“Nothing up to the present,” gravely answered Artegui.
“This is delightful! delightful!” muttered the young man under his breath, laughing with his eyes rather than with his mouth. “Was there ever such an adventure! Miranda must be a sight to see! a sight to see!”
Artegui looked at him fixedly, intercepting the indiscreet laughter of his eyes. With an air of great gravity, he said:
“Are you a friend of Don Aurelio Miranda?”
“Yes, very much so, very much so,” lisped Gonzalvo, who had a habit of dropping two or three letters in every word, repeating the word itself two or three times to make amends; which was productive of a singular confusion in his speech, especially when he was angry, when he would jumble up or leave out entire words.
“Very much so, very much so,” he continued. “Everywhere, everywhere in Madrid I used to meet him. He belonged at one time to the—what’s its name—the Rapid Club, the Rapid Club, and he used to frequent with us young men, with us young men, the—well, the Apollo, the Apollo.”
“I am very glad of it,” cried Artegui, without losing his air of gravity for a moment. “Well then, Señora,” he continued, addressing Lucía, “you have here what you stood so greatly in need of two days ago—a friend of your husband’s, who has on all accounts a much greater claim than I to serve as your escort until such time as Señor Miranda may make his appearance.”
At this unexpected turn Gonzalvo smiled, bowing politely, like a man of the world accustomed to all sorts of situations; but Lucía, a look of astonishment on her still flushed face, drew back, as if in refusal of the new escort offered to her.
This dumb show was interrupted by the entrance of the waiter who handed to Artegui, on a salver, a blue envelope. It seemed impossible for Artegui to be paler than he already was, and yet his cheeks grew perceptibly whiter as, tearing open the envelope, he read the telegram it contained. A cloud passed before his eyes, instinctively he grasped the chimney-piece for support, leaning heavily against the mantle-shelf. Lucía, recovering from her first astonishment, rushed toward him and placing her clasped hands on his arm said to him with eager entreaty:
“Don Ignacio, Don Ignacio, don’t leave me in this way. For the little time that now remains—what trouble would it be for you to stay? I don’t know this gentleman. I have never seen him before——”