She was, indeed, not beautiful: her face was fat and broad, like her husband's; a short, ungraceful nose, and a little, nobbly chin; a thick neck, set dumpily on her marble shoulders. One could not but hope that the artist had done her an injustice.
The Duke of Losas made me observe the dog which was lying at her feet.
'It is a symbol of fidelity,' he said.
'The guide-book told me she was chaste and faithful.'
'If she had been,' he replied, smiling, 'Don Sebastian would perhaps never have become Duque de Losas.'
'Really!'
'It is an old history which I discovered one day among some family papers.'
I pricked up my ears, and discreetly began to question him.
'Are you interested in old manuscripts?' said the duke. 'Come with me and I will show you what I have.'
With a flourish of the hand he waved me out of the chapel, and, having carefully locked the doors, accompanied me to his palace. He took me into a Gothic chamber, furnished with worn French furniture, the walls covered with cheap paper. Offering me a cigarette, he opened a drawer and produced a faded manuscript.