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    â€œShe won’t live in a harem, I can assure you. I have four wives and four grown-up children. I have married because it is the custom in my country, a custom that I cannot go against. I cannot divorce any of my four wives because it is my duty to make sure they lack for nothing for as long as they live. That is the tradition, and as sovereign of my people, I have to stick by it. But in fact I live alone, and if I want to marry your daughter it is to share my life with her. She will live in Western style in her own palace, with me. She can come back to Europe as often as she likes. I beg you to understand this, and I also beg you to explain it to Anita. If she accepts the situation, I will do everything in my power to make her happy.”
    Doña Candelaria left the Hotel Paris rather troubled. The certainty of the previous days had been rocked by the raja, who seemed like a well-bred man and spoke so sincerely. Now she was floundering in a sea of doubts, so she went into the Café de Levante. “All the money that Moorish king is offering for my Anita is quite a temptation,” she told Valle-Inclán. “But what about her honor?” she repeated. The Delgados had an obsession with honor, because that was all they had left. “What Anita should do is get married in Europe before she goes to India,” insisted Valle-Inclán, who had spent some time and effort investigating the raja. The results of his inquiries revealed that he was an extremely rich man, who ruled over the life and death of his subjects in a state in the north of India, and who had a reputation for being fair, compassionate, cultivated, a lover of progress, and “Westernized.” “It’s an opportunity Anita cannot afford to miss,” insisted the famous writer.
    The following day, May 31, the streets of Madrid were decked out in celebration: firecrackers, rockets, bells, laughter, shouts … The sun was shining brightly and the temperature was delightful. From the windows hung tapestries and decorations of flowers with coats of arms and good wishes for the king and the queen. When she went to the hotel with her parents, Anita felt as though all the people of Madrid knew each other personally, so intense was the common feeling of taking part in the same celebrations. Not only had the raja lent them his rooms so that they could watch the parade after the religious ceremony, but he had also ensured they would have as many sweets and cakes and as much coffee as they liked. “The ‘Moorish king’ is definitely a sensitive person,” said Doña Candelaria with a bun in her mouth.
    Anita watched the parade from the hotel balcony: horses with ceremonial harnesses, soldiers with showy uniforms, decorated carriages … It seemed as though the crowd trembled in anticipation. Heads were lifted to see better.
    â€œHere they come! Here they come!”
    To the sound of the “Royal March,” the carriage with the newlyweds came close to the corner of the Hotel Paris and the Puerta del Sol. The ringing of the bells mixed with the applause and shouts of good wishes. Women with white mantillas cheered from the balconies. From behind the windows of the carriage the king and queen waved and smiled happily. They were husband and wife now. A foreign princess had just become queen of Spain—and it was a love match. Could I be a princess on a foreign throne? Anita suddenly wondered. It was the first time that idea went through her head, and she reproached herself for it. But she loved the fervor of the crowds, that procession among a people that proclaimed its faith and love for a princess it hardly knew. How lovely it is to feel flattered and loved by so many people! thought the girl, giving free rein to her dreams, unable to hold them back. When the procession had gone into Calle Mayor, Anita went back into the suite, her eyes tired with so much sun. Inside, everything was calm and an