Salvador was out there, alone.
She would soon judge him.

If he were innocent, she would know.

If he had merely been made the sport of a designing woman, she was ready to forgive.

In a more amiable mood than she had displayed at any moment since her arrival at Las FIores, Carmela hastened along a dark corridor, crossed a bare hall, passed through a porch, and searched the shadows of the pateo for the form of her one-time lover.
A voice whispered, in French: "Come quickly, Senhora, I pray you!" It startled her to find San Benavides talking French, until it occurred to her that Iris and he must converse in that language or hardly at all.
The thought was disquieting.

The volcano stirred again.
"Senhora, je vous prie!" again pleaded the man, who was on horseback under the trees.
She did not hesitate, but ran to him.