Vainglorious and petulant, he himself would laugh at his petulance. He would transform his smile into a menacing gesture, and his menacing gesture into a smile; at times he felt a certain rare, comical sort of modesty and would blush, but never did he lose his self-composure.
The ex-loan shark, though he was by no means of an agreeable type, was very successful with the women. He devoted himself to old age. His tactics were rapid and expedite; after the first week he was already borrowing money.
He counted his mistresses in pairs, each with two or three little Mingotes. In complicity with them the ex-moneylender had organized a marvellous system of mendicity carried on through means of letters, and as the income from his agency kept dwindling, these mistresses, the great Mingote and the little Mingotes, managed to live upon the profits of the women. Whenever people inquired as to these women, Mingote replied that they constituted his household servants.
This was Mingote, the marvellous, rare Mingote, aider and abettor of the Baroness of Aynant.
The very day on which Manuel and the sublime pedagogue recounted the details of their visit to Don Sergio, the baroness and Mingote inaugurated their campaign. The baroness rented a parlour for a few days from a boarding-house keeper on the first floor.
“But what are you doing this for?” asked Mingote. “The worse the old man finds you situated, the more splendid it will be for our purpose.”
“I gave you credit for more cleverness than that, Mingote,” replied the baroness coldly. “If Don Sergio were to find me in a filthy hole like this, he’d throw me an alms. But otherwise,—we’ll see. For the rest, kindly let me conduct my own affairs.”
Mingote, confounded, kept silent. Undoubtedly in such a matter as this, he had something to learn.
The baroness arranged her rented room in good taste, sent one of her gowns out to be sewed and ironed, and dressed Manuel, even using rice powder, to the great desperation of the child. When all was in readiness, Mingote wrote to Don Sergio,—il vecchio Cromwell, as he called the old man,—a post card signed by Peñalar, giving him the directions to the house.
The baroness and Manuel awaited the arrival of il vecchio. About midafternoon they heard the rumble of a carriage that drew up before their door.