"Alas, madam! I should ever remain below the truth in what I might tell you of him. You must live his life, be constantly by his side, in order to understand and appreciate him at his full value."
There were a few moments of silence. The night was drawing on; the candles were beginning to dim; the camarista, who had but a very slight interest in this conversation, had laid her head against the back of her butaca; her eyes were closed, and she was enjoying that catlike sleep peculiar to women and the feline race, and which does not prevent them being constantly on the watch.
"Tell me, Don Cornelio," Doña Angela continued with a smile, "have you never spoken with Don Louis about our meeting during the long period that has since elapsed?"
"Never, madam."
"Ah!"
"Once, and only once, I remember that I tried to bring the conversation round to that subject by some rather direct allusions."
"Well?"
"Don Louis, who, till then, had seemed to listen kindly to my observations, suddenly requested me, in very distinct language, never to return to that subject, remarking that he had only acted in accordance with his duty; that he would do the same again; and that it was not worth while talking about, the less so as chance would, in all probability, never again bring him into contact with the persons to whom he had been so fortunate as to render this slight service."
The young lady frowned.
"I thank you," she said in a slightly affected voice, "I thank you, Don Cornelio, for the kindness with which you have treated the whims of a woman you did not know."