“Then it was so as to tell you so the forty-second time. What is taking place between us, Gloria, seems to me just like a novel. It is not three months that I have known you, and yet it seems to me as if I had lived three years since then. What a change! How it has altered our lives! You were a nun, and now I see you transformed into a perfect young lady of the world.”
“So you really find that I am perfect?”
“Exquisite!”
“A thousand thanks. What would it be if you were to see me!”
“I do see you ... not very well, but sufficient to make me realise what a favourable change.”
Up to a certain point that was true. Although the darkness that prevailed in that corner did not allow me to make out her features, I could see the outline of her graceful head, adorned with waving hair, and when she bent it over a little toward the grating, the dim light of the street shone into her face, which seemed to me paler than when she was at Marmolejo, though not less lovely.
A moment of silence ensued, and, embarrassed by it, I said at last—
“Is this your chamber?”
“This is not a chamber, it is the reception-room.”
“Ah!”