"I'll go with you, if you're alone. Madame, enchanté ..." He winked at Hall as he kissed Madame la Comtesse's hand. "Now we must pay our respects to our host."
"I already have."
"Come with me while I do. I never miss it. He has kept me from squandering my money. I bet with myself on him, and I always lose. So Felipe pays Duarte, and Duarte supports Felipe."
"What the hell are you babbling about now?"
"Your Ambassador. He is an original, Mateo. For three years he draws me to his parties as a lodestone draws baser metals. In three years, he has learned exactly three words of Spanish: 'Con mucho gusto.' Of course he still says them with a gringo accent, but anyone can recognize what he means.
"For three years I am waiting for him to learn a new word, any word. Si. No. Pan. Mantequilla. Right now, I'd settle for just one new word.
"In the beginning, when I was green in the business of diplomacy, I was younger and more optimistic. Then I would not have settled for a word. I wanted a whole new phrase. Nothing complicated, you understand. Any simple phrase would have satisfied me. Tiene usted un fósforo? Or even—Dónde está la sala de caballeros? But no. Tennyson's brook burbles forever, and unto eternity J. Burton Skidmore will not learn more than his three words, and damn it, he won't even learn how to speak them correctly."
"And you're still betting on him?" Hall asked.
"What can I do?" Duarte said. "We stupid Mexican peons have such a deep faith in mankind that we are always betrayed."
"Here comes the Ambassador now."