“Yes, it’s true, Paquita, it’s true,” murmured il vecchio, taking one of the baroness’s plump hands and fondling it.
And he descended the stairs, pausing every moment to bid the lady adieu.
“Good Lord, what an old bore!” she grumbled, slamming the door. “Manuel, Manolito, you did splendidly! You’re a hero! Did you see? Il vecchio Cromwell, as Mingote calls him, has left a thousand pesetas. This very next day we move.”
Very early on the following morning the baroness and Manuel went out in search of new rooms. After endless running about, their heads almost out of joint from so much gazing upward, they found a third floor apartment in the Plaza de Oriente, with which the baroness was simply enchanted. It cost twenty-five duros per month.
“It’ll seem dear to Niña Chucha, but I’ll take it,” said the baroness.
So she called at the first floor, where the house agent lived, talked to him and made an advance payment.
They moved in that very day, and Manuel laboured away with enthusiasm, carrying furniture from one place to the other, and setting the pieces down in the new quarters as Niña Chucha directed him.
As the furnishings of the house were rather meagre, and the baroness had some things stored away in the home of a Cuban woman, a friend of hers, she went several days later to see the lady and ask for the furniture. She did not show up during that whole day, nor did she appear for supper, but returned very late at night. Niña Chucha and Manuel waited up for her. She came home with eyes that shone more brightly than usual.
“The Colonel’s wife wouldn’t let me go,” she mumbled. “I dined with her, then I went with her daughters to the Apolo and they saw me to the door.”