“Is it the torments and fatigues these protégés of thine cause thee, which has given thee already the appearance of old age?”
“Señoritas,” exclaimed Raphael, “is this a declaration of war, a conspiracy? What have I done?”
As an only response, he was overwhelmed with appeals, which burst forth in rapid succession, like an explosion of fireworks.
At this moment, the guests who found themselves assembled near the door of the court separated to permit the duke, leading in the Gaviota, to enter. Stein followed.
CHAPTER XXI.
MARISALADA, instructed in her toilet by her hostess, presented herself accoutred in a manner the most ridiculous. She wore a dress of silk, handkerchief pattern, too short, and blending colors the most extravagant; her coiffure was most ungracefully intermingled with red ribbons of unheard-of stiffness; a mantle of tulle, white and blue, garnished with Catalan lace, exceeded the black of her tint. The ensemble of this parure could but necessarily produce, and did produce, the most pitiable effect.
The countess in making some steps towards the Gaviota passed near to Raphael, and whispered in his ear, applying to the circumstance the fable of La Fontaine—
“Sans mentir, si son ramage
Se rapporte à son plumage.”
“How many thanks we owe you,” said the countess to Maria, “for your goodness in wishing to satisfy our desire to hear you! The duke has paid you so brilliant a compliment!”
The Gaviota, without saying a word, let herself be conducted by the countess to a seat which had been destined for her between the piano and the sofa.