The room in which he found himself was small, and rather better furnished than the other cuartos in the hostelry, probably owing to the indispensable articles the temporary occupier of the room had the precaution to bring with her. Several pink candles burned in silver chandeliers, and on a sofa lay a lovely young girl of sixteen to seventeen years of age, buried in muslin, like a hummingbird in a nest of roses, who bent on the Spanish gentleman two large black eyes sparkling with humour, maliciousness, and curiosity.
In spite of the immense dose of self-love with which he was cuirassed, and the intimate conviction he had of his own merits, Don Cornelio stopped in considerable embarrassment on the threshold, and bowed profoundly, without daring to advance into the interior of this cuarto, which appeared to him a sanctuary.
By a charming sign the young woman invited him to draw nearer, and pointed out a butaca, about two paces from the sofa on which she was reclining. The young man hesitated; but the camarista, laughing like a madcap, pushed him by the shoulders and compelled him to sit down.
Still the position of our two actors, opposite each other, was rather singular. Don Cornelio, a prey to the most powerful embarrassment he ever experienced, twisted the brim of his beaver in his hands, as he cast investigating glances cautiously around; while the girl, no less confused, timidly looked down, and seemed at present almost to regret the inconsiderate step she had let herself be led to take.
Still, as in all difficult circumstances of life, women possess a will of initiative greater than that of men, because they make a strength of their weakness, and know at once how to approach the most awkward questions, it was the lady who first regained her coolness and commenced the conversation.
"Do you recognise me, Don Cornelio?" she asked him in a deliberate tone, which made the Spaniard quiver.
"Alas, señorita!" he replied, trying to gain time, "where could I have had the happiness of ever seeing you? I have only lived up to the present in an inferno."
"Let us speak seriously," she said with an almost imperceptible frown. "Look me well in the face, caballero, and answer me frankly: do you recognise me—yes or no?"
Don Cornelio timidly raised his eyes, obeyed the order he had received in so peremptory a fashion, and after a few seconds,—
"No, señorita," he said with a suppressed sigh, "I do not recognise you; I do not believe that I ever had the happiness of meeting you before today."