“Come, let us talk of something else,” said Gallardo’s intimate, anxious to change the subject, but glad in his heart, as were all the other guests, of the lesson the braggart had received from so worthy and authorized an antagonist. “It is not possible, Gallardo, that you will allow Lucia to be an irredeemable lien upon you. Let me tell you, my boy, that it would be a pretty piece of folly on your part to create an obstacle to your future establishment.” “I don’t see that--in order to be a deputy, senator, or--” “Oh! you’re on the wrong tack. Your political ideas absorb all your thoughts; but I have been told--by one of her friends--that the daughter of Don Juan de Moneda,[64] the banker, is quite smitten with 193 your person.” Gallardo straightened himself, and caressed his curled locks. “Her mother is completely taken with the title of Marquis de Monte Gallardo, which they say you are about to receive, and her father with your capacity.” “We are even there,” said the general, “for I am as much impressed with his. To buy--” “But,” proceeded the friend, “he is equally so with your sash and rent-roll. Here, boy, is an opportunity to settle in life.” “Really, I hardly know the kind and amiable young lady who has been so condescending as to think of me!” drawled the extremely flattered Gallardo, privately resolving to tighten his stays again. “She is very beautiful,” affirmed his friend, “and you must know that she rides like a Cossack.” “Oh! Athenaïs la Moneda has the most elegant figure and complexion--so pale!--and the fiercest glances” (he meant haughtiest) “of all the belles of Madrid. She is delicious!” exclaimed the Parisian. “She has the neck of a swan, with such _serpentine undulating_,” said Bonifacio, quite at a loss for another comparison. “The most desirable _parte, ma foi_! Her father is worth forty millions, and she is the only daughter,” continued the capitalist, who did not allow his appreciation of beauty to interfere with his devotion to dollars. “You ought to improve your opportunity, and marry at once,” advised the friend. “These girls with forty millions are more capricious than the wind. They change oftener than weather-cocks, and do just as they please; for millionaire fathers who know only the Castilian have the highest consideration for daughters who have learned French from Sue’s novels, and Italian at the opera.” “An heiress’s whim is like a flash of lightning. In losing time, you expose yourself to a--” “To a deception,” said the capitalist, concluding the sentence. “To a _disabusement_,” said the copy, thinking, with profound satisfaction, that he had, for once, surpassed the original. “What is your opinion of all this?” asked Gallardo of his uncle, with a laugh, intended to appear jesting, but which betrayed his interior satisfaction.