It was nearly twelve when the Bohemian, the first to make the move, rose to go. They keep late hours in Madrid, even later than in Paris. Don Carlos was reproved for breaking up the party so early.
“I promised,” he said by way of excuse, “to be at the Countess Q’s for midnight mass.”
“I should not have thought that misa del gallo—cockcrow mass was exactly in your line!” said Don Jaime. “You grow devout with years!”
“Ah, well—I know the music will be good, they will give selections from Carmen. Besides, I promised I would stay and help them out with the supper and dance after the mass.”
Just then Gil brought in a curiously shaped old bottle covered with dust and cobwebs.
“Try this before you go,” said Villegas; “it is Trafalgar 1805, the year of the great vintage of Jerez and of the great battle.” He himself poured out the wine, with greatest care not to shake the bottle.
“It is good enough,” said the Bohemian, with another of his grand bows, “to drink to Doña Lucia’s health, and,” raising his glass, “to the portrait of the King.”
“The portrait of the King!” We drank the toast standing.
The next morning we walked over to the studio with Villegas and Lucia, Gil following with the box from the bedchamber of the King. As we left the Tower of Babel, Cisera came running after us.
“Don José, you have forgotten your brushes;” she put a bundle of paint-brushes done up in a newspaper into his hand. Villegas tucked them in his pocket and thanked Cisera; it is her privilege to wash the brushes, and she allows no one else to touch them. The studio is in the Pasaje del Alhambra, rather a picturesque place for Madrid, not more than half a mile from the house. Though it was late, after ten o’clock, the streets were very uncomfortable on account of the floods of water pouring through them. The extreme dryness of the soil and the air makes it necessary to flush the streets twice a day! A pair of wild looking gypsy girls were standing by one of the corners, watching the water pouring from the hydrant. The taller girl was very handsome, the shorter one seemed older, and had an ill-tempered face, with a head shaped like a snake’s. They stood gaping at us with the dazed look of country people unused to a city. They were so poorly dressed I rather thought they would beg of us.