"Señor de Rivera," said Eguiburu, unceremoniously taking a chair—Miguel, in his surprise, having neglected to ask him to do so—"it happens that now for several months you have been in power...."
"Hold on, my friend; there is no one in Spain further from being in power than I.... I am not even under-secretary."
"Well, well; when I say 'you,' I mean your friends; they all at the present time occupy great positions: the Count de Ríos, ambassador; Señor Mendoza has just been elected deputy...."
"And do you think of comparing me, an insignificant pigmy, with the Count de Ríos and Mendoza, two stars of the first magnitude in Spanish politics?"
"Now, see here; Señor de Rivera, to tell the truth, the other night in the Levante Café, Señor de Mendoza was not spoken well of, even by his own friends."
"What did they say?"
"They said,—begging your pardon,—that he was light as a cork."
"Those are the calumnies of the envious. Don't imagine, friend Eguiburu, that statesmen are made of such stuff."
"I am very glad that such is the case, señor. But the truth is that, in spite of their talents and the positions that they hold, neither the Señor Conde de Ríos nor Mendoza are remembering to make good to me the money that I have been spending for them."
"Have you spoken to them?"