“I have often seen a picture of that statue,” said Sheridan, as they passed a piece of sculpture representing a female seated on a chariot drawn by lions.
“That is the Cybele.”
“Wife of Saturn, and mother of the gods,” replied Sheridan.
“This is the Salon del Prado” continued the doctor, as the carriage turned to the left into an avenue two hundred feet wide. “There are plenty of people here, and I think we had better get out and walk, if you are not too tired; for you want to see the people.”
The berlina was dismissed, and the party joined the throng of Madrileños. Dr. Winstock called the attention of his young friends to three ladies who were approaching them. They wore the mantilla, which is a long black lace veil, worn as a head-dress, but falling in graceful folds below the hips. The ladies—except the high class, fashionable people—wear no bonnets. The mantilla is a national costume, and the fan is a national institution among them. They manage the latter, as well as the former, with peculiar grace; and it has even been said that they flirt with it, being able to express their sentiments by its aid.
“But these ladies are not half so pretty as I supposed the Spanish women were,” said Murray.
“That only proves that you supposed they were handsomer than they are,” laughed Sheridan.
“They are not so handsome here as in Cadiz and Seville, I grant,” added the doctor; “but still I think they are not bad looking.”
“I will agree to that,” replied Murray. “They are good-looking women, and that’s all you can say of them.”