Exquisitely attired in a perfectly ravishing costume, Madame Jean
Bonaffé replied to my compliments by a charming smile, and a pretty
glance from her fine Spanish eyes, which showed me clearly that she was
troubled by no remnants of that sudden indisposition which the too
unexpected encounter with my uncle had produced.

Our conversation turned upon the play. As she spoke French rather badly
(although she understood it very well), she asked my uncle from time to
time to tell her the words she was in need of. This he did, pronouncing
them with grammatical deliberation, and then leaving us to talk alone,
while he surveyed the audience like one superior to such frivolities as
feminine smalltalk.

My companion was very gay, and was crunching bonbons all the time.

I, as you may be sure, was gallant and attentive, and I followed her
example with the bonbons.

My former aunt, Christina de Portero, is at the happy age of between
twenty-eight and thirty. Or, possibly, she is as old as thirty-two. Her
figure is slender and supple, with those bold expansions of the hips
which, in dancing the fandango, make short work of the skirt. Add to
these fascinating details the accurate information with which I have
already supplied you on the subject of her exuberant bust, and you can
picture her very well for yourself.

She has a fine erect head, clear and singularly expressive features, a
warm complexion, a Grecian nose, with quivering nostrils, and a mouth
adorned with pearly teeth, with a soft, black, downy growth on her upper
lip. She is an Andalusian, overflowing with life and spirits, whose
exuberance, however, is tempered by her graceful and truly refined
demeanour. One can guess what a fire of passion smoulders within her.