enthusiastic applause.

Pablito, who had spent a month in Madrid the previous year, made light of the performance and winked knowingly at his friend in the front row of the stalls. Then, to show how boring he found it all, he ended by turning his back on the stage, and leveling his opera-glass at the local beauties. Every time that the Russian-leather lorgnette was turned on one of the fair sex the girl trembled slightly, changed her position, and raised her hand, which slightly shook, to adjust her hair, smiled meaninglessly at her mama or sister, settled herself afresh, and fixed her eyes on the stage with insistence and decision, but a quick shy glance was soon raised to those round, bright glasses directed at her, and she ended by blushing.

Then Pablito, having carried his point, turned his attention to another beauty. He knew them all as well as if they were his sisters, he thee'd and thou'd the majority of them, and to several he had even been engaged; but he was as light and inconsistent in his love affairs as a feather in the air; the girls had all had to undergo the painful process of disillusion, and finally, wearied of courting his neighbors, he proceeded to exercise his charms on some of the visitors to Sarrio, only, of course, to throw them over, if they imprudently stayed more than a month or two in the town.

There were weighty reasons for Pablito's power to thus make havoc at his own sweet will in the hearts of all the girls of the place, as well as of those from other parts.

He was a very aristocratic-looking young fellow of four or five and twenty, of a handsome, manly countenance, and slight well-formed figure. Then, he rode splendidly, and drove a tilbury or drag and four with an ease only seen in Sarrio among coachmen. When wide trousers were worn, Pablito's looked like skirts, and when tight ones were the fashion his legs looked as slender as a stork's. When high collars were in vogue, Pablito went about half-strangled with his tongue hanging out, and when low ones came in, he had them cut down to his breastbone.

These and other striking characteristics made him irresistible. Perhaps some people will not quite credit the universal admiration he excited, but I am certain that the girls of the province who read this story will testify to the truth of the fact.

CHAPTER II

THE PERFORMANCE CONTINUES

WHEN the curtain fell, a bent old man with spectacles and a long white beard crept, rather than walked, to the Belinchons' box.

"Don Mateo! You never miss a performance," exclaimed Doña Paula.

"Well, what would you have me do at home, Papulina?"

"Tell your beads and go to bed," said Venturita.

Don Mateo smiled benignantly and answered the pert remark by giving the girl an affectionate tap on her cheek.

"It is true I ought to do so, my child—but what is to be done? If I go to bed early I do not sleep—and then I can not resist the temptation of seeing you pretty little dears."

Venturita's coquettish expression betrayed her satisfaction at seeing herself admired.

"Now, if you were a handsome young man!"

"I have been one."

"In what year was that?"

"How naughty! how naughty the child is!" exclaimed Don Mateo, laughing; but he was here interrupted by a fit of coughing which lasted for some minutes.

Don Mateo, an old man, and decrepit not only with age, but with infirmities brought on by a dissipated life, was the delight of the town of Sarrio. No festivity and no public or private entertainment could take place without him. He had been president of the Lyceum, a dancing club, for many years, and nobody thought of having him supplanted. He was also president of an academy of music, of which he was the founder; he was treasurer of the artisans' club; the rebuilding of the theatre now mentioned was due to him; and as an acknowledgment of the time and money he spent on it, the company permitted him to have the box, already alluded to, in the alcove under the staircase, enclosed with curtains.

He lived on his pension as colonel; he was married, and had a daughter over thirty years of age, who still went by the name of "the child." It must not be thought by this that Don Mateo was a skittish old man. If he had been, the weaker sex would not have been so profuse in their sympathy and respect for him. His sole pleasure was to see other people amused and happy about him, and he spared himself neither trouble nor efforts in getting up any fresh entertainment. Once his mind was set upon a new idea, his energy never flagged. Sometimes he organized a country ball; another time he had a stage put up in the large room of the Lyceum, and got up a play; and he occasionally chartered a mountebank or musical company. If a week went by without Sarrio having some entertainment or other, Don Mateo was in a great state of mind, and had no rest until he had started something.

Thanks to him, we can safely say that at this period there was no place in Spain where life was rendered so easy and pleasant as at Sarrio, for a constant round of simple amusements engenders union and friendliness among the townsfolk. Moreover, Don Mateo was a professional peace-maker, for he made a point of smoothing away all the bad feelings and misunderstandings that always crop up in a town. Unlike bad persons who delight in fanning the flame of dissension, he found delight in repeating to people all the pleasant things he heard of them.

"Pepita, do you know what Doña Rosario said just now about the dress you have on?—that it is most elegant, exquisite, and tasteful."

Whereupon Pepita, filled with pride as she sat in her box, cast quite an affectionate glance at Doña Rosario, little as she liked her.

Then, again, "How well you managed Villamor's chocolate business for the widow and children, friend Eugenio—you did, indeed. Don Rosendo was just telling me he let the business slip through his fingers like a fool."

As Don Rosendo was the best man of business in the town, Don Eugenio could not help feeling flattered at these words.

After chatting for some little time with the Belinchon family, Don Mateo took leave, to prosecute, as usual, his visits to the other boxes; but before going he turned to Cecilia, and said:

"When does he arrive?"

The young girl flushed slightly, and replied:

"I can not tell you, Don Mateo."

Then Doña Paula, smiling mischievously, came to her daughter's rescue, by saying:

"He ought to arrive in the 'Bella Paula,' which sailed from Liverpool."

"Oh! then we shall be having him here to-morrow or next day. You have prayed a good deal to the Virgin de las Tormentas—the Virgin of the Storms—eh?"

"She has actually had a nones—six candles have been burning for days before the image," said Venturita.

Cecilia's blush deepened, and she smiled. She was a young woman of twenty years of age, neither beautiful in face nor graceful in figure; the harmony of her features was spoiled by her nose being too aquiline. Without this drawback she would not have been plain, for her eyes were extremely good—so soft and expressive that few beauties could rival them. She was neither tall nor short, but rather thin, and her shoulders slightly bent. Her sister Venturita was sixteen years of age, and as full of grace and beauty as a lovely flower. Her oval cheeks seemed made of roses and pinks; she was somewhat small, but so perfectly made that she looked like a wax model. Her jasmine-like hands and her fairy-like feet were the talk of Sarrio.

The softness and smoothness of her skin were like mother-of-pearl and alabaster; her creamy forehead, high and narrow as that of a Greek Venus, was shaded by fair curls; and rich, abundant golden tresses covered her shoulders and fell below her waist.

"You may laugh at your sister, little one;