“You have been a good prophet,” affirmed the general; “I do not know how he will get on. But at present he is a personage; he has money, he gives the ton, he is strong.”
“And the duke, will I meet him at Madrid?”
“No, but you may see him, on your way, at Cordoval, where he is at this moment with his family.”
“The duke has finished by following my advice,” said the general; “he has abandoned public life. Everybody of slight importance ought to-day, like Achilles, to retire within their tents.”
“But, my uncle, is it then the fashion to retire?”
“They say that the duke,” interrupted the countess, “is entirely devoted to literature. He writes for the theatre.”
“I bet that the title of his first piece will be, ‘The goat returns always to the mountain,’ ” said Raphael, in the ear of his cousin, alluding to the loves of Maria and Pepe Vera, which everybody knew.
“Hold your tongue, Raphael,” said the countess, “we ought to act with our friends as the sons of Noah did with their father.”
“And Marisalada, has she mounted to the capitol in a chariot of gold, drawn by her fanatical admirers?”
“She has lost her voice, caused by a severe attack of pleurisy; did you not know that?”