t seeing him, without noticing that he was there,
forgetful of everything, an imploring lover, overcame him with the sense
of remorse.

They remained motionless for a long while in silence, leaning on the
rough wooden railing, watching through the colonnade of the trees the
bright, cherry-red sun, as it sank, lighting up the horizon with a blaze
of fire. The leaden clouds, seeing it on the point of death, assailed it
with treacherous greed.

Concha watched the sunset with the interest that a sight but seldom seen
arouses.

"Look at that huge cloud, master. How black it is! It looks like a
dragon; no, a hippopotamus; see its round paws, like towers. How it
runs! It's going to eat the sun. It's eating it! It has swallowed it
now!"

The landscape grew dark. The sun had disappeared inside of that monster
that filled the horizon. Its waving back was edged with silver, and as
if it could not hold the burning star; it broke below, pouring out a
rain of pale rays. Then, burned by this digestion, it vanished in smoke,
was torn into black tufts, and once more the red disc appeared, bathing
sky and earth with gold, peopling the water of the pools with restless
fiery fishes.

Renovales, leaning on the railing with one elbow beside the countess,
breathed her subtle fragrance, felt the warm touch of her firm body.

"Let's go back, master," she said with a suggestion of uneasiness in her
voice. "I feel cold. Besides, with a companion like you, it's impossible
to stay still."

And she hastened her step, realizing from her experience with men the
danger of remaining alone with Renovales. His pale, excited face warned
her that he was likely to make some reckless, impetuous advance.

In the square of Cano Gordo they passed a couple going slowly down the
hill, very close together, not yet daring to walk arm in arm, but ready
to put their arms around each other's waists as soon as they disappeared
in the next path. The young man carried his cloak under his arm, as
proudly as a gallant in the old comedies; she, small and pale, without
any beauty except that of youth, was wrapped in a poor cloak and walked
with her simple eyes fixed on her companion's.

"Some student with his girl," said Renovales. "They are happier than we
are, Concha."

"We are getting old, master," she said with feigned sadness, excluding
herself from old age, loading the whole burden of years on her
companion.

Renovales turned toward her in a final outburs