But Rafael looked uneasily at her cruel smile and refused to accept her praise.  Besides, what did he care about his speech?  It seemed to him that he had been for years and years in that coach; that a whole lifetime had gone by since he left the halls of the Congress.  His gaze was fixed on her in admiration, and his astonished eyes were drinking in the beauty of her face, and of her figure.

“How beautiful you are!” he murmured in impulsive enchantment.  “The same as you were then.  It seems impossible that eight years can have flown by.”

“Yes; I admit that I bear up well.  Time seems not to touch me.  A little longer at the dressing table—­that’s all.  I’m one of the people who die in harness, so to speak, making no concessions, so far as looks go, to old age.  Rather than surrender, I’d kill myself.  I intend to put Ninon de Lenclos in the shade!”

It was true.  Eight years had made not the slightest impression on her.  The same freshness, the same robust, energetic slenderness, the identical flames of arrogant vitality in her green eyes.  Instead of withering under the incessant parching of passion’s flame, she seemed to grow stronger, hardier, in the crucible.

She measured the deputy with sarcastic playfulness.

“Poor Rafael!  I’m sorry I can’t say as much for you.  How you’ve changed!  You look almost like a Knight of the Crown.  You’re fat!  You’re bald!  And those eyeglasses!  Why, I could hardly recognize you in the Chamber.  How my romantic Moor has aged!  You poor dear!  You even have wrinkles!...”

And she laughed, as if it filled her with intense joy, the joy of vengeance, to see her former lover so crestfallen at her portrayal of his decrepitude.

“You’re not happy, are you!  I can see that.  And yet, you ought to be.  You must have married that girl your mother picked for you.  You doubtless have children....  Don’t try to fib to me, just to seem more... what shall I say ... more interesting!  I can see it from the looks of you.  You are the pater familias all over.  I am never mistaken in such things!...  Well, why aren’t you happy?  You have all the requisites for a personage of note, and you will shortly be one.  I’ll bet you wear that sash to hold your paunch in!  You are rich, you make speeches in that horrid, gloomy, cave.  Your friends back home will go into ecstasies when they read the oration their honorable deputy has delivered; and I imagine they’re already preparing fireworks and music for a reception to you.  What more could you ask for?”

And with her eyes half-closed, smiling maliciously, she waited for his reply, knowing in advance what it would be.

“What more can I ask for?  Love; Leonora, the love I once had ... with you.”

And with the vehemence of other days, as if they were still among the orange-trees of the old Blue House, the deputy gave way to his eight years of longing.