ting a book thereon, and devoting considerable space to
the vexed argument of the Inquisition. It has never been properly
handled, and I am not afraid to say that it was a serious blot, if not
on the characters, at least on the judgment of Ferdinand and Isabella.
Souls were never yet gained nor religions established by cruelty and
torture. It is partly for that reason that I am here. The Archbishop has
a magnificent library, and I want a week of reference amongst the books.
We are as brothers, and I should take up my quarters in the palace, only
that I like to be independent. To-day he is at Puzol, where he has a
country house. When here I generally dine with him; was to have done so
to-morrow night; but it is an informal engagement, and if you will
promise to meet me again at the same hour, we will dine here together.
And now the hour sounds for the de la Torres. Let us be punctual, as we
must be so in leaving. Did you ever see so charming, so devoted a
couple? Who would not dwell in such a fools' paradise?"

He sent our maitre-d'hotel to inquire if it would be agreeable to them
to receive us, and in response Count Pedro appeared upon the scene. All
our rooms adjoined.

"We are more than ready," he cried. "I am quite sure," laughing, "that
you think we spend all our time sitting hand-in-hand and looking into
each other's eyes. My dear Nevada, we are quite a sober couple, with a
great deal of matter-of-fact sense about us."

"Which only proves how difficult it is for people to know themselves,"
laughed the priest. "But now for the sunshine of madame's presence."

In their sitting-room all banqueting signs had been removed. On the
table steamed fragrant coffee, with a decanter of Chartreuse, side by
side with cigars and cigarettes. The most fastidious woman in Spain will
never object to smoking in her presence. Countess de la Torre had
exchanged her becoming travelling-dress for a still more becoming
evening costume. She looked dazzlingly beautiful, her pure white neck
and arms decorated with jewels. As she rose and received us with a
high-bred, bewitching grace, we thought we had seldom seen a fairer
vision.

"Ah!" cried de Nevada, glancing at the table. "Your feast of orange
blossoms and butterflies' wings was served by magic. In fact I am not
aware that we are told Adam and Eve in Paradise ate anything. Life was
eternal and needed no renewing."

"You forget," laughed Madame de la Torre. "They ate fruit, or how c