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Cotoner, somewhat piqued at this unusual régime which prevented him from entering the studio, would call in the evening and try in vain to interest him with news of the world outside. He observed in the master's eyes a strange light, a gleam of insanity. "How goes the work?" Renovales answered vaguely. He could see it soon in a few days.
He must go to the academic reception. And Cotoner, at his bidding, attended to all the details, from taking the news to those worthies, in order that they might set the date for the function, to arranging the speech of the new Academician. For Renovales learned with some misgiving that he must read a speech.
He had come back fatter and merrier, with a greasy, priestly luster. According to Renovales he had brought back all the health of the clerics. The bishop's table with its succulent abundance was a sweet memory for Cotoner. He extolled it and described it, praising those good gentlemen who, like himself, lived free from passion with no other voluptuousness in life than a refined appetite.
Cotoner was away; the servant had gone to the countess's to take her some invitations which she had asked for, at the last minute, for some friends. Renovales decided to dress alone. His son-in-law and daughter were going to come for him at two.
They had agreed on a sum which he was to pay for his lodging, but the priest did not seem to be in any hurry for payment; he would soon give him a commission for a painting for some nuns for whom he was confessor. The eating problem offered still less difficulty for Cotoner.
Renovales rejoiced at the cleverness with which his daughter kept the two young men uncertain and eager about her. She was a terror, a boy in skirts, more manly than either of her worshipers. "I know her, Pepe," he said to Cotoner. "We must let her do what she wants to. The day she decides in favor of one or the other we'll have to marry her at once. She isn't one of the girls to wait.
Cotoner had a hand in everything that concerned the ceremony, delighted to be able to show his influence with the people of the Church. Renovales took charge of the arrangements of the altar, eager to display the touch of an artist even in the least details.
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!
A modern wedding, as Cotoner said, a honeymoon at full speed, without any witness except the discreet back of the chauffeur. The next day they expected to start for a tour of Europe. They would go as far as Berlin; perhaps farther. López de Sosa shook hands with his friends vigorously, like a proud explorer, and went out to look over his car, before leaving.
"Imagine, if that woman would undress; if I could paint her as she certainly is." Cotoner burst into laughter with a look like a knavish friar. "Wonderful, Mariano, a masterpiece. But she won't. I'm sure she would refuse to undress, though I admit she isn't always particular." Renovales shook his fists in protest. "And why won't they? What a rut! What vulgarity!"
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