Milita was running over from memory the list of friends of the
family,--prominent ladies who would not fail to honor her approaching
marriage with some magnificent present.

"Concha won't come," said the girl. "It's a long time since she has been
here."

There was a painful silence, as if the countess's name chilled the
atmosphere. Cotoner hummed a tune, pretending to be thinking of
something else; Lopez de Sosa began to look for a piece of music on the
piano, talking about it to change the subject. He too seemed to be aware
of the matter.

"She doesn't come because she doesn't have to come," said Josephina from
her corner. "Your father manages to see her every day, so that she won't
forget us."

Renovales raised his eyes in protest, as if he were awakening from a
calm sleep. Josephina's gaze was fixed on him, not angry, but mocking
and cruel. It reflected the same scorn with which she had wounded him on
that unhappy night. She no longer said anything, but the master read in
those eyes:

"It is useless, my good man. You are mad over her, you pursue her, but
she belongs to other men. I know her of old. I know all about it. Oh,
how people laugh at you! How I laugh! How I scorn you!"

IV

The beginning of summer saw the wedding of the daughter of Renovales to
Lopez de Sosa. The papers published whole columns on the event, in
which, according to some of the reporters, "the glory and splendor of
art were united with the prestige of aristocracy and fortune." No one
remembered now the nickname "Pickled Herring."

The master Renovales did things well. He had only one daughter and he
was eager to marry her with royal pomp; eager that Madrid and all Spain
should know of the affair, that a ray of the glory her father had won
might fall on Milita.

The list of gifts was long. All the friends of the master, society
ladies, political leaders, famous artists, and even royal personages,
appeared in it with their corresponding presents. There was enough to
fill a store. Both of the studios for visitors were converted into show
rooms with countless tables loaded with articles, a regular fair of
clothes and jewelry, that was visited by all of Milita's girl friends,
even the most distant and forgotten, who came to congratulate her, pale
with envy.

The Countess of Alberca, too, sent a huge, showy gift, as if she did not
want to remain unnoticed among the friends of the house. Doctor
Monteverde was represented by a mod