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 in a few years they 'll be dead or crazy. Captain Dis opposed to their marrying, and the insanity of the uncle is appearing in the nieces. That 's the Señorita E, the rich heiress whom the world and the conventos are disputing over. Hello, I know that fellow! It 's Padre Irene, in disguise, with a false mustache. I recognize him by his nose. And he was so greatly opposed to this!"

The scandalized novice watched a neatly cut coat disappear behind a group of ladies.

"The Three Fates!" went on Tadeo, watching the arrival of three withered, bony, hollow-eyed, wide-mouthed, and shabbily dressed women. "They're called—"

"Atropos?" ventured the novice, who wished to show that he also knew somebody, at least in mythology.

"No, boy, they 're called the Weary Waiters—old, censorious, and dull. They pretend to hate everybody—men, women, and children. But look how the Lord always places beside the evil a remedy, only that sometimes it comes late. There behind the Fates, the frights of the city, come those three girls, the pride of their friends, among whom I count myself. That thin young man with goggle-eyes, somewhat stooped, who is wildly gesticulating because he can't get tickets, is the chemist S, author of many essays and scientific treatises, some of which are notable and have captured prizes. The Spaniards say of him, ‘There's some hope for him, some hope for him.' The fellow who is soothing him with his Voltairian smile is the poet T, a young man of talent, a great friend of mine, and, for the very reason that he has talent, he has thrown away his pen. That fellow who is trying to get in with the actors by the other door is the young physician U, who has effected some remarkable cures—it's also said of him that he promises well. He's not such a scoundrel as Pelaez but he's cleverer and slyer still. I believe that he'd shake dice with death and win."

"And that brown gentleman with a mustache like hog-bristles?"