Cotoner went away with a resigned expression and when he returned an hour later, he found Renovales in the model's room arranging some clothes.
The old painter lined up his packages on the table. He put the confectionery in antique plates and took the bottles out of their wrappers.
"You are served, sir," he said with ironical respect. "Do you wish anything else, sir? The whole family is in a state of revolution over this noble lady; your son-in-law is bringing her; I am acting as your valet; all you need now is to send for your daughter to help her undress."
"Thanks, Pepe, thanks ever so much," said the master with naive gratitude, apparently undisturbed by his jests.
At luncheon time Cotoner saw him come into the dining-room with his hair carefully combed, his mustache curled, wearing his best suit with a rose in the buttonhole. The Bohemian laughed boisterously. The last straw! He was crazy; they would make sport of him!
The master scarcely touched the meal. Afterwards he walked up and down alone in the studio. How slowly the time went! At each turn through the three studios he looked at the hands of an old clock of Saxon china, which stood on a table of colored marble, with its back reflected in a tall, Venetian mirror.
It was already three. The master wondered if she was not going to come. Quarter past three,—half-past three. No, she was not coming; it was past the time. Those women who live amid obligations and demands, without a minute to themselves!
Suddenly he heard steps and Cotoner entered.
"She is here; here she comes. Good luck, master. Have a good time! I guess you have imposed on me long enough and will not expect me to stay."
He went out waving him an ironical farewell and a little later Renovales heard López de Sosa's voice, approaching slowly, explaining to his companion the pictures and furniture which attracted her attention.