“Ah! Yes, it is she who makes me have such good habits.”
This said, he left the drawing-room and went quickly down the stairs. The cool night air made him shiver, and he went with a heavy, aching head to his hotel, and got to bed. He slept very profoundly, but not for more than an hour, and woke up sweaty and thirsty. His headache was gone. It was not yet past eleven. He lighted the light, and sitting up in bed, set to thinking over the probabilities of success in his undertaking.
Meanwhile he stared at the red chrysanthemum which was in the button-hole of his coat, and remembered Amparito.
“That child is a prodigy of coquetry and bad bringing-up,” he thought with vexation; “these emancipated small town young ladies are more unattractive than any others. I prefer Don Calixto’s daughter, who at least is naively and unobjectionably stupid. But this other one is unsupportable.”
Without knowing why, he felt more antipathy for the girl than was natural under the circumstances. He did not like to admit it to himself; but he felt the hostility which is produced in strong, self-willed characters by the presence of another person with a strong character proposing to exert itself.
THE TWO FRIENDS’ COMMENTS
Cæsar was thinking over the details of the visit, when Alzugaray came home, and seeing a light in Cæsar’s room, went in there. Alzugaray was quite lively. The two friends passed the persons met that day in ironic review, and in general they were agreed about everything, except about valuing Amparito’s character.
Cæsar found her distasteful, pert and impertinent; to his friend, on the contrary, she had seemed very attractive, very amiable and very clever.
“To me,” said Cæsar, “she appears one of these small town lasses who have a flirtation with a student, then with a captain, and finally marry some rich brute, and get fat, and turn into old sows, and grow moustaches.”
“In that I think you are fundamentally unjust,” said Alzugaray. “Amparito is not a small town lass, for she lives in Madrid almost all year. Besides, that makes no difference; what I have not observed is her committing any folly or impertinence.” “Dear man, it all depends on how you look at it. To me her conduct seemed bad, to you it seems all right.”