him." His face brightened. "She threw it all over him." They laughed together, a little ashamed of their disrespect. "How he must have spluttered," said Raul. "Oh, he did, he really did! And while you were away, the optometrist came to fit his glasses. They had a time. But he'll have new ones tomorrow. The doctor thinks he'll be able to see fairly well." "I hope so," Raul said, though Velasco had told him that glasses would not remedy his father's eye condition or would be temporary, at best. He enjoyed the dinner, his first meal since morning. The new maid served steak, dry rice, sliced tomatoes and tortillas. She poured a dark Spanish wine. For dessert he ate a _flan_, hot chocolate and _pan dulce_. The bright face of the village girl went in and out of the blue lamplight, as Angelina talked. Quite abruptly, he said: "I'll go with you on the train to Guadalajara. I can get away in a day or two. I have to see about our mine shares. The bank's correspondence with me is so much wasted paper. I have a hunch it's time to sell because Roberto is selling some of his stock."