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           MartinDecoud,thedilettanteinlife,imaginedhimselftoderiveanartisticpleasurefromwatchingthepicturesqueextremeofwrongheadednessintowhichanhonest,almostsacred,convictionmaydriveaman.“Itislikemadness.Itmustbe—becauseit’sself-destructive,”Decoudhadsaidtohimselfoften.Itseemedtohimthateveryconviction,assoonasitbecameeffective,turnedintothatformofdementiathegodssenduponthosetheywishtodestroy.Butheenjoyedthebitterflavourofthatexamplewiththezestofaconnoisseurintheartofhischoice.Thosetwomengotonwelltogether,asifeachhadfeltrespectivelythatamasterfulconviction,aswellasutterscepticism,mayleadamanveryfarontheby-pathsofpoliticalaction.

           DonJoseobeyedthetouchofthebighairyhand.Decoudfollowedoutthebrothers-in-law.Andthereremainedonlyonevisitorinthevastemptysala,bluishlyhazywithtobaccosmoke,aheavy-eyed,round-cheekedman,withadroopingmoustache,ahidemerchantfromEsmeralda,whohadcomeoverlandtoSulaco,ridingwithafewpeonsacrossthecoastrange.Hewasveryfullofhisjourney,undertakenmostlyforthepurposeofseeingtheSenorAdministradorofSanTomeinrelationtosomeassistanceherequiredinhishide-exportingbusiness.Hehopedtoenlargeitgreatlynowthatthecountrywasgoingtobesettled.Itwasgoingtobesettled,herepeatedseveraltimes,degradingbyastrange,anxiouswhinethesonorityoftheSpanishlanguage,whichhepatteredrapidly,likesomesortofcringingjargon.