belonged to the Tamanes, Albas, or Medinacelis. Left a widower at twenty-five, he spent his wife's fortune right merrily, and has now nearly reached the bottom of his purse, although he is not willing to acknowledge the fact, and his tailor has undertaken to make him appear to be wealthy. His good humor and his smart speeches make him popular in fashionable, or rather in general, society. He enlivens dinner-table talk with tales from real life, and people stand in awe of his sharp tongue. He and Antoñito were at that time the delight of the marchioness's Friday receptions, when they chanced to meet there. Manuel, the old servant, would sometimes peep through the dining-room curtains to listen to them; while even Don Esteban would consent to ignore certain expressions, for the sake of good things that went along with them.
It was eight o'clock when our six friends seated themselves at table. Their conversation embraced a variety of topics, each guest vying with his neighbor in readiness of speech. Antoñito gave a detailed account of the latest bull-fight, and argued over the competency of the Minister of War with Don Fidel. The viscount announced the lecture that he purposed giving on Changes of Linen During the Reign of Constantine, as well as his forthcoming book, The History of the Iconoclasts of la Mancha, and, between turbot sauce câpre and aspic de foie gras (which he ate with elegant voracity), expiated upon Origen and Tertullian and Arius and the Nestorians, not to mention the Council of Nice and the barbarities of the Albigensians.
