gn boards that designated the
various pleasances--the Wood of the Princess, the Garden of San
Antonio, the Queen's Glade. Her tactile curiosity was insatiable, she
trailed her sensitive hands over every strange surface that offered.
Then, with her airy skirt momentarily caught on a spear of bearded
grass, he saw, below her knee, under the white stocking, the
impression of a blade, narrow and wicked. La Clavel had carried a
knife in that manner, many women, he had no doubt, did; but in Pilar
its stealthy subdued gleam affected him unpleasantly. It presented a
sharp mocking contrast to all that, in connection with her, had been
running happily through his mind.

"I thought you were a moth, soft and white," he told her; "but it
appears that you are a wasp in disguise--I hope it won't occur to you
to sting me."

Serenely she resettled her skirt. "Did you look for a scapular? Young
men's eyes should be on the sky." Then she put an arm through his. "It
was never there for you ... a moth soft and white. But I don't care
for that." Her gliding magnetic touch again passed, like the fall of
a leaf, over his cheek. Affecting not to notice it he lighted a thin
cigar; he'd have to watch Pilar de Lima. Or was it himself who needed
care? The feeling of detachment, of security, was pierced by a more
acute emotion, a sensation that resembled the traced point of her
knife. She asked, nearing the place where they were to meet the
quitrin, when she might see him again; and mechanically he suggested
that evening, after the music in the Plaza de Armas.

Returning to Ancha del Norte Street, his face was grave, almost
concerned, but he was made happy by finding Andres Escobar in his
room. Andres, with the window shades lowered, was lounging and smoking
in his fine cambric shirt sleeves. He had a business of routine to
communicate, and then he listened, censoriously, to Charles' account
of his afternoon.

"She is a little devil, of course, with her gartered steel, but she
amuses me. I have the shadow of an idea that she was truthful about de
Vaca; and the ruby would be an excellent joke."

"I cannot approve of any of this," Andres decided; "it has so many
hidden possibilities--the Spaniards are so hellish cunning. To be
candid with you, I can't understand why they have neglected you so
long. You are, Charles, fairly conspicuous. Perhaps it is because they
hope, in the end, to get information from you. In that case, if we
were in danger,