“Let’s go out and have a coffee now.”
Vidal paid the bill, they left the tavern and went into the Café de Lisboa.
While they were sipping their coffee, Manuel scrutinized Vidal. The youth’s hair was very lustrous; it was parted in the middle and curly tufts fell over his ears. His movements betrayed a vast aplomb; his smile was that of a self-consciously handsome man; his neck was round, without any salient muscles. He spoke with a sympathetic ring in his voice, always smiling; but his shrewd, treacherous eyes betrayed the falsity of his speech; their expression did not harmonize with the affability of his affectionate word and his ingratiating smile. One read in them only distrust and caution.
“And you,—what are you doing?” asked Manuel, after having examined him carefully.
“Pse!... I manage to exist....”
“But on what? How?”
“There are certain deals, my boy.... Then, women....”
“But do you work?”
“That depends upon what you call work.”