"Ah, per piedad! Spare my ignorance the infliction of such hard words, and be off."
"But——" murmured the reluctant Ernest.
"Obedience, you know!" and Juanita held up her finger authoritatively.
Never had Ernest executed a lady's behests with a worse grace, nor was his alacrity increased by perceiving that, ere he had even had time to cross the room, his place was already occupied, as much apparently to the satisfaction of his substitute, as to that of the faithless fair one herself. But Alphonse and his partner had disappeared, and De Lucenay went towards the balcony, to which he suspected they had retreated; but there was no one there, and De Lucenay stood for a few moments in the embrasure of the window, irresolute whether he should seek out his friend or not, while he amused himself contemplating the animated coup-d'œil of the saloon. The dark-eyed Spanish belles, with their basquinas and lace mantillas, their flexible figures, and their miniature feet so exquisitely chaussées; the handsome caballeros, with their dark profiles and black mustaches, their sombre costume, brilliantly relieved by the gold tissue divans, and varied arabesques of the glittering saloon, they looked like the noble pictures of Velasquez or Murillo just stepped out of their frames. As Ernest was re-entering the saloon, the voices of a group of ladies, from whom he was concealed by the crimson drapery of the curtains, caught his attention.
"Ah! Mariguita mia," said one, "how glad I am to meet you here! Que gusto! It is a century since I saw you last."
"Queridita mia," responded a masculine tone, very little in harmony with the soft words it uttered; "in these terrible times one dare not venture a mile beyond the town: As for me, the mere barking of a dog puts me all in a flutter, and sends me flying to the window. You know the news, I suppose; Doña Isabel de Peñaflor has quarrelled with her cortejo, and he has flown off in a rage to her cousin Blanca."
"Misericordia que lastima, they were such a handsome couple! But it cannot last; they will make it up again, certainly."
"Oh no!" interposed another; "her husband Don Antonio has done all he could to reconcile them, but in vain—he told me so himself."
"Well, I am sure I don't wonder at it; she is such a shrew there is no bearing her."
"No matter," resumed the first speaker, "the example is scandalous, and should not be suffered. Ah! it is all the fault of that artificious Blanca: I knew she would contrive to get him at last."