Rising from her arm-chair throne with all the ponderous weight of her bulk, she went away, attempting as she did so, to move with the light step of a young girl. She did not forget to throw Robledo a kiss from the end of her lorgnette.
Disconcerted by this episode, and somewhat annoyed by being placed in so grotesque a position, he also left the room.
On his way back to the drawing-room he stumbled upon a man of small stature, who, in spite of having suffered a rude blow in the collision, meekly murmured his apologies. Later Robledo saw him again, wandering timidly about, watching the servants, and at the same time looking as though he were asking their pardon for doing so, and pushing the furniture that had been deranged back to its place. Whenever anyone spoke to him he made haste to answer with abject politeness, and then fled precipitately.
The Countess meanwhile had gathered a group of men about her, for the most part long-haired individuals of those Robledo had noticed in the cloak-room. Many of the women guests were openly making fun of their hostess, raising their eyebrows at one another with a gesture whose meaning was not hard to guess. The old fellow who had left his mufflers and his pipe in the coat room announced solemnly:
“We respectfully request that our beautiful Muse recite some of her poems!” at which there was much applause, and many approving nods. But the Muse showed herself to be intractable, and began to move this way and that in her chair, shaking her head. In a weak tone, as though suddenly ill, she murmured,
“No, my friends, I cannot ... tonight, it is impossible ... some other time perhaps....”
Her admirers grew insistent, and the Countess was forced to repeat her refusals, her voice constantly fainter. Finally her guests abandoned her for livelier diversions, and turning their back on the suffering Muse, promptly forgot her.
Scarcely had a young musician, clean-shaven and with flowing locks, who strove to imitate the genial ugliness of certain modern composers, sat down at the piano and ran his fingers over the keyboard, when two girls made a dash for him, put out their hands to his shoulders, implored. They would love to hear his wonderful compositions—but later! Now he must be indulgent, and come down to the level of the crowd, and play something for them to dance to. Oh, a waltz would do, if artistic principles stood in the way of his playing one of the American dances.
Several couples began to circle round the room and were rapidly joined by others. Suddenly noticing that no one was left to pay court to her, the Countess looked about in bewilderment, then rose, saying with indulgent condescension,
“Since you really want to hear me, I’ll do as you insist. I’ll recite a short poem.”