But Eloise continued without listening: “In what piece will she first appear?”
“In a piece written expressly for her, and for Stein, her husband,” replied Raphael.
“Has any one ever seen the like!” exclaimed the marchioness.
“Do you not see, mother,” said the countess, “that Raphael is jesting, according to his very laudable and very ordinary habit?”
“Since Lucretia, Angelo, Antony y Carlos, el Hechizado, have been played, there is nothing in the world I do not believe possible.”
“The theatre is the School of Manners,” remarked the general, ironically, “where they raise to their level those whom they would adopt.”
“How right the French are in saying that Africa commences beyond the Pyrenees!” murmured, during this time, Eloise in the ears of Polo.
“Since they occupy a part belonging to the sea-shore,” he replied, “they speak of it no more; that would be too great a pleasure to us.”
Eloise restrained a fit of laughter by biting her little handkerchief trimmed with lace.
“Here are two who conspire,” announced Rita to Raphael. “Polo has an infernal machine between his eyes and his eye-glass, and Eloise hides in her handkerchief, which she conveys to her mouth, a whole world of engines destined to fight against a cursed and stationary Spain.”