Don Esteban was enchanted, while the count talked politics, comparing Don Francisco Silvela to the ancient heretics, Piy Margall to Simon Magus, and Don Carlos to Antichrist. In fact, he found his little word for everything. The all ate heartily and then begged Antoñito to strike up some gay dances between the coffee and omber.
As the marchioness received only men at her house, she allowed a certain freedom that caused the evening to pass very pleasantly. And just at the end of the repast, as the chaplain was referring in highly eulogistic terms to the charity festival organized by her the previous week, the lady herself observed:
"Apropos, I must request a favor of you gentlemen.”
All present hastened to give their consent, be the petition what it might.
"You are well aware, gentlemen," continued the marchioness, "that I am not at all in the habit of annoying my friends with direct appeals for aid in my charities. I prefer asking them to take a fauteuil at the theater, a ticket for a raffle, or a box at a concert: but this evening, before you take your leave, I shall place you all under contribution."
Very slightly did each one wince; yet wince each one did, albeit for an instant only.
"Agreed!" "Is that all!" "Whatsoever your highness wishes!" "Always doing good!" were some of the exclamations that followed. But the marchioness had not said her last word.
"It concerns an unfortunate," she went on, "who has applied to me for help, and I rely
