THE MARQUESA DE MONTEMAYOR
thought that my words were intended to be disrespectful to Your Grace.”
“To me?”
“Your Grace is not offended at her humble servant? Your Grace is aware that a poor actress in my position may be carried beyond her intentions . . . that it is very difficult . . . that everything. . . .”
“How can I be offended, señora? All that I can remember is that you gave a beautiful performance. You are a great artist. You should be happy, happy. My handkerchief, Pepita. . . .”
The Marquesa brought out these words very rapidly and vaguely, but the Perichole was confounded. A piercing sense of shame filled her. She turned crimson. At last she was able to murmur:
“It was in the songs between the acts of the comedy. I was afraid Your Grace . . .”
“Yes, yes. I remember now. I left early. Pepita, we left early, did we not? But, señora,
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