As Canterac stood on the first step of the stairway he said to his companion,
“I oughtn’t to go into this house, belonging as it does to that schemer Pirovani, whom I thoroughly detest. But I was afraid the marquesa wouldn’t like it if I didn’t come to her party.”
Moreno, the friend of everybody, and incapable of animosity, took up the defense of the absent contractor.
“But that Italian is a good fellow! I am certain he likes you very much.”
Canterac’s reply to these conciliating words was a threatening gesture,
“The fellow, tactless as he is, seems to take pains to cross my path.... There’s something coming to him....”
They entered the house and the marqués came forward to welcome them. Then they passed into the drawing-room, where all three men stood waiting, while Elena went on with her song as though she had not heard them come in.
As he approached the bungalow Robledo broke into a broad smile at sight of Pirovani in a new fur overcoat, and a brand new top hat, ordered from Bahia Blanca—for this occasion—as though some familiar spirit had informed him of his friend Moreno’s disparaging thoughts!
From the groups of curiosity-seekers, half-hidden in the shadow, came bursts of laughter and whispers. Some of them were making fun of the tube of shining silk which the contractor had put on his head; others were admiring it, their starved vanity making them feel that somehow this high silk hat was adding to the importance of the life they all led out there in the desert.
“Here I am, a visitor in my own house,” said Pirovani laughing, and as though startled by the extravagant novelty of his performance.