daughter to bathe her temples with eau de Cologne and apply sal-volatile to her nostrils. When at last she opened her eyes there burst forth a flood of tears that flowed down her cheeks and poured into her lap like a copious rain, some of which moistened my coat. At these symptoms Doña Cristina again opened the little satchel that she carried, that I could see contained numerous little flasks. She took one of these, together with a lump of sugar, and moistened the latter with several drops of liquid. She thrust the sugar into her mother's mouth; that lady gradually recovered her senses and at last was conscious of her whereabouts and of who was with her.

On my part, being the indirect cause of the unfortunate scene, I understood that nothing would be more suitable than for me to throw myself out of the carriage window, even though I should fracture my head; but imagining that the results of such a procedure might be too melancholy, I hit upon a decorous substitute by biting at the head of my cane and staring into vacancy. Doña Cristina did not choose to take cognizance of these tragic manifestations, but they so penetrated the heart of her mamma that the latter seized my hands convulsively, murmuring occasionally:

"Ribot! Ribot! Ribot!"

Fearing that she might again enter into the world of the unconscious, I hastened to take the flask of salts and hold it to her nose.

The rest of the way back, heaven be praised! was traversed without further mishap, and I made desperate efforts to have my foolishness forgotten and forgiven, talking with all formality about various things, principally of those most to the taste of Doña Cristina. At length I was rewarded by seeing her bright face again unclouded and her eyes expressing their accustomed frank joyousness. And, prompted by her humor, she even went so far as to make gracious fun of her mamma.

"Did you know, Captain Ribot, that mamma never swoons except when she is with the family, or among persons in whom she confides? The greatest proof of the sympathy with which you inspire her is that which she has just given."

"Cristina! Cristina!" exclaimed Doña Amparo, half smiling, half indignant.

"Now, be frank, mamma! If Captain Ribot has not won your confidence, how is it you ventured to faint away in his presence?"

Doña Amparo decided to laugh, giving her daughter a pinch. When we parted at the hotel door they invited me to breakfast with them the next day, they having decided to leave for Madrid on the day after that.

It could no longer be doubted; if I was not in love I was on the way to be, with a fair wind and all sails set. Why was it that this woman had impressed me so profoundly in so short a time? I do not think it was merely her figure, although it coincided with the ideal type of beauty that I had always adored. If I had fallen in love with all the white and slender women with dark eyes that I had met in the course of my life, there would not have remained any time to do anything else. But she had a special attractiveness, at least for me, which consisted in a singular combination of joyousness and gravity, of sweetness and brusqueness, of daring and timidity, alternately reflected in her expressive countenance.

The next day, at the appointed time, I presented myself at the hotel. Doña Cristina was in most delightful humor and let me know that we were to breakfast alone, for her mother had not slept well the night before and was still in bed. This filled me with selfish satisfaction, observing her merry mood. Before going to the table she served me an appetizer, graciously ridiculing me.

"Since you always have such a delicate appetite, and look so languishing, I have ordered something bitter for you, to see if we cannot give a little tone to that stomach of yours."

I fell in with the jest.

"I am in despair. I comprehend that it is ridiculous to have such a ready appetite, but I am a man of honor and I confess it. One time when I attempted to conceal it I missed my reckoning. One of my passengers was a certain very charming and spirituelle lady towards whom I felt somewhat favorably disposed. I could think of no better means to inspire her interest than to feign an absolute lack of appetite, naturally accompanied by languor and poetic melancholy. At table I refused the greater part of the dishes. My nourishment consisted of tapioca, vanilla cream, some fruit, and much coffee. Then I complained of weakness, and ordered glasses of sherry with biscuit. Of course I suffered terribly from hunger; but I overcame it finely in solitude. The lady became enthusiastic; she professed for me a profound and sincere admiration, and despised for their grossness all those at the table who were served with more solid nutriment. But, alas! there came a moment when she unexpectedly came down into the dining-saloon and surprised me feasting on cold ham. That ended the affair. She never spoke another word to me."

"She did right," said Doña Cristina, with a laugh. "Hypocrisy is something more shameful than a good appetite."

We began our breakfast, and I gave her to understand that now that she so abhorred hypocrisy I proposed to proceed with all possible frankness.

"That is right! Entirely frank!" And she served me an enormous ration of omelette.

We went on chatting and laughing in undertones, but Doña Cristina did not neglect to serve me with fabulous quantities of food, greater, in truth, than my gastric capacity. I wanted to decline, but she would not permit it.

"Be frank, Captain! You have promised to be entirely frank."

"Señora, this surpasses frankness. Anybody might call it grossness."

"I do not call it so. Go on! Go on!"

But soon, straightening herself back in her chair a bit, and assuming a solemn tone, she spoke:

"Captain, I am now going to treat you as if you had not only saved my mother's life, but mine as well. At one and the same time I wish to pay you for her life and my own."

My eyes opened widely without my comprehending the significance of such words. Doña Cristina rose from her chair and, going to the door, opened it wide. There appeared the maid with a big dish of stewed tripe in her hands.

"Tripe!" I exclaimed.

"Stewed by Señora Ramona," proclaimed Doña Cristina, gravely.

The joke put me in better humor yet. But how short was the duration of that intoxicating delight! When we reached the dessert she informed me, perfectly naturally:

"I have news for you. We are not going to-morrow. My husband is coming for us the day after."

"Yes?" I exclaimed, with the expression of a man who is forced to talk under a shower bath.

"Although the journey is a bit uncomfortable, coming and going again at once, he says that as mamma has probably not yet completely recovered from her shock he does not like to have us travel alone."

Saying this, she took the letter from her pocket and proceeded to look it over. "He also tells me to give you a million thanks and is glad that he is to have a chance to give them to you in person."

I was looking at the back of the letter, but I caught the words of the ending: "Adiós, life of my soul," and it augmented the sadness of my mood. However, I expressed my satisfaction at the prospect of knowing Señor Martí so soon, but it required some effort to say so. As melancholy began to take possession of me, and as Doña Cristina was not slow in perceiving the fact, I found no better means of combating it than to take more cognac after my coffee than was prudent. This produced an exaltation that resembled, without being, joyousness. I chattered away, and must have uttered many ridiculous things and some of them wide of the mark, although I cannot remember. Doña Cristina smiled benevolently. But when, for the fifth or sixth time, I took the decanter to pour out another thimbleful, she touched my arm, saying:

"You are already exceedingly frank,