as few were to be seen there, a murmur of voices prevailed amid
suppressed laughter and clouds of tobacco smoke. They discussed the
merits of the players and talked scandal, wondering if his Excellency
had quarreled with the friars, if his presence at such a show was
a defiance or mere curiosity. Others gave no heed to these matters,
but were engaged in attracting the attention of the ladies, throwing
themselves into attitudes more or less interesting and statuesque,
flashing diamond rings, especially when they thought themselves the
foci of insistent opera-glasses, while yet another would address a
respectful salute to this or that señora or señorita, at the same time
lowering his head gravely to whisper to a neighbor, "How ridiculous
she is! And such a bore!"

The lady would respond with one of her most gracious smiles and an
enchanting nod of her head, while murmuring to a friend sitting near,
amid lazy flourishes of her fan, "How impudent he is! He's madly in
love, my dear."

Meanwhile, the noise increased. There remained only two vacant
boxes, besides that of his Excellency, which was distinguished by
its curtains of red velvet. The orchestra played another waltz, the
audience protested, when fortunately there arose a charitable hero to
distract their attention and relieve the manager, in the person of
a man who had occupied a reserved seat and refused to give it up to
its owner, the philosopher Don Primitivo. Finding his own arguments
useless, Don Primitivo had appealed to an usher. "I don't care to,"
the hero responded to the latter's protests, placidly puffing at his
cigarette. The usher appealed to the manager. "I don't care to," was
the response, as he settled back in the seat. The manager went away,
while the artillerymen in the gallery began to sing out encouragement