ugh the pines and the cypresses
as her proud athletic figure grew smaller in the distance.

The perfume of her presence seemed to linger about him when she had
gone, obsessing him with the atmosphere of superiority and exotic
elegance that emanated from her whole being.

Rafael noticed finally that the recluse was approaching, unable to
restrain a desire to communicate his admiration to someone.

"What a woman!" the man cried, rolling his eyes to express his full
enthusiasm.

She had given him a _duro_, one of those white discs which, in that
atheistic age, so rarely ascended that mountain trail! And there the
poor invalid sat at the door of the Hermitage, staring into her apron
blankly, hypnotized by the glitter of all that wealth! _Duros, pesetas_,
two-_pesetas_, dimes! All the money the lady had brought! Even a gold
button, which must have come from her glove!

Rafael shared in the general astonishment. But who the devil was that
woman?

"How do I know!" the rustic answered. "But judging from the language of
the maid," he went on with great conviction: "I should say she was some
Frenchwoman ... some Frenchwoman ... with a pile of money!"

Rafael turned once more in the direction of the two parasols that were
slowly winding down the slope. They were barely visible now. The larger
of the two, a mere speck of red, was already blending into the green of
the first orchards on the plain ... At last it had disappeared
completely.

Left alone, Rafael burst into rage! The place where he had made such a
sorry exhibition of himself seemed odious to him now. He fumed with
vexation at the memory of that cold glance, which had checked any
advance toward familiarity, repelled him, crushed him! The thought of
his stupid questions filled him with hot shame.

Without replying to the "good-evening" from the recluse and his family,
he started down the mountain, in hopes of meeting the woman again,
somewhere, some time, he knew not when nor how. The heir of don Ramon,
the hope of the District, strode furiously on, his arms aquiver with a
nervous tremor. And aggressively, menacingly, addressing his own ego as
though it were a henchman cringing terror-stricken in front of him, he
muttered:

"You imbecile!... You lout!... You peasant! You provincial ass! You ...
rube!"

IV

Dona Bernarda did not suspect the reason why her son rose on the
following morning pale, and with dark rings under his eyes, as if he had
spent