him, I won't object. The important thing in such
matters is that they should be congenial to each other. He's a good boy;
I could almost give him my blessing. But I suspect that when the
sensation of novelty has worn off, he will go back to his fads and poor
Milita will be jealous of those machines that are eating up the greater
part of his fortune."

Sometimes, before the light died out in the afternoon, Renovales excused
his model, if he had one, and laying aside his brushes went out of the
studio. When he came back, he would have on his coat and hat.

"Pepe, let's take a walk."

Cotoner knew where this walk would land them.

They followed the iron fence of the Retiro and went down the Calle de
Alcala, walking slowly among the groups of strollers, some of whom
turned round behind them to point out the master. "That taller one is
Renovales, the painter." In a few minutes, Mariano hastened his step
with nervous impatience, he stopped talking and Cotoner followed him
with an ill-humored expression, humming between his teeth. When they
reached the Cibeles, the old painter knew that their walk was nearly
over.

"I'll see you to-morrow, Pepe, I'm going this way. I've got to see the
countess."

One day, he did not limit himself to this brief leave-taking. After he
had gone a few steps, he came back toward his companion and said
hesitatingly:

"Listen, if Josephina asks you where I went, don't say anything. I know
that you are prudent but she is always worried. I tell you this so as to
avoid any trouble. The two women don't get along together very well.
Some woman's quarrel!"

II

At the opening of spring, when Madrid was beginning to think good
weather had really come, and people were impatiently getting out their
summer clothes, there was an unexpected and treacherous return of winter
that clouded the sky and covered with a coat of snow the muddy ground
and the gardens where the first flowers of spring were beginning to
sprout.

There was a fire once more in the fireplace in the drawing-room of the
Countess of Alberca, where all the gentlemen who formed her coterie
gathered to keep warm on days when she was "at home," not having a
meeting to preside over or calls to make.

When Renovales came one afternoon, he spoke enthusiastically of the view
of Moncloa, covered with snow. He had just been there, a beautiful
sight, the woods, buried in wintry silence, surprised by the white
shroud when they were be