The Countess of Monteros, a Spanish woman of the old-fashioned type, very devout and somewhat austere, nodded in the affirmative.
“I don’t know what they are going to invent next,” she said slowly. “I have seen in the shops, elephants, lizards, frogs, and toads, and even spiders,—in short, the most disgusting creatures possible,—as ornaments for young ladies. In my youthful days we had no fancy for such oddities; fine brilliants, beautiful pearls, a ruby heart—and, yes, we wore cameos, also, but it was a charming caprice—one had one’s likeness or that of some virgin or saint engraved on the stone.”
There was a brief silence; the Amézegas, subjugated by the imperiousness of that authoritative voice, did not venture to reply.
“See, countess,” said Pilar, at last, delighted to have an opportunity to enrage the Amézegas, “what is really pretty is that pin of Luisa’s.”
Luisa drew from her hair the long golden pin with its head of amethyst set with diamonds.
“The Swede wore one like it yesterday,” she said, handing it to the countess. “She had on the whole set—earrings, a necklace of amethyst balls, and the pin. She looked magnificent with those and the heliotrope gown.”
“Last night?” asked Pilar.
“Yes, at the theater. The other was gloomy and listless as usual; at ten he entered her box and handed her the customary bouquet of camellias and white azaleas; they say it costs him seventy francs a night. It is a regular addition to his bill at the hotel.”
“That nephew of mine has neither shame nor discretion,” said the Countess of Monteros gravely.
“A married man!” said Luisa Natal, who lived very happily with her husband, who blindly obeyed all her caprices.