In the reserved seats, where the ladies seemed to be afraid to venture, 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 senora or senorita, 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 to the usurper.

Our hero, now that he had attracted general attention, thought that to yield would be to lower himself, so he held on to the seat, while he repeated his answer to a pair of guards the manager had called in.  These, in consideration of the rebel’s rank, went in search of their corporal, while the whole house broke out into applause at the firmness of the hero, who remained seated like a Roman senator.

Hisses were heard, and the inflexible gentleman turned angrily to see if they were meant for him, but the galloping of horses resounded and the stir increased.  One might have said that a revolution had broken out, or at least a riot, but no, the orchestra had suspended the waltz and was playing the royal march:  it was his Excellency, the Captain-General and Governor of the islands, who was entering.  All eyes sought and followed him, then lost sight of him, until he finally appeared in his box.  After looking all about him and making some persons happy with a lordly salute, he sat down, as though he were indeed the man for whom the chair was waiting.  The artillerymen then became silent and the orchestra tore into the prelude.