The marquesa’s eyes opened wider like the revolving light when it is growing broader; but they collapsed again as she said:
“The reconciliation! Oh, that, unluckily, is not in the programme.”
“And Pepa—where is she?”
“At Madrid.”
“It would be an awkward thing if she were to come to Suertebella. But I do not understand how María came here.”
“My poor child was stricken down by a sudden attack. She was in a house where there was no furniture—no beds, nothing decent. Don Pedro had her carried here. I am truly grateful to him for his kindness! But that wretched son-in-law of mine—I cannot help it, I must just tell you.—Ah! here is the ice.”
The lady had risen to her feet with some degree of maternal and womanly dignity; but she suddenly calmed down, and dropping into her seat again among the monsters, she proceeded to eat the ice which soon disappeared in the depths of her afflicted person.
Polito had come back to the billiard-room where he was playing with his friend Perico Nules.
“Here, Philidor,” he suddenly exclaimed. “Just be good enough to order some one to bring me a little mild-cured ham, and a glass of....”