The girl set the dish upon the table, and he sat down without taking his eyes off her. She made a tremendous impression upon him. The child was truly charming; she had black, almond-shaped eyes, a pale complexion, and in her hair, which was cleverly done up and as black and lustrous as the elytra of some insects, was a red flower.
“What is your name, my dear, if I may ask?” said he.
“Fuensanta,” she replied . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . .
“Ah! Her name was Fuensanta!” exclaimed Quentin involuntarily.
“Yes. It’s a very common name in these parts. Why does it surprise you?”
“Nothing, nothing: proceed....”
“Well, I shall.”
. . . . . . . . . . . . .
The youth sighed, and as his admiration had doubtless not taken away his appetite, he attacked the slices prepared by La Temeraria with his fork, and after several drinks from the jar, he succeeded in emptying it, and doing away with the portions of the savoury country food.