look on his creamy dark face, and he kept pushing back his black moustache from his closed, angry lips.
“Did you see anybody in town?” she asked.
“I saw Don Cipriano—and Doña Carlota, and my boys!”
“Oh, how nice for you! Are they quite well?”
“In excellent health, I believe.”
She laughed suddenly.
“You are still cross,” she said. “Is it about the monkeys still?”
“Señora,” he said, leaning forward, so that his black hair dropped a little on his brow, “in monkeydom, I don’t know who is prince. But in the kingdom of fools, I believe it is I.”
“Why?” she said.
And as he did not answer, she added:
“It must be a comfort to be a prince, even of fools.”
He looked daggers at her, then burst into a laugh.
“Oh, Señora mia! What ails us men, when we are always wanting to be good?”
“Are