age, the nonentity of old age, and was possibly not more than seventy
or seventy-five, though she looked a hundred. Then came her son and
daughter-in-law--unmistakably her son from the likeness to her on a
larger and somewhat pleasanter scale. Then a still younger generation:
a young man and woman, evidently husband and wife; she as evidently the
man's daughter. These were better dressed and looked as though they had
climbed a few rungs up the social ladder; they were prosperous in their
small way; and the young man was distinctly of a better grade than his
father-in-law. On his knee sat a lovely boy some five years old, fast
asleep, his head pillowed against the father's shoulder. Here was the
fourth generation.

But what most attracted us was the singular beauty of the young man's
wife, with her delicate flushed cheeks, her white teeth, clear hazel
eyes, and abundant hair perfectly arranged. He seemed to follow her
looks and hang upon her words and worship the ground she trod upon, and
we did not wonder.

We were absorbed in this domestic picture, when suddenly we were
arrested by the spell of a lovely voice, and well-remembered words fell
upon our ear. It was that touching song of Lamartine's, _Le Lac_, so
pathetic in words and music. We turned and felt thrilled and startled as
we recognised the face and form that had accosted us in El Pilar and
poured out her sad story.

But the face was changed. In place of the hungry pallor there was now a
crimson flush; the eyes sparkled with light. Was it all due to inward
fever, to the wine-cup, or to artificial aid? Not the latter, we
thought. There was a beauty upon the face nothing artificial ever yet
possessed. She was quietly dressed in black. It might have been the very
robe she had worn in the morning, differently arranged.

We must have moved or slightly started, for at that moment she evidently
recognised us. For an instant her face changed colour, her voice
trembled; then she recovered herself, and apparently did not again
notice us.

The very first words of the introduction had caught our ear with all the
charm and familiarity of an old friend. All its dramatic power was well
rendered by the singer.

"Ainsi toujours pousses vers de nouveaux rivages,
Dans la nuit eternelle emportes sans retour,
Ne pourrons-nous jamais sur l'ocean des ages
Jeter l'ancre un seul jour?"

So it went on, to the end of the declamation. Then, after a slight
paus