María hastens back to the apothecary before the fortnight is up, using the count’s impending return as leverage to gain permission from the countess. Sabine greets María warmly and recognizes her as the child once found picking poisonous flowers, touching María with familiar ease. When María asks about Sabine’s past, Sabine admits she had a husband “once” who died “slowly,” and remarks that widows, like nuns, can move unmolested through the world.

In the days between visits, María savors Sabine’s name and learns that Boucher is French, though Sabine speaks Spanish without much accent, saying time smooths all things. When María confesses dislike for her own common name, Sabine reframes it as meaning both “bitter” and “beloved,” and suggests that names are like dresses—ill-fitting ones can be shed—prompting María to consider who she might be under a different name.

During an oppressive August, María is allowed to go to the shop under the pretense of fetching remedies for the count and countess. Despite a chaperoning maid, María easily buys an hour of privacy. Sabine offers to teach María to make her own tonic, which María fears would remove her pretext to visit. Sabine insists knowledge is power and proposes secrecy as their shared protection.

When María cannot read the herb labels, she confesses a failed attempt to learn with the count, whose lessons devolved into unwanted advances, causing her to stop. Sabine begins teaching her literacy by tracing letters in sand. María struggles with impatience, but over weeks of brief lessons, sounds cohere into words; recognizing “Romero” (rosemary) thrills her, and Sabine praises her quick mind.

An intimate moment arises when Sabine leans close; María senses that Sabine would not pull away if touched, but María resists and the moment passes, leaving her breathless. As their time wanes, Sabine heats and serves a thick, dark drink—chocolate—gifted by a grateful patron, urging María to enjoy it alone because it is too rich for Sabine.

María drinks, finding it intensely bittersweet and addictive; one sip drains the cup and leaves her craving more. Under Sabine’s watchful gaze, María admits she would drink nothing else if she could. Sabine smiles and observes that the more one tastes, the more one wants, underscoring the deepening, tantalizing pull between them and María’s growing hunger for knowledge, pleasure, and self-determination.