They were hunting in the Casa de Campo.
Between the colonnades of trees and the green sheets of the meadows, the
water flashed in the sun, bits of ponds, glimpses of canals, pools of
melted snow, like bright trembling edges of huge swords, lost in the
grass.
Renovales hardly looked at the landscape; it had no message for him that
afternoon. He was preoccupied with other things. He saw a smart coupe
come down the avenue, and he left the belvedere to go to meet it. She
was coming! But the coupe passed by him, slowly and majestically without
stopping and he saw through the window an old lady wrapped in furs, with
sunken eyes and distorted mouth, trembling with old age, her head
bobbing with the movement of the carriage. It disappeared in the
direction of the little church beside the palace and the painter was
alone again.
No! She would not come! His heart began to tell him that there was no
use waiting.
Some little girls, with battered shoes, and straight greasy hair that
floated around their necks, began to run about the square. Renovales did
not see where they came from. Perhaps they were the children of the
guardian of the palace.
A guard came down the avenue with his gun hanging from his shoulder, and
his horn at his side. Beyond approached a man in black, who looked like
a servant, escorted by two huge dogs, two majestic bluish-gray Danes,
that walked with a dignified bearing, prudent and moderate but proud of
their terrifying appearance.
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