Rafael approached, believing, from the carriage, that it still might prove to be a case of an astonishing resemblance.  But no; it was she; the same woman she had always been, as if eight hours and not eight years had passed: 

“Leonora!  You here!...”

She smiled, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to see him again.

“I saw you and heard you.  You did very well, Rafael:  I enjoyed it.”

And grasping his hand in a frank, hearty clasp of friendship, she entered the carriage with a rustle of silk and fine linen.

“Come!  Won’t you step in too?” she asked, smiling.  “Join me for a little drive along the Castellana.  It’s a magnificent afternoon; a little fresh air won’t do any harm after that muggy room.”

Rafael, to the astonishment of the usher, who was surprised to see him in such seductive company, got in; and the carriage rolled off.  There they were, together again, sitting side by side, swaying gently back and forth with the motion of the soft springs.

Rafael was at a loss for words.  The cold, ironic smile of his former lover chilled him.  He was flushed with shame at the thought of how he had treated that beautiful creature the last time they had seen each other.  He wanted to say something, and yet he could not find a way to begin.  The ceremonious, formal usted she had employed in inviting him into the carriage embarrassed him.  At last he ventured, timidly, also avoiding the intimate tu!

“Imagine our meeting here!  What a surprise!”

“I got in yesterday; tomorrow I leave for Lisbon.  A short stop, isn’t it!  Just time for a word with the director of the Real; perhaps I’ll come next winter to sing Die Walkuere here.  But let’s talk about you, illustrious orator....  But I may say tu to you, mayn’t I?” she corrected—­“for I believe we are still friends.”

“Yes, friends, Leonora....  I have never been able to forget you.”

But the feeling he put into the words vanished before the cold smile with which she answered.

“Friends; that’s it,” she said, slowly.  “Friends, and nothing more.  Between us there lies a corpse that prevents us from getting very close to each other again.”

“A corpse?” asked Rafael, not catching her meaning.

“Yes; the love you murdered....  Friends, nothing more; comrades united by complicity in a crime.”

And she laughed with cruel sarcasm, while the carriage turned into one of the avenues of Recoletos.  Leonora looked vacantly out upon the central boulevard.  The rows of iron benches were filled with people.  Groups of children in charge of governesses were playing gaily about in the soft, golden splendor of the afternoon.

“I read in the papers this morning that don Rafael Brull, ’of the Finance Commission,’ if you please, would undertake to speak for the Ministry on the matter of the budget; so I got down on my knees to an old friend of mine, the secretary of the English embassy, and begged him to come and take me to the session.  This coach is his....  Poor fellow!  He doesn’t know you, but the moment he saw you stand up to speak, he took to his heels....  He missed something though; for really, you weren’t half bad.  I’m quite impressed.  Say, Rafael, where do you dig up all those things?”