“Who is it?” asked a woman’s voice from within.
“It’s me,” replied Mingote.
“I’m coming. I’m coming.”
The door was opened and there appeared a mulattress in battered shoes, followed by three poodle dogs, who barked furiously.
“Hush, Léon! Hush Morito!” cried the servant in a very languid tone. “Come in. Come in.”
Manuel and Mingote walked into a stifling room, which had a window that looked upon the patio. The walls of the room, from a certain height, were almost covered with women’s clothes that formed a sort of wainscoting all around it. From the shutter-bolt of the window was suspended a low cut sleeveless chemise with lace edging and bows of faded blue, which displayed cynically a dark blood-stain.
“Wait a moment. The lady is dressing,” requested the mulattress.
Within a short while she reappeared and asked them to step into the study.
The baroness, a blonde woman attired in a bright gown, was reclining upon a sofa in an attitude of intense languor and desolation.
“Here again, Mingote?”