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Updated: June 15, 2025
The night before he had dined at the Albercas' almost a formal banquet in honor of his entrance into the Academy, at which many of the distinguished gentlemen who formed the countess's coterie were present. She seemed radiant with joy, as if she were celebrating a triumph of her own. The count treated the famous master with greater respect than ever; he had just advanced another step in glory.
Then he ended the afternoon at the Albercas', where he often stayed till midnight. He dined there almost every day. The count, accustomed to his society, seemed as eager to see him as his wife. He spoke enthusiastically of the portrait which Renovales was painting of him to go with Concha's.
She was alone at home. "Come, hurry. Serious news. I am dying." And the master hurried, though the announcement of her death did not make much impression on him. It was probably some trifle. He was used to the countess's exaggeration. The spacious house of the Albercas was dark, dusty and echoing like all deserted buildings. The only servant who remained was the concierge.
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