elf on my
account."

"Man alive, you are going now to see something very original which I
happened to think of doing the other day. You will be surprised.... The
foreman of the shop said to me, 'What you don't think of, the Devil
himself would not, think of!'"

"Let us see it."

He then took him to the storeroom, and opening a closet, showed him a
number of packages of candles with lithographed labels, which read:--

+--------------------+
| JULIA |
| (Bujia Extrafina). |
+--------------------+

"How is that?" he demanded, with radiant and triumphant face.

"Very pretty! very delicate!" replied Miguel, smiling.

"Take a package!"

"My dear fellow, no, thank you!"

"Nonsense! take one. If you don't, then I shall send one to you."

From there he took him to a room that was a sort of incommodious private
office, with a wretched straw-stuffed sofa, a few chairs, and a table
with a writing-desk on it; on the wall hung a panoply with the cadet's
military outfit,--sword, belt, spurs, and a couple of foils and a
fencing-mask.

Utrilla confessed to his friend that he could not look at this panoply
without sadness, recollecting "the happy days in the service."

"What life is so happy as the military! Believe me, Senor Rivera, that
in spite of the strictness of the rules, I miss it immensely."

Afterwards he offered him a cigar, and taking out a huge meerschaum
mouthpiece, he began calmly to color it, calling up at the same time,
with a veteran's satisfaction, various anecdotes of his academy life.

"That cigarette-holder is very pretty: what does it represent?"

"A cannon on a pile of projectiles; I beg of you to take it, Don
Miguel."

"I do not need it," replied Rivera, handing it back.... "It is in very
good hands."

"But I should be much better pleased to have you keep it, and I won't
take it."

"Come now, friend Utrilla, don't be so lavish."

"Throw it down if you please, but I will not take it."

There was nothing to be done but keep it.

Then the former cadet brought the conversation round to Julia, and
besought her brother's intercession, as he had written her four letters
and had received not a single answer.

"You will understand, my dear Utrilla," said Miguel, becoming serious,
"that this is a very delicate matter, and that I have no right to mix
myself up in your affairs."

"The trouble is," rejoined the ex-cadet, with a sigh, "with the
passionat