out. Every other emotion had been shut from his soul by these dazzling
sight-impressions, that had never wearied him. The wonderful, human
garden spread out below him had exhaled rare perfumes. A sensual and
soporific kind of vapor had risen all about him--an incense blent of the
odors of new-mown hay, of jasmine, musk and Parmesan violets, of
daintily-bathed women's flesh, of wonderful lingerie. And he had studied
all this luminous picture, resplendent as the climax of a brilliant
play. Above all he had studied the women, with their sensuous bodies;
their unashamed bosoms that had been the targets of analytical eagerness
through many opera-glasses; their gay and laughing faces, whereof the
beauty had been enhanced by the placid security of wealth. He had
observed their deftly combed and curled little heads, their jewel-laden
hands--hands that had waved big feather-fans to and fro over the gauzy
stuff of their gowns.

Enrique wanted to see all this wonderful world at close range, so he
went down to the foyer. And there he stopped, just a bit ashamed of
himself. For the first time he was beginning to realize that his
out-of-date slouch hat, his skimpy black suit that made him look like a
high-school boy, and his old boots that needed a shine were greatly out
of place. He felt that his flowing necktie, which he had tried to knot
up with student-like carelessness, was just as ugly as all the rest of
him. Correctly dressed men were passing all about him, with elegant
frock-coats that bore flowers in their buttonholes and with impeccable
Tuxedos. Women were regally trailing grosgrain and watered-silk skirts
over the soft, red carpet. It all seemed a majestic symphony of silks,
brocades and splendid furs, of wonderful ankles glimpsed through the
perverse mystery of open-work stockings, of fascinating adornments, of
bracelets whose bangles tinkled their golden song on the ermine
whiteness of soft arms.

Abashed, feeling himself wholly out of place, young Darles
self-consciously strolled over to look at a bust of Gayarre--a bronze
bust that showed the man with short, up-tossed hair. Its energy made one
think of Othello. Quite at once, a hand dropped familiarly on Darles'
shoulder. The young man turned.

"Don Manuel! You? What a surprise!"

Don Manuel was a man of middle height, thick-set and just a trifle bald.
He looked about fifty. A heavy, curling red beard covered his
full-blooded, fleshy, prosperous cheeks and chin. He