“To La Aceitunera.”
“It’s done. How would you like me to begin like this?:
Casas de la Morería;
Trascastillo y Murallón,
ninfas, dueñas, y tarascas,
baratilleras de amor.
(Houses of La Morería, Trascastillo and Murallón; nymphs, mistresses, and lewd women, second-hand dealers in love.)”
“You may begin as you wish. The idea is that the thing must hurt.”
“It’ll hurt, all right; never fear.”
Cornejo finished the poem; two days later the paper came out, and in cafés and casinos, the only subject of conversation was the Countess’ garters, and everybody maliciously repeated the refrain:
Intrépido es amor;
de todo sale vencedor.
The following night, Quentin was waiting for the poet in the Café del Recreo. He had made an appointment with him for ten o’clock, but Cornejo had failed to appear.
Quentin waited for him for over two hours, and finally, tired out, he started to go home. As he left the café, a little man wrapped in a cloak came up to him at the very door.