She passed in front of the servant without waiting to be announced, walking on as one who had a right there; crossed three or four large, elegantly decorated rooms, and, pulling aside with her own hand the rich velvet curtain with its embroidered fringing, entered a much smaller drawing-room where several persons were sitting.
In the seat nearest to the fire reclined the mistress of the house; a woman of some forty years, stout, with regular features, and large black eyes, but devoid of sparkle; her skin was fair, her hair chestnut, and remarkably soft and fine. By her, in a low easy chair, sat another lady, a complete contrast in every respect; brunette, slight, delicate, and full of excessive vivacity, not only in her keen, bright eyes, but in her whole person. This was the Marquesa de Alcudia, of one of the first families in Spain. The three young girls, who sat in a row on straight chairs, were her daughters, all very like her in physique though they did not imitate her restlessness, but remained motionless and silent, their eyes cast down with such an affectation of modesty and composure that it was easy to see in what severe order they were kept by their lively and nervous mamma. To one of them every now and then the daughter of the house spoke in an undertone. She was a child of thirteen or fourteen, with round cheeks, small eyes, a turn-up nose, and scars in the throat which argued a delicate constitution. Her hair was plaited into a long tail tied at the end with a ribbon, as was that of the youngest Alcudia, with whom she carried on a subdued and intermittent conversation. This young lady and her sisters wore fanciful hats, all alike, while Esperanza Calderón sat with her little round head uncovered, and wore a blue morning frock much too short for a girl of her age.
Facing the Señora, and lounging, like her, in an arm-chair, was General Patiño, Conde de Morillejo. He was between fifty and sixty years of age, but his eyes sparkled with all the fire of youth; his grey hair was carefully dressed, and large moustaches à la Victor Emmanuel, a pointed beard and aquiline nose, gave him a gallant and attractive appearance. He was the ideal of a veteran aristocrat. By him sat Calderón, a man of about fifty, stout, with a fat florid face, graced with short grey whiskers, his eyes round, vacant, and dull. Not far from him was an elderly woman, his mother-in-law, but quite unlike her daughter in face and figure; so thin, that she was no more than skin and bone, dark, and with deep-set, penetrating eyes, every feature stamped with intelligence and decision. Talking to her was Pinedo, the occupant of the third-floor rooms. His moustache showed no grey hairs, but it was easy to see that it was dyed; his face was that of a man verging on the sixties; a good-humoured face too, with prominent eyes full of eager movement—those of an observant character; he was dressed with care and elegance, his whole person exquisitely clean.
On seeing the beautiful lady in the doorway, the whole party showed some excitement; all rose, excepting the mistress of the house, on whose placid face a faint smile of pleasure showed dimly.
"Ah! Clementina! What a miracle to see you here!"
The lady in question went forward with a smile, and, while she embraced the ladies and shook hands with the gentlemen, she replied to her sister-in-law's affectionate reproach.
"Come, come. Fit the cap to your own head—you who never come to my house above once in six months."
"I have my children to think of, my dear."
"What an excuse; I ask you! I, too, have children."
"Yes, at Chamartin."