ld man.

If Rafael was depending on the sympathy of an audience to encourage him,
things looked promising indeed! The hall began to empty. Why not? Who is
interested in a committee's reply to the Opposition? Besides, Brull had
a bundle of documents on hand. A long-winded affair! Let's escape!
Deputies filed by in line across the semi-circle in front of him; while
above, in the galleries, the desertion was general. The caramel-chewers,
noting that the display of celebrities was over for the day, rose from
their places. Their coaches were ready outside for a ride through the
Castellana. That strange woman in the diplomatic gallery had also risen
to go. But no: she was giving her hand to her companion, bidding him
good-bye. Now she had resumed her seat, continuing the busy movement of
her fan that annoyed Rafael so. Thanks for the compliment, my fair one I
Though as far as he was concerned, the whole audience might have gone,
leaving only the president and the mace-bearers. Then he could speak
without any fear at all! The public galleries, especially, unnerved him.
Nobody had moved there. Those workingmen were without doubt waiting for
the rebuttal of his answer from their venerable spokesman. Rafael felt
that the swarthy heads above all those dirty blouses and shirt-fronts
without collars or neckties were eyeing him with stony coldness. "Now
we'll see what this ninny has got to say!"

Rafael began with a eulogy on the immaculate character, the political
importance and the profound learning of that venerable septuagenarian
who still had strength to battle consistently and nobly for the lost
cause of his youth. An exordium of this nature was the regular
procedure. That was how "the Chief" did things. And as he spoke,
Rafael's eyes turned anxiously upon the clock. He wanted to be long,
very long. If he did not talk for an hour and a half or two hours he
would feel disgraced. Two hours was the least to be expected from a man
of his promise. He had seen party chiefs and faction leaders go it for a
whole afternoon, from four to eight, hoarse and puffing, sweating like
diggers in a sewer, with their collars wilted to rags, watching the
great hall-clock with the intentness of a man waiting to be hanged.
"Still an hour left before closing time!" a speaker's friends would say.
And the great orator, like a wearied horse, but a thoroughbred, would
find new energy somewhere and start on another lap, round and round,
repeating what he