"It is absolute truth, and whoever has lived here any length of time will say so. In Madrid there's no halfway about it; the women are either perfectly beautiful or perfectly hideous. That union of charming and attractive faces which I see here is not to be found there; and so don't let it surprise you when I tell you that the hideous are much more numerous than the beautiful."
"Oh, pshaw! Madrid is where the prettiest women are to be seen, and especially the most elegant."
"Ah! that is quite a different matter; elegant, certainly; but pretty, I don't agree with you!"
"It is so, though you don't agree with us!"
"Ladies, there is one reason why you are more beautiful than the Madrileñas; it is a reason which can be better appreciated by those who, like myself, have devoted themselves to the fine arts: here there is color and form, and there they do not exist. By good fortune, this very evening, I have the opportunity of noticing it and of making comparisons, which show most favorably for you. Now that we are allowed to contemplate what is ordinarily draped with great care, I can take my oath that you have those beautiful forms which we admire so much in Grecian statues and Flemish paintings, soft, white, transparent; while if you enter a Madrid drawing-room, you don't stumble upon anything else than skeletons in ball dresses—"
The ladies broke into laughter, hiding their faces behind their fans.
"What a tongue, what a tongue you have, Suárez!"
"It only serves me to tell the truth. The Madrid girls have the effect upon me of shadow-pantomimes. In you I find visible, palpable, and even delectable beings—"
Marta noticed that the wax of a candelabrum was burning out, and that the glass socket was in danger of cracking. She got up and went to puff it out. Then when she sat down again, she took a different position.
The pianist ended his fantasy without stumbling. The conversations stopped abruptly; some clapped their hands, and others said, "Very good, very good." No one had been listening to him, but the pianist felt himself rewarded for his fatigues, and raising his blushing face above the piano, he acknowledged his thanks to the company with a triumphant smile. A young fellow who wore his hair banged like the dandies of Madrid, profited by this blissful moment to beg him to play a waltz-polka.