"I will do exactly what you bid me."
They presently went together into the drawing-room, where some visitors had arrived.
On Friday afternoons during Lent, the Marquesa received those of her friends who, like herself, would devote an hour or two to prayer and religious exercises. There were the Marquesa de Ujo and her daughter, still with her skirts far above her ankles, General Patiño, Lola Madariaga and her husband, Clementina Osorio, with her faithful companion Pascuala, and several others; and, above all, Padre Ortega. As, in fact, the honours of the occasion were his, and he was director of the entertainment, every one had gathered about him in the middle of the room. Everyone talked louder than he did; the illustrious priest's voice was always soft and subdued, as though he were in a sick room. But as soon as he began to speak, silence instantly reigned—every one listened with respectful attention.
The Marquesa, on entering, kissed his hand with an air of submission, and inquired affectionately after a cold from which he had been suffering.
"Oh! have you a cold, Father?" inquired several ladies at once.
"A little, a mere trifle," replied the priest, with a smile of suave resignation.
"By no means a trifle," said the Marquesa. "Yesterday in church you coughed incessantly."
And she proceeded to give the minutest details of the reverend Father's sufferings, omitting nothing which could make her account more graphic. The priest sat smiling, with his eyes on the ground, saying:
"Do not let it disturb you, the Marquesa is always over anxious. You might think that I was in the last stage of consumption."
"But, Father, you must take care of yourself, you really must take care of yourself. You do too much. For the sake of religion you ought to spare yourself a little."