believed I could make sure
of her love. Carmen introduced me to her people, and at first the
freedom of the smuggler's life pleased me better than the soldier's
life. I saw Carmen often, and she showed more liking for me than ever;
but, she would not admit that she was willing to be my wife."

_IV.--The End of Don Jose's Story_

"One becomes a rogue without thinking, sir. A pretty girl makes one lose
one's head, one fights for her, a misfortune happens, one is driven to
the mountains, from smuggler one becomes robber before reflecting.

"Carmen often made me jealous, especially after she accepted me as her
husband, and she warned me not to interfere with her freedom. On my part
I wanted to change my way of life, but when I spoke to her about
quitting Spain and trying to live honestly in America, she laughed at
me.

"'We are not made for planting cabbages,' she said; '_our_ destiny is to
live at the expense of others.' Then she told me of a fresh piece of
smuggling on hand, and I let myself be persuaded to resume the wretched
traffic.

"While I was in hiding at Granada, there were bullfights to which Carmen
went. When she returned, she spoke much of a very skilful picador, named
Lucas. She knew the name of his horse, and how much his embroidered
jacket cost him. I paid no heed to this, but began to grow alarmed when
I heard that Carmen had been seen about with Lucas. I asked her how and
why she had made his acquaintance.

"'He is a man,' she said, 'with whom business can be done. He has won
twelve hundred pounds at the bullfights. One of two things: we must
either have the money, or, as he is a good horseman, we can enroll him
in our band.'

"'I wish,' I replied, 'neither his money nor his person, and I forbid
you to speak to him.'

"'Take care,' she said; 'when anyone dares me to do a thing it is soon
done.'

"Luckily the picador left for Malaga, and I set about my smuggling. I
had a great deal to do in this expedition, and it was about that time I
first met you. Carmen robbed you of your watch at our last interview,
and she wanted your money as well. We had a violent dispute about that,
and I struck her. She turned pale and wept. It was the first time I saw
her weep, and it had a terrible effect on me. I begged her pardon, but
it was not till three days later that she would kiss me.

"'There is a fete at Cordova,' she said, when we were friends again. 'I
am going to see it, then I shall find out the pe