yet she had already found suitors. Nineteen-year-old
Sanchez did not indeed care for her hand, but merely for her love, and
when it began to grow dusk, he stationed himself on the balcony which he
had discovered, made signs to her, and flung flowers or bonbons on her
table.

"She is still coy," said the young Spaniard, telling Ulrich to wait at
the narrow door, which opened upon the balcony. "There sits the angel!
Just look! I gave her the pomegranate blossom in her magnificent
hair--did you ever see more beautiful tresses? Take notice! She'll soon
melt; I know women!"

Directly after a bouquet of roses fell into the embroiderer's lap.
Carmen uttered a low cry, and perceiving Sanchez, motioned him away with
her head and hand, finally turning her back upon him.

"She's in a bad humor to-day," said Sanchez; "but I beg you to notice
that she'll keep my roses. She'll wear one to-morrow in her hair or on
her bosom; what will you wager?"

"That may be," answered Ulrich. "She probably has no money to buy any
for herself."

To be sure, the next day at twilight Carmen wore a rose in her hair.

Sanchez exulted, and drew Ulrich out upon the balcony. The beauty
glanced at him, blushed, and returned the fair-haired boy's salutation
with a slight bend of the head.

The gate-keeper's little daughter was a pretty child, and Ulrich had no
fear of doing what Sanchez ventured.

On the third day he again accompanied him to the balcony, and this time,
after silently calling upon the "word," pressed his hand upon his heart,
just as Carmen looked at him.

The young girl blushed again, waved her fan, and then bent her little
head so low, that it almost touched the embroidery.

The next evening she secretly kissed her fingers to Ulrich.

From this time the young lover preferred to seek the balcony without
Sanchez. He would gladly have called a few tender words across, or sung
to his lute, but that would not do, for people were constantly passing
to and fro in the court-yard.

Then the thought occurred to him, that he could speak to the fair one by
means of a picture.

A small panel was soon found, he had plenty of brushes and colors to
choose from, and in a few minutes, a burning heart, transfixed by an
arrow, was completed. But the thing looked horribly red and ugly, so
he rejected it, and painted--imitating one of Titian's angels, which
specially pleased him--a tiny Cupid, holding a heart in his hand.

He had learned many t