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“Insofar as they are poets, no,” responded Lotario, “but insofar as they are enamored, they are always as lost for words as they are truthful.”

“There is no doubt about that,” replied Anselmo, simply to support and confirm Lotario’s opinions before Camila, who was unaware of Anselmo’s stratagem and already in love with Lotario.

And so, with the pleasure she derived from everything relating to him, and with the understanding that his desires and his writings were directed to her, and that she was the real Clori, she asked him to recite another sonnet and more verses, if he knew them by heart.

“I do,” responded Lotario, “but I do not believe it is as good as—I mean, it is less bad than—the first. But judge for yourself, because it says:

SONNET

I know I die; and if my word is doubted,

my death’s more certain; my body lying dead

at your feet, O cruel beauty, is more certain

than my repenting of my love for you.

When I am in the land of the forgotten,

deserted by glory, favor, and by life,

there, in my open bosom, you will see,

a sculpted image of your lovely face.

I keep this holy relic for the looming

rigors brought on and caused by my persistence,

made stronger by the harshness of your will.

Oh, woe to him who sails ’neath darkened skies

across uncharted seas and dangerous routes

where neither port nor polestar lights the way.”

Anselmo praised this second sonnet as he had the first, and in this fashion he was adding, link by link, to the chain that bound and fastened him to his dishonor, for the more Lotario dishonored him, the more honored he said Anselmo was, and every step Camila took in her descent to the very center of disgrace was, in the opinion of her husband, an ascent to the pinnacle of her virtue and good name.

It happened that once, when Camila found herself alone with her maid, she said:

“I am mortified, my dear Leonela, to see how lightly I valued myself, for I did not even oblige Lotario to pay with time for the complete possession of my desire; I gave it to him so quickly, I fear he will judge only my haste or indiscretion, not taking into account that he urged me so strongly I could no longer resist him.”

“Do not be concerned, Señora,” responded Leonela. “Giving quickly is of little significance, and no reason to lessen esteem, if, in fact, what one gives is good and in itself worthy of esteem. They even say that by giving quickly, one gives twice.”

“They also say,” said Camila, “that what costs less is valued less.”

“The argument doesn’t apply to you,” responded Leonela, “because love, I’ve heard it said, sometimes flies and sometimes walks; it runs with one, and goes slowly with another; it cools some and burns others; some it wounds, and others it kills; it begins the rush of its desires at one point, and at the same point it ends and concludes them; in the morning it lays siege to a fortress, and by nightfall it has broken through, because there is no power that can resist it. And this being true, why are you concerned and what do you fear if the same thing must have happened to Lotario, for love used the absence of my master as the instrument for overcoming us.1 It was inevitable that what love had planned would be concluded before Anselmo could return and prevent the design’s completion by his presence, because love has no better minister for carrying out his desires than opportunity: he makes use of opportunity in everything he does, especially at the beginning. I know this very well, more from experience than from hearsay, and one day I’ll tell you about it, Señora, for I’m also young and made of flesh and blood. Besides, Señora Camila, you would not have given yourself or surrendered so quickly if you had not first seen in Lotario’s eyes, words, sighs, promises, and gifts all his soul, or not seen in it and its virtues how worthy Lotario was of being loved. If this is true, do not allow those qualms and second thoughts to assault your imagination, but be assured that Lotario esteems you as you esteem him, and live contented and satisfied that although you