Mariquita resumed her seat, as cold and impassive as before. She sang in succession several variations most difficult, where the melody disappeared in the midst of trills and cadences. Surmounting without effort every obstacle, she elicited more and more admiration.
“Countess,” said the duke, “the prince desires to hear some Spanish songs which have been much spoken of to him; Maria excels in this species of song; will you procure a guitar for her?”
“With great pleasure,” replied the countess. And she complied at once with the request.
Raphael was seated near to Rita, after having taken care to place the major beside Eloise, who tried to persuade the Englishman that the Spaniards were becoming day by day more desirous of putting themselves on a level with foreigners, above all in that which relates to affectation and affected airs; for we know that in servile imitations, it is always defects which are the more readily imitated.
“What beautiful eyes!” said Raphael to his cousin. “These long black lashes are magnificent. Her look has truly the attraction of love.”
“It is you who are the lover of strangers,” said Rita. “Why have you placed the major near Eloise? Listen to the nonsense he is telling her. I warn you, my cousin, that each day you take the aspect and the attractions of a dictionary.”
“There it is, raillery, and raillery again,” cried Raphael, striking with his fist the arm of the chair. “You stray from the question, I speak to you of my love for yourself, Rita, of my love which will endure eternally. Know it well, my cousin, a man never loves seriously but one woman in his lifetime. The others—they pretend that they love them.”
“That is what Don Luis has repeated to me often, my cousin; but do you know, in your turn, that you are becoming fatiguing, ennuyant, like a repeating watch.”
“What does this signify?” cried Eloise, seeing a guitar brought in.
“It appears she is to sing some Spanish songs, and I am rejoiced. These songs divert me much.”