Then Bianca seemed to repent of the note of complaint in what he was saying; and with an optimism which, a half hour ago, he would have considered absurd, he smiled, and went on,
“Really I ought not to complain. There is a friendship that means a great deal in my life. Do you know the banker Fontenoy? You may have heard of him; he has business all over the world.”
Robledo shook his head. No, he had never heard that name.
“He is an old friend of my wife’s family. Thanks to Fontenoy, I became a while ago the director of some development projects in foreign countries, for which I get a salary that would have seemed to me magnificent a few years ago.”
Robledo expressed his professional curiosity. “Improvements in foreign countries!” Of course the engineer wanted to know more about that, and asked some very definite questions. But Torre betrayed a certain uneasiness in his replies. He stammered, and his sallow cheeks reddened slightly.
“Enterprises in Asia and in Africa—gold mines, and a railroad in China—a shipping company formed to handle the rice products of Tonkin, and—as a matter of fact, I’m not up on the scheme as a whole. I’ve never had time for the trip, and then, too, I can’t leave my wife—But Fontenoy, who has a great head of business, has been to all these places, and I have the greatest confidence in him. As a matter of fact, my job is just a matter of signing reports made by the experts Fontenoy sends out there to satisfy share-holders.”
Robledo could not conceal a certain astonishment at these words. Torre, aware of his friend’s wonderment, changed the subject. He began talking of his wife in a tone which indicated that he thought it one of the achievements of his life to have won her. He knew that Elena charmed apparently everyone who came within the reach of her beauty. But as he had never since his marriage felt the slightest doubt concerning her affections, he was content to follow her meekly about, scarcely visible in the foaming wake of her triumphant progress. As a matter of fact, everything that came his way, invitations, generous pay for his services, a cordial reception wherever he went, came to him, not because he was the Marquis de Torre Bianca, but because he was Elena’s husband.
“You’ll see her in a little while. And of course you’ll have lunch with us. You can’t refuse. I have some choice wines, and since you have come all the way from the western hemisphere for some Brie cheese, I’ll see that you get plenty of it.”
And then he added, in a tone that partly betrayed his emotion,
“I can’t tell you how glad I am that you are going to meet my wife. Everyone calls her ‘la bella Elena’—but she has something so much better than beauty! She has a disposition just like a child’s—capricious, yes, sometimes, like a child—and she needs lots of money. But what woman doesn’t! And I know Elena will be glad to see you—she has heard me speak so often of my friend Robledo!”