“That is to be more royalist than the king,” said Rita, with a gesture of disdain; “and you may assure the major, in the name of all the Sevillians, that we are very indifferent as to whether this lord finds us handsome or ugly. But continue your history, Raphael; you have yet to tell us of the preliminaries of your uncle’s marriage.”
“Above all,” said the marchioness, “I will inform Don Frederico that the nobility of our family dates back as far as the year 737. One of our forefathers killed the bear which had taken the life of the Gothic king Favila; it is for this that we have a bear on our family escutcheon.”
At these words Raphael burst out into a laughter so boisterous that he broke the thread of his aunt’s narrative.
“Let’s see,” said he, “here’s part second of Santa-Maria, our Lady and cousin! The marchioness possesses a collection of genealogical facts, the one as truthful as the others. She knows by heart all the history of the dukes of Albe, history which rivalled that of Perou.
“If you will have the goodness to relate them to me, Señora Marchioness,” remarked Stein, “I will be infinitely obliged to you.”
“With much pleasure,” replied the marchioness; “and I hope you will accord more credit to my words than this child Raphael, who pretends to know more than those who were born before him. I declare at the outset that nothing ennobles a man so much as courage.”
“According to this,” said Rita, “José Maria, the celebrated bandit, would be noble, and something more—grandee of Spain of the first class.”
“My nephews and nieces seem fond of contradiction,” replied the marchioness, with some impatience. “Well, yes! José Maria might have been noble, if he had not been a robber.”
“Since you are talking of José Maria,” added Raphael, “I will relate to Don Frederico a trait of the courage of this man. I have it from a good source.”
“We do not wish to know the exalted deeds of the hero of the carbine,” said the marchioness. “Raphael, you speak wrong, and out of place.”