ing in the
roads below, their varnished tops flashing in the sun like fiery mortar
boards. The meadows, the foliage of the woods, everything seemed clean
and bright after the recent storm. The all-pervading green tone, with
its infinite variations from black to yellow, smiled at the touch of the
sun after the chill of the snow. In the distance sounded the constant
reports of shotguns that seemed to tear the air with the intensity that
is common in still afternoons. They were hunting in the Casa de Campo.
Between the colonnades of trees and the green sheets of the meadows, the
water flashed in the sun, bits of ponds, glimpses of canals, pools of
melted snow, like bright trembling edges of huge swords, lost in the
grass.

Renovales hardly looked at the landscape; it had no message for him that
afternoon. He was preoccupied with other things. He saw a smart coupe
come down the avenue, and he left the belvedere to go to meet it. She
was coming! But the coupe passed by him, slowly and majestically without
stopping and he saw through the window an old lady wrapped in furs, with
sunken eyes and distorted mouth, trembling with old age, her head
bobbing with the movement of the carriage. It disappeared in the
direction of the little church beside the palace and the painter was
alone again.

No! She would not come! His heart began to tell him that there was no
use waiting.

Some little girls, with battered shoes, and straight greasy hair that
floated around their necks, began to run about the square. Renovales did
not see where they came from. Perhaps they were the children of the
guardian of the palace.

A guard came down the avenue with his gun hanging from his shoulder, and
his horn at his side. Beyond approached a man in black, who looked like
a servant, escorted by two huge dogs, two majestic bluish-gray Danes,
that walked with a dignified bearing, prudent and moderate but proud of
their terrifying appearance. Not a carriage could be seen. Curses!

Seated on one of the stone benches, the master finally took out the
little notebook that he always carried with him. He sketched the figures
of the children as they ran around the fountain. That was one way to
kill time. One after the other he sketched all the girls, then he caught
them in several groups, but at last they disappeared behind the palace,
going down toward the Cano Gordo. Renovales, having nothing to distract
him, left his seat and walked about, stamping noisil