of her wares. She knew how far
to allow a compliment to go. If it became too free the smile faded
from her lip, her black eyes flashed, and an angry rose mounted into
the clear olive of her cheek.

If there was one young man who, more than any other, caused these
angry symptoms to appear it was the Count Almonte. His attentions had
become annoying. She had told him that his flattery was distasteful;
that her betrothed was Pedro Mantanez, the boatman, and that they were
waiting to be married only until their savings had reached a certain
figure. After one of these dismissals of more than usual frankness,
the count went to his apartments in town, arrayed himself in his
uniform of honorary lieutenant of the guards, asked the commandant to
let him have an escort of half a dozen men, as he expected trouble
at his country-place at Cerito, and within an hour or two appeared
before Miralda's little shop. He entered this time with an easy,
confident air and an evil smile. "You must come with me, my beauty,"
he said, trying to chuck her under the chin.

"Leave my place at once, senor. I have nothing more to say to you."

"Oh, but I have much to say to you; and to begin with, I have a
warrant for your arrest."

"Arrest!"

"For theft,--the theft of a heart,--my heart."

"Your jokes are always in such wretched taste. Your heart! You never
had one."

"Then my duty becomes all the easier. You see this paper? It is an
order for your arrest. Will you go quietly, or do you prefer to go
under guard of a whole company."

Astonished, confused, afraid, yet hoping that one of those wretched
pleasantries known as practical jokes would be the upshot of this
seeming outrage, the girl locked her door, allowed the count to assist
her into the carriage that was in waiting, and was rapidly driven,
not to the jail, not to the forts, not to the police office, but out
of town--to Cerito. He assisted her to alight, urged her hastily in at
the door of a handsome residence, where she was received by a couple
of servants, and escorted to a large, comfortably furnished apartment,
with windows barred after the fashion usual in Spanish houses.

"This, my pretty one, is your home for the future," explained the
count, dropping easily upon a divan and lighting a cigar.

"What place is this?"

"It is my house. Ah, but it shall be yours, if only you are kind. It
is for you to say how long you will be a prisoner."

"But the arrest--the order----"