"What age
was the Rosita that you knew?"
"Well, I'll tell you; I was in Paris in '68; had a contract with the
Empress Circus. At that time I was a contortionist and they called me
the Snake-Man; then I became an equilibrist and adopted the name of
Don Alonso. Alonso is my name. After four months of that Perez and
I--Perez was the greatest gymnast in the world--went to America, and
two or three years later we met Rosita, who must have been about
twenty-five or thirty at that time."
"So that the Rosita you're talking about should be sixty-odd years old
today," computed Roberto. "The one I'm looking for can't be more than
thirty at most."
"Then she's not the one. Caramba, how sorry I am!" murmured Don
Alonso, seizing the glass of coffee and milk and raising it to his
lips as if he feared it were going to be wrested from him. "And what a
sweet little girl she was! She had eyes as green as a cat's. Oh, she
was a pretty chit, a peach."
Roberto had sunk into meditation; Don Alonso continued his chatter,
turning to Manuel:
"There's no life like a circus artist's," he exclaimed. "I don't know
what your profession is, and I don't want to disparage it; but if
you're looking for art.... Ah, Paris, the Empress Circus,--I'll never
forget them! Of course, Perez and I had luck; we created a furore
there, and I needn't mention what that means.
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