Any one who heard them would have said that Quentin’s affair had lasted years, and the Swiss’s only days. It was exactly the opposite. Quentin’s fidelity lasted just about two or three months, at the end of which time he began his affair with María Lucena. On the other hand, the Swiss had been faithful for years and years to an impossible love.
As they chatted, Don Gil Sabadía, the archæologist, appeared in the café. After shaking hands with the Swiss and with Quentin, he sat down at their table.
“It’s a long time since I have seen you,” he said to Quentin. “How about it—are we gaining ground?”
“Psh! If I could get out....”
“Don’t pay any attention to him today,” said Springer. “He’s full of spleen.”
“Why, what’s the matter?” asked the archæologist.
“Women.”
“The females in this city are very attractive, comrade; they are good to look at.”
“They seem insignificant to me,” said Quentin.
“Man alive, don’t say that,” exclaimed the Swiss.