"For this reason I have come to bid you good-bye," said Desnoyers
haughtily. "I know that my love is absurd, and I wish to leave."
"The gentleman would go away," the ranchman continued spluttering. "The
gentleman believes that here one can do what one pleases! No, siree!
Here nobody commands but old Madariaga, and I order you to stay. . . .
Ah, these women! They only serve to antagonize men. And yet we can't
live without them!" . . .
He took several turns up and down the room, as though his last words
were making him think of something very different from what he had just
been saying. Desnoyers looked uneasily at the thong which was still
hanging from his wrist. Suppose he should attempt to whip him as he did
the peons? . . . He was still undecided whether to hold his own against
a man who had always treated him with benevolence or, while his back
was turned, to take refuge in discreet flight, when the ranchman planted
himself before him.
"You really love her, really?" he asked. "Are you sure that she loves
you? Be careful what you say, for love is blind and deceitful. I, too,
when I married my China was crazy about her. Do you love her, honestly
and truly? . . . Well then, take her, you devilish Frenchy. Somebody has
to take her, and may she not turn out a weak cow like her mother! . . .
Let us have the ranch full of grandchildren!"
In voicing this stock-raiser's wish, again appeared the great breeder of
beasts and men.
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