s day they would
receive with a condescending mien some present from Cotoner--a "little
daub," a landscape painted on a piece of wood, that often needed an
explanation before they could understand what it was meant for.

At dinners he was a constant source of amusement for these people of
solid principles and measured words, with his stories of the strange
doings of the "Monsignori" or the "Eminences" he used to know in Rome.
They listened to these jokes with a sort of unction, however dubious
they were, seeing that they came from such respectable personages.

When the round of invitations was interrupted by illness or absence, and
Cotoner lacked a place to dine, he stayed at Renovales' house without
waiting for an invitation. The master wanted him to live with them, but
he did not accept. He was very fond of the family; Milita played with
him as if he were an old dog, Josephina felt a sort of affection for
him, because his presence reminded her of the good old days in Rome. But
Cotoner, in spite of this, seemed to be somewhat reluctant, divining the
storms that darkened the master's life. He preferred his free existence,
to which he adapted himself with the ease of a parasite. After dinner
was over, he would listen to the weighty discussions between learned
priests and serious old church-goers, nodding his approval, and an hour
later he would be jesting impiously in some cafe or other with painters,
actors and journalists. He knew everybody; he only needed to speak to an
artist twice and he would call him by his first name and swear that he
loved and admired him from the bottom of his heart. When Renovales came
into the studio, he shook off his drowsiness and stretched out his short
legs so that he could touch the floor and get out of the chair.

"Did they tell you, Mariano? A magnificent dish! I made them an
Andalusian pot-pourri! They were tickled to death over it!"

He was enthusiastic over his culinary achievement as if all his merits
were summed up in this skill. Afterwards, while Renovales was handing
his coat and hat to the servant who followed him, Cotoner with the
curiosity of an intimate friend who wants to know all the details of his
idol's life, questioned him about his luncheon with the foreigner.

Renovales lay down on a divan deep as a niche, between two bookcases and
lined with piles of cushions. As they spoke of Tekli, they recalled
friends in Rome, painters of different nationalities who twenty yea