“Yes, cousin. Cuba is rich, and it knows how to be so, like a great lady, who has always been one, without ostentation, and parading everywhere its benefits.”
“And the women, do they please you?”
“As a general rule, all women please me: the young, because they are so; the old, because they have been so; and the little girls, because they will be so.”
“Do not generalize so; be more precise.”
“Cousin, the Cuban ladies are charming feminine lazzaroni, covered with muslins and lace, and whose little satin shoes are useless ornaments for the little feet they are destined for, as I have never seen an Havana lady on foot. They speak like nightingale’s singing, live on sugar like bees, and smoke like the chimneys of a steamboat. Their eyes are poems, and their hearts mirrors, without tin-foil. The doleful drama is not written for this country, where the women pass their life lying in a hammock balanced amidst flowers, and fanned by their slaves with fans fringed with flowers of a thousand colors.”
“Do you know that public rumor announces your marriage?”
“Dame Rumor, my dear Gracia, arrogates to herself the royal buffooneries of the olden time. Like them, she tells all that passes in her head without inquiry into the truth. But public rumor has told a lie.”
“They add, that your future wife brings you a fortune of two millions of duros.”
Raphael burst into a fit of laughter.
“Indeed, I remember that the captain-general wished to make me indorse this bill of exchange.”