e little fortune
the Doctor got from his parents was gone. Poor dona Pepa, kind old soul,
even disposed of the house--which belonged half to the Doctor and half
to her--sent him every cent of the money, and moved to the orchard. Ever
since then she's been coming in to mass and to Forty Hours in all sorts
of weather. I could learn nothing for certain after that. People lie so,
you see. Some say poor Moreno shot himself because his daughter left him
when she got placed on the stage; others say that he died like a dog in
a poorhouse. The only sure thing is that he died and that his daughter
went on having a great time all over those countries over there. The
way she went it! They even say she had a king or two. As for money! Say,
boys, there are ways and ways of earning it, and ways and ways of
spending it! The fellow who knows all about that side of her is the
barber Cupido. He imagines he's an artist, because he plays the guitar;
and besides he has a Republican grouch, and was a great admirer of her
father's. He's the only one in town who followed all she was up to, in
the papers. They say she doesn't sing under her own name, but uses some
prettier sounding one--foreign, I believe. Cupido is a regular busybody
and you can get all the latest news in his barbershop. Only yesterday he
went to dona Pepa's farmhouse to greet the '_eminent artist_,' as he
calls her. There's no end to what he tells. Trunks in every corner,
enough to pack a house-full of things into, and silk dresses ...
shopfuls of them! Hats, I can't say how many; jewelry-boxes on every
table with diamonds that strike you blind. And she told Cupido to have
the station-agent get a move on and send what was still missing--the
heavier luggage--boxes and boxes that come from way off somewhere--the
other end of the world, and that cost a fortune just to ship.... There
you are!... And why not? The way she earned it!"

Don Andres winking maliciously and laughing like an old faun, gave a sly
nudge at Rafael, who was listening in deep abstraction to the story.

"But is she going to live on here?" asked the young man. "Accustomed as
she is to flitting about the world, do you think she'll be able to stand
this place?"

"Nobody can tell," don Andres replied. "Not even Cupido can find that
out. She'll stay until she gets bored, he says. And to be in less danger
of that, she has brought her whole establishment along on her back, like
a snail."

"Well, she'll be bored so