The National Library, for a start. And what I’m telling you now goes against my own business interests, but I believe it would be a crime to sell them to a foreigner who’d only take them out of the country… and I say a crime because it would be more than unforgivable, it would be a felony, and that’s the least of it. If we can agree terms, we can do business with the saleable books, and if you then decide to sell the more valuable books, I’ll get out of your way and…”

Dionisio stared at the Count with unexpected intensity.

“What did you say your name was?…”

“Mario Conde.”

“Mario Conde,” he chewed on the name slowly, as if extracting from the letters an injection of dignity his blood sorely needed. “Standing where you can see us now, my sister and I have really run ourselves into the ground over this country, in a big way. I risked my life here and even in Africa. And although I’m starving to death I won’t do anything like that… Not for a thousand or ten thousand pesos,” and he turned to look at his sister, as if seeking out a last refuge for his pride. “Will we, Amalia?”

“Of course we won’t, Dionisio,” she assured him.

“I’m glad that we understand each other,” nodded the Count, moved by the naivety of the heroic Dionisio, who thought in pesos, whilst he calculated similar figures, but in dollars. “Let’s do it this way. I’ll choose twenty to thirty books that will sell well, although they’re not particularly valuable. I’ll separate them out now and come for them tomorrow with the money. After that I’d like to check the whole library, so I can tell you what I’d be interested in taking, what books would interest no buyer, and which books can’t, or rather shouldn’t, be sold, right? But first I’d like to hear the whole story, if you don’t mind, that is… I’m sorry to insist, but a library that has books like those I’ve just fished out and that’s been untouched for forty-three years…”