The two sisters were pretty; Rafaela, the older sister, was extremely attractive. Some twenty-three or twenty-four years of age, she had clear, blue eyes—eyes the colour of pale blue satin—blond hair, a straight nose, and an enchanting smile. Lacking the freshness of her first youth, there was a suspicion of marcidity in her face, which, perhaps, enhanced her attractiveness.
The face of Remedios, the child, was less symmetrical, but more positive: she had large, black eyes, and an expression of mixed audacity, childishness, and arrogance. Now and then she smiled silently and mischievously.
When Quentin felt that he had stayed long enough, he rose, gave his hand to the two girls, and hesitantly approached the old man, who threw his arms about his neck and tearfully embraced him.
He saluted the hunchback with a nod of his head which was scarcely answered; descended the stairs, and upon reaching the vestibule, the man who had let him in, asked:
“Excuse me, Señor, but are you the man who got back from England a little while ago?”
“Yes.”
“That’s what I thought. Are you going to stay in Cordova?”
“I believe so.”
“Then we shall see you?”
“Yes, I shall call from time to time.”