"It is not crossness, it is ignorance. These ladies know very well that things don't happen as, and when, we wish. If I were to name a date now, and it turned out differently they would think that I had been making fun of them."
In spite of the efforts he made to smile, the face of the count expressed infinite sadness, and his voice was low and hoarse.
"No, no! nothing of the sort!" exclaimed Jovita, laughing. "Tell us any day, and if it should turn out differently we shall think it was not by your wish."
"Very well, then, to-morrow."
"So soon as that!" cried both old maids in astonishment.
"You are not easy to please. What day do you want me to marry? Fix it yourselves."
The count had not said a word to anybody about his marriage being broken off. The innate weakness of his character made him withhold a piece of news that would so soon spread abroad. He fought shy of public curiosity and avoided questions at which his face might betray the cause of such a determination. And he trembled and became profoundly sad every time, like now, the matter was alluded to. Until then nothing had transpired. It was thought in the town from day to day that he would go to Madrid to join his bride. Nevertheless, Manuel Antonio, whose olfactory sense was superior to that of all his contemporaries, had scented something. And with the tenacity and dissimulation of an Isabella of England, he began to collect bits of news and piece them together in such a way that at the present time he was very near the truth.
"You seem very sad, Luisito," he said to him suddenly. "You look more like making your will than being married."
The count was affected, and not knowing what to say, he answered, with a forced smile: