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Updated: June 9, 2025
She was a tall, stately woman, with a charming, well-proportioned figure, who seemed to keep the freshness of youth, thanks to the healthy, comfortable life she led. The corners of her eyes were narrowed with a tired fold. Cotoner looked at her from his seat with chaste calmness, commenting tranquilly on her beauty, feeling above temptation. "It's she, you've caught her, Mariano.
The painter bowed his head, afraid that he would meet Concha's mocking glance. He could hear Josephina's stifled sobs, with her face hidden in the lace of her mantilla. Cotoner felt called upon to second the prelate's praises with discreet words of approval.
No one can judge better." Then he added with the satisfaction of an artist: "Once I could paint only what I saw. Now I am different. It has cost me a good deal, but you shall judge." And in his voice there was the joy of difficulties overcome, the certainty that he had produced a great work. Cotoner came the next day, with the haste of curiosity, and entered the studio closed to others.
Cotoner had gone to Rivoli in the train of a cardinal and the married couple lived in the country accompanied only by a couple of maids and a manservant, who took care of Renovales' painting kit. Josephina was perfectly contented in this retirement, far from Rome, talking with her husband at all hours, free from the anxiety that filled her, when he was working in his studio.
But before Mariano could answer the countess, he felt himself dragged away by Cotoner. What was he doing there? The bride and groom were at the altar; Monsignor was beginning the service; the father's chair was still vacant. And Renovales passed a tiresome half-hour following the ceremonies of the prelate with an absent-minded glance.
Renovales let his daughter lead him; he rested his face on her shoulder, with sublime, dramatic grief, with beautiful, artistic despair, still holding absent-mindedly in his hand the letter of the countess. "Courage, Mariano," said poor Cotoner, his voice choked with tears. "We must be men. Milita, take your father to the studio. Don't let him see her."
"Tell me where she is, Pepe. Take me. I want to see her." He implored with the eagerness of remorse; he wanted to see her once, as soon as possible, like a sinner who fears death and cries for absolution. Cotoner acceded to this immediate trip. She was in the Almudena cemetery, which had been closed for some time. Only those who had long standing titles to a lot went there now.
The cemetery was a hideous, gloomy, repulsive place, with an odor of decay. Renovales thought he could perceive a stench of putrefaction scattered in the wind which bent the pointed tops of the cypresses, and swayed the old wreaths and the branches of the rose bushes. He looked at Cotoner with a sort of displeasure. He was to blame for his coldness.
Cotoner looked at the clock on the Government Building. "Aren't you going to the Alberca woman's house to-night?" Renovales seemed to awaken. Yes, he must go; they expected him. But he was not going. His friend looked at him with a shocked expression, as if he considered it a serious error to scorn a dinner.
Doesn't she remind you of her?" His friend broke out angrily: "You're crazy. What likeness is there between that poor little woman, so good, so sweet and so refined, and this low creature?" Renovales, after several failures which made him doubt the accuracy of his memory, did not dare to consult his friend. As soon as he tried to take him to a new show, Cotoner would draw back.
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