ns of jotas and malaguenas, laden with the seductiveness, the
fascination, of sensuous warm life. It was, in its persistence,
mocking; and finally it grew into a bitter undertone to the elevation
of his thought: he wanted, like Savonarola, to bring to an end the
depravity of the city; he wanted to cleanse Havana of everything but
the blanched heavenly ardor of his own dedication. The jotas
continued and the scent of mignonette increased. The moon, slipping
over the sea, shone with a vague brightness on the leaves of the
laurels below, on the whiteness of marble walks, and in the liquid
gleam of fountains. A woman laughed with a note of uncertainty and
passion.... It was all infinitely removed from him, not of the
slightest moment. What rose, dwelt, in Charles was a breath of
eternity, of infinitude; he was lost in a vision of good beyond seasons,
changeless, and for all men whomsoever. It must come, he told himself
so tensely that he was certain he had cried his conviction aloud. The
music sustained its burden of earthly desire to which the harsh
whispering rustle of the palm fronds added a sound like a scoffing
laughter.

* * * * *

At the Plaza de Toros, the following Sunday afternoon, Charles saw La
Clavel; she was seated on an upper tier near the stand of the
musicians, over the entrance for the bulls; and, in an audience
composed almost entirely of men, she was brilliantly conspicuous in a
flaming green manton embroidered in white petals; her mantilla was
white, and Charles could distinguish the crimson blot of the flower by
her cheek. The brass horns and drums of the band were making a rasping
uproar, and the crowded wooden amphitheatre was tense with excitement.
Andres Escobar, beside Charles, was being gradually won from a settled
melancholy; and, in an interested voice, he spoke to Charles about the
espada, Jose Ponce, who had not yet killed a bull in Cuba, but who was
a great hero of the ring in Spain and South America.

"There is La Clavel," Charles said by way of reply; "she is with
Captain Santacilla, and I think, but I can't be sure, the officer
Tirso tried to choke to death. What is his name--de Vaca, Gaspar Arco
de Vaca."

"Even that," Andres answered, "wasn't accomplished. La Clavel's
engagement in Havana is over; I suppose it will be Buenos Aires next.
Do you remember how we swore to follow her all over the world, and
how Tirso wanted to drag her volanta in place of