"Your mirrors told me that before I saw you, Master Matteus: I know I am getting ugly, and will be yet more changed, if ennui continues to consume me."
"Does madame suffer from ennui?" said he, in the same tone he would have said, "Did madame ring?"
"Yes, Matteus, terribly; and I can no longer bear this seclusion. As no one has either visited or written to me, I presume I am forgotten here; and since you are the only person who does not neglect me, I think I am at liberty to say as much to you."
"I cannot permit myself to judge of madame's condition," said Matteus; "but it seems to me that within a short time, madame has received both a letter and a visit."
"Who told you so, Master Matteus?" said Consuelo, blushing.
"I would tell," said he, in a tone ironically humble, "if I were not afraid of offending madame and annoying her with my conversation."
"Were you my servant, I do not know what airs of grandeur I might assume with you; but as now I have no other attendant but myself, you seem rather my guardian than my major-domo, and I will trouble you to talk as you are wont. You have too much good sense to be tedious."
"As madame is ennuyée, she may just now be hard to please. There was a great entertainment last night at the castle."
"I know it. I saw the fire-works and heard the music."
"And a person who, since the arrival of madame, has been closely watched, took advantage of the disorder and noise to enter the private park, in violation of the strictest orders. A sad affair resulted from it. I fear, however, I would distress you by telling you."