e through years of experience since
then. This morning everything was bright and animated. The river now
flashed and sparkled and reflected brilliant, broken outlines. The old
houses looked older than ever in this youthful atmosphere, but seemed
warmed into life. They now appeared quite habitable, almost cheerful.
The towers standing above and beyond them were pencilled against the
blue sky. The very air seemed full of sun-flashes. In the boulevard the
trees in the sunshine made wonderful play of light and shade upon the
white houses. The arcades lost their gloom. Every one seemed to rejoice
and expand. No people are so responsive to atmosphere as the Spanish.
Warmth and sunshine are more necessary to them than food and sleep. They
are hot-house plants.

Towards ten o'clock we made our way up the street of steps to the
barracks. The scene was much the same as yesterday; conscription was not
yet over. We were evidently expected, and a sentry at once conducted us
to the colonel's office.

"I knew you would come," he cried, with quite an English handshake.
"Your interests are not of the butterfly nature, passing with the
moment. And see; here is our disconsolate widow. Now you have come, we
will talk to her."

We easily recognised the forlorn mother of yesterday's little drama. She
was quietly seated in a chair, her mantilla drawn closely about her, a
pathetic image of grief.

"Oh, senor Colonel, it is useless," she said. "Hope is dead and my heart
broken. Heaven has seen fitting to afflict me at all points. I have lost
my husband, my position; I am poor and in misery; my eldest son turns
out a disgrace; my remaining consolation is torn from me by the cruel
conscription. Nothing is left for me but to die."

"This is quite wrong," returned the colonel, pretending a severity he
did not feel. "Heaven is merciful. Brighter days will dawn for you if
you are patient. You will see that conscription is a blessing, not a
curse. It will make a man of your boy. Discipline is good for all. It is
just what he needed. He will return to you strong and vigorous; able and
willing to make a home for you. I promise to make him my special charge.
He shall be always about me. I will give him all the favour possible,
and will keep a constant eye upon him. Heaven permitting, he shall
return to you, not spoilt or lowered, but mentally and physically
improved. In the meantime--I have been making enquiries--I have found
you a position where y