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The honeymoon waned, and both the Flemish gentleman and the Cuban wife, once they had settled down again to a tranquil existence, agreed that they were not a congenial, well-matched couple. He was devoted to the simple, methodical life, to the music of Beethoven and to meals prepared with cows’ butter; she, on the other hand, was fond of a wild time, of gadding about the fashionable promenades; she loved a dry, hot climate, the music of Chueca, light meals and dishes made with oil.

These divergencies of taste in small matters, piling up, thickening, in time clouded completely the love of the baron and his wife. She could not let pass calmly the cold, tranquilly ironic remarks that her husband made concerning the sweet-potatoes, the oil and the accent of the southern peoples. The baron, in turn, was piqued to hear his wife speak scornfully of the greasy women who devote themselves to cramming down butter. The rivalry between oil and butter, embroiling itself, interweaving itself with their other affairs of greater importance, assumed such proportions that the couple reached the point of excitement and hatred leading to a separation. The baron remained in Antwerp dedicating himself to his artistic predilections and to his buttered toast, while the baroness came to Madrid, where she could give free rein to her fondness for fruit and oily food.