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And this is what they call a 'boy of talent, a 'young man of promise'! How much better it would have been if you were a dunce like me or your father but a dunce at least who knows how to get a woman if he has to, without making a public ass of himself!" Then he went into detail. Rafael's mother had gone to the old chest to get some money for one of her laborers.
The old lime-trees were gone. Fru Kaas wept. Suddenly she was reminded of something. "Let us go across to the other wing," she said this as if there they would find what was wanting. In the gallery she took Rafael's arm; he grew curious. His father's old rooms had been entirely renovated for him. In everything, both great and small, he recognised his mother's designs and taste.
Being still further gladdened by this fresh discovery, I carried my treasures at once to the Museo; and Don Rafael's enthusiasm over them was as hearty as I could desire. Being so deeply learned in such matters, he was able in the course of a single afternoon to arrive at much of the meaning of my codex; and his rendering of it showed that it possessed a very extraordinary historical value.
How many times in past months his thoughts had lingered on the memory of that same scene! Afternoons, in the Congress, while the Premier on the Blue Bench would be answering the interpellations of the Opposition in sharp incisive tones, Rafael's brain would begin to doze, reduced to jelly, as it were, by the incessant hammering of words, words, words!
The old man seemed to take courage from Rafael's silence. He judged the moment opportune for launching the final attack upon the boy's infatuation. "And then, what a woman! I have been young, like you, Rafael. It's true I didn't know a stylish woman like this one, but, bah! they're all alike. I have had my weaknesses; but I tell you I wouldn't have lifted a finger for this actress of yours!
But the bird had ceased his music when the two lovers awoke in a tight embrace, still in ecstasy from the song of love to which they had fallen asleep. Leonora was resting a dishevelled head on Rafael's shoulder, caressing his neck with an eager, wearied breathing, whispering in his ear, random, incoherent words that still were vibrant with emotion. How happy she was there!
Once, years before, he had been in Italy on a Catholic pilgrimage, entrusted by his mother to the care of a priest from Valencia, who would not think of returning to Spain without paying a visit to don Carlos. A memory of a Venetian calle now came back to Rafael's mind as he traversed the streets of old Alcira shadowy, cramped, sunk deep as wells between rows of high houses.
She did not answer for several moments, and he spoke again. "I know so little of Italy, outside of Venice," he urged. "Those Americans go everywhere and see the whole world." "That is true," his mother answered, "and you may never have such another opportunity to see the Eternal City. You may go," she added finally, to Rafael's great delight. "That is good!
Rafael's companions were listening with as much attention as he; for morbid curiosity is the characteristic of the people of small places, where the keenest pleasure available is that of knowing the private affairs of others intimately. "And now comes the good part," don Andrés continued. "The mad Doctor had two saints: Castelar and Beethoven.
Every mother's son of us swimming in money!" as he guaranteed with his hand upon his heart. But Rafael's gaze was lost in the distant reaches of the Prado, to catch one more fleeting glimpse of a golden head of hair proof of Leonora's presence still! He found it hard to be courteous, even, to this man who, according to authentic rumor, was destined to be his father-in-law.
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