Maria arose from the sofa, and with a scornful gesture, nor deigning to look once at her lover, replied,—
"Well enough."
And she went and sat down beside one of the numberless De Ciudad girls. Ricardo remained for a few moments glued to his seat, without stirring a finger. Then he got up abruptly and hastened from the room.
Don Serapio at last ceased mourning his lady's absence, declaring in a finale that if such a state of things existed longer, he should die without delay. The pianist added force to this wail of woe by performing a noisy run in octaves. A great clapping of hands was heard, and affectionate smiles of approbation were lavished by the ladies upon the vocalist. The young fellows near the doors, always ready for fun, did their best to bring about a repetition of the romanza, but Don Serapio was shrewd enough to perceive that the plaudits of these boys were not in good faith, and he refused to grant the favor.
Then the stripling with the banged hair made the following little speech to the assembled audience:—
"Ladies and gentlemen, I believe that now is the time for us to listen to the great artiste. We are all waiting impatiently for Maria to delight us—one of those happy moments—with which she has in days gone by delighted us. Isn't it a good idea?"
"That's it; Maria must sing!"
"Of course she will sing; she is very accommodating."
The spokesman offered his arm to the young señorita, and led her to the piano.
When Maria was left standing alone, facing the audience, a thrill of admiration was excited as usual. "How lovely, how lovely she is!" "That girl grows prettier every day!" "What exquisite taste she shows in her dress!" "She looks like a queen!" These and many other flattering phrases were whispered among the friends of the Elorza family.