Before Villegas came to Madrid, and took Don Jaime under his wing, the Don often had no dinner--so he confided to Patsy. One does not exactly dine when one spends two cents a day for food. “Under such circumstances,” the Don said, “it is best to invest all your money in bread of the day before; it costs less than fresh bread, and goes farther.”
While we were still at table, there came a tremendous ringing at the door-bell. There was a lull in the conversation as Gil opened the front door. “A message and a box from the bedchamber of the King for Don José!” cried a loud voice in the hall outside.
“Put down the box. Don José is dining,” Gil replied firmly.
“Give him the message then as I give it to thee. Here are the pantaloons of his Majesty the King. They must be returned by the fifteenth of the month, when his Majesty wishes to wear them.”
“I am painting the King’s portrait,” said Villegas; “as he is not very fond of posing they have sent me the clothes to work from before the next sitting.”
“The Infanta’s wedding is on the eighteenth,” said Lucia; “perhaps they are wanted for that. Be sure nothing happens to them at the studio.”
It was nearly twelve when the Bohemian, the first to make the move, rose to go. They keep late hours in Madrid, even later than in Paris. Don Carlos was reproved for breaking up the party so early.
“I promised,” he said by way of excuse, “to be at the Countess Q’s for midnight mass.”
“I should not have thought that _misa del gallo_--cockcrow mass was exactly in your line!” said Don Jaime. “You grow devout with years!”
“Ah, well--I know the music will be good, they will give selections from Carmen. Besides, I promised I would stay and help them out with the supper and dance after the mass.”
Just then Gil brought in a curiously shaped old bottle covered with dust and cobwebs.
“Try this before you go,” said Villegas; “it is Trafalgar 1805, the year of the great vintage of Jerez and of the great battle.” He himself poured out the wine, with greatest care not to shake the bottle.
“It is good enough,” said the Bohemian, with another of his grand bows, “to drink to Doña Lucia’s health, and,” raising his glass, “to the portrait of the King.”
“The portrait of the King!” We drank the toast standing.