still, small voice, another needs the burning bush; James
was the Son of Thunder, Barnabas of Consolation. As in the days of old,
so now.

We too went our way down the broad marble staircase of the ancient
palace, but with no secret or delicate mission to perform like
Delormais. We had followed rather closely, but up and down the street
not a vestige of him remained. Whether he had gone right or left we knew
not. The place was deserted. Looking upwards nothing was visible but
outlines of the rare old houses. Here and there a gabled roof and dormer
window; many a wrought-iron balcony; many a Gothic casement rich in
tracery and decoration; many a lower window protected by a strong iron
grille, despair of serenaders, consolation of parents, paradise of
artists.

It was now that we saw our industrious and amiable senora preparing for
the fair. Again the mantilla was being gracefully arranged. The
lady--very properly--had evidently no idea of neglecting the good looks
nature had bestowed upon her.

"Ah, senor," as we stopped with a polite greeting, "for a whole week
this fair is the upsetting and devastation of the town. It comes with
all its shows and shoutings; distracts our attention; we may as well
close the shutters for all the business that is done; finally it walks
off with all our spare money. And who is a bit the better for it?"

But madame's grievance was evidently not very deep-seated, for she
laughed as she adjusted the folds of her mantilla more becomingly, and
looking across at a mirror could only confess herself satisfied with her
bewitching appearance.

Near her stood a good-looking boy of some fourteen years, who evidently
just then thought the attractions of the fair far more important than
his mother's adorning. He was impatient to be gone.

"Calm yourself, my treasure," she remonstrated. "The day is yet young.
Chestnuts will not all be roasted, nor brazen trumpets all sold. These
are eternal and inexhaustible, like the snows of the Sierra. Oh! youth,
youth, with all its capacities!" she dramatically added. "Ah, senor,
you will think me very old, when you see me the mother of this great
boy!"

We gallantly protested she was under a delusion: he must be her brother.

"My son, senor, my son. I married at sixteen, when I was almost such a
child as he, and I really do feel more like his sister than his mother.
_Ahime!_ If I had only waited a few years longer I might have chosen
more wisely; perhaps h