“Well, let’s be going,” said María.
The two girls and the old woman arose, as it was time for the entertainment to begin, and Quentin was left alone, distracted by his efforts to convince himself as well as others, that he was very sad.
Then Springer, the Swiss, came in and sat by Quentin’s side.
“What’s the matter?” he said, taking his friend’s funereal look seriously.
“I feel sad today. Yesterday I saw a girl I used to like. The granddaughter of a marquis. She who married Juan de Dios.”
“What then? What happened to you?”
“She looks badly. She won’t last long.”
“The poor little thing!”
In a lugubrious voice Quentin told all about his love affair, heaping on insignificant details, and wearying excuses.
Springer listened to him with a smile. His fine, spiritual countenance changed expression sympathetically with everything his friend said. Then he himself spoke confusedly. Yes, he too had had a romantic love affair, ... a very romantic one, ... with a young lady; but he was only a poor Swiss plebeian.