idence Alicia manifested by dressing so very near him, and in the
complacency shown by the maid when Alicia had told her that Senor
Enrique was taking supper there. These were important details that
roused up his failing heart and made him understand that all this--if
his own cowardice were not too great--might lead to something much more
complete and exquisite than a mere chaste, warm friendship.

Enrique lost himself in pleasant fancies. He remembered many novels in
which the daring and eloquent heroes had taken part in situations quite
parallel to this now confronting him, poor country boy that he was. The
beveled mirror of a clothes-press flung back at him the reflection of
his tall, slim body, his black clothes, his rather poetic face. Pale,
beardless, romantic-looking, why might not he be a hero, too? What
surprises might not destiny have in store for his youthfulness?

To calm himself he began looking at the little bronze and porcelain
figures in the cabinets. There were cowled gnomes, dogs, cats looking
into a little mirror, with astonished grimaces. Then Darles studied the
marble clock and the big vases on the chimney-piece. He examined the
portraits and the little fancy pictures, of slight merit but gaudily
framed, that covered the green wall-paper almost to the ceiling. And in
a kind of analytical way he reflected that these portraits, these little
paintings, these pretty, frivolous furnishings were the aftermath of all
the mercenary love-affairs which had taken place here in this apartment.

His attention was now called to a large collection of picture post-cards
stuck into a Japanese screen. There were dancers, love-making scenes and
all sorts of things. Nearly every card bore the signature of some man,
together with a line or two of dedication. Many of the cards were dated
from Paris--that City of the Sun, beloved by adventurers--while others
had come from America, from Egypt or elsewhere. And all the cards seemed
a kind of incense offered to the beauty of the same woman. Through all
the longings of exile, and from every zone, memories had come back to
her. You might almost have thought the warmth of her flesh had infused a
deathless glow in all those wanderers.

Alicia Pardo came in again, bringing with her a gust of violet perfume.

"Have I kept you waiting long?" asked she. "I hope not. Come on, now,
let's go to the dining-room. If we want to get to the theater in time,
we mustn't lose a minute."