Hillel was a little
philosophical, had read Voltaire, and, free from prejudices, conceived
himself capable of forming correct opinions. He listened smiling and in
silence to Eva asserting the splendour and superiority of their race,
and sighing for the restoration of their national glory, and then
would say, in a whisper to a friend, and with a glance of epigrammatic
airiness, 'For my part, I am not so sure that we were ever better off
than we are.'
He stopped and conversed with Therese Laurella, who at first was
unbending, but when she found that he was a Besso, and had listened to
one or two anecdotes which indicated personal acquaintance not only
with ambassadors but with ambassadors' ladies, she began to relax. In
general, however, the rest of the ladies did not speak, or made only
observations to each other in a hushed voice. Conversation is not the
accomplishment of these climes and circles. They seemed content to
show their jewels to their neighbours. There was a very fat lady, of
prodigious size, the wife of Signor Yacoub Picholoroni, who was also a
consul, but not a consul-general _in honorem_. She looked like a huge
Chinese idol; a perpetual smile played upon her immense good-natured
cheeks, and her little black eyes twinkled with continuous satisfaction.
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