While she held tightly to her parasol, Angelina thought of Estelle. She planned an afternoon with her at the hairdresser's: their hair, their nails. They would obtain good seats for the Degollado Theater season: plays, musicals, vaudeville. Because Caterina had not been dead a year, they'd have to steal away. Her head began to ache. She objected to the swaying, the country roads, horrible country roads. Soon, Estelle's face would be lifted to hers, laughter, laughter, laughter.... And it was rather as they both had hoped. The train was on time and the mining deal went well and the four of them enjoyed lobster at the restaurant.... Gray skies, rain sloshing the houses, carriages and streets ... rain ... but the rain didn't matter to Angelina. She met Estelle at her home, on López Cotilla, a tiled house under lofty eucalyptus. Estelle covered her with kisses. They exchanged little gifts, and had supper in a Directoire dining room adorned with gold candles, the rain scuffing across red and green glassed windows. To Angelina, Estelle had the beauty of something original.... It was as if hair had been invented for her, or hands, or laughter, for her own particular use. Estelle's pile of yellow hair, so disarranged, so beautifully curled, her pink dress, so sheer, sewn with dozens of nacre buttons, her dishabille, they were as Angelina saw her in the bedroom mirror. And when she went to bed with Angelina she took all that glory and absurdity.... Laughter, laughter.... 14 Raul and Lucienne camped in a canyon at twelve thousand feet, close to the timber line, where a fire munched pine logs and emitted wisps of smoke. Directly above them a lava cliff bulged and towered, an ominous flat slab, that had been chiseled off centuries ago. Time and erosion had broken chunks that now cluttered the ground. Lucienne had climbed among the lava blocks, noticing the various kinds of plant life pushing their way through. For her, this rock bowl had a spirit of its own. Two men had accompanied them on the ride up the volcano and, at supper, all had shared venison, rice and tortillas. Raul had shot a buck and it hung nearby from a tree. It was a starry, chill night, without wind. Raul and Lucienne bedded down under several serapes--the men slept lower down in the canyon. Only the sound of the fire and the stamp of horses broke the silence. After a while, Raul asked: "Are you asleep?" "I'm cold. Can you put more wood on the fire?" "Of course I can. Right away." "Put on several logs." "How's that?" "That's lovely. Now hug me. I'll soon get warm. The sparks are flying 'way up the cliff." "Are you too tired to sleep?" he asked. "It's not that.... I'm not used to all these strenuous things," she laughed, her mouth against his neck. "I love you, my dear," he said. "Darling, it's wonderful anywhere with you." "Do you want to ride higher tomorrow?" "This is high enough, Raul." "How brilliant the stars ... at this altitude."