ons. What did they talk about? They themselves did not know: words
have a conventional value, and all of theirs, without a single
exception, expressed the same idea.

Miguel, cautious of speaking about themselves, because he noticed that
it embarrassed Maximina, turned the conversation to some pleasing
subject and tried to make her laugh, so that her natural bashfulness
might wear away. Nevertheless, he took the risk of once asking her, with
a keen glance:--

"Are you happy?"

"Yes."

"Aren't you sorry that you are mine?"

"Oh, no! If you only knew!..."

"Knew what?"

"Nothing, nothing!"

"Yes; you were going to say something: tell me!"

"It was nonsense."

"Tell me, then! I have the right now to know even the most trifling
thing that passes through your mind."

He was obliged to insist long and tenderly before he succeeded in
finding out.

"Come now; whisper it in my ear."

And he adroitly led her on. Finally Maximina whispered:--

"I had a very miserable night, Friday."

"Why?"

"After you told me that you still had time to leave me, I could not
think of anything else. I imagined that you said it with a peculiar
meaning. I kept walking up and down the room all night. _Ay madre mia!_
how it made me feel! I was up before any one else in the house, and I
tiptoed in my bare feet to your room: then I laid my ear to the key-hole
to see if I could hear you breathing; but nothing! What a feeling of
dismay I had! When the maid got up, I asked her with a real sense of
dread if you had been called. She told me 'Yes,' and I drew a long
breath. But still I was not entirely myself: I was afraid that when the
cure asked if you loved me, you would say 'No.' When I heard you say
'Yes,' my heart gave a bound of joy, and I said to myself, 'Now you are
mine!'"

"And indeed I am!" exclaimed the young man, kissing her forehead.

The train was now rolling along across the plains near Madrid. The
Senoritas de Cuervo awoke; the daylight was not very flattering to their
natural beauties, but a series of delicate manipulations which gave
convincing proof of their artistic aptitude, quickly worked a change.
From a great Russia-leather dressing-case they took out combs, brushes,
pomade, hairpins, rice powder, and a rouge pot, and amid a thousand
affectionate words and infantile caresses, they proceeded to arrange and
retouch each other's toilettes with the most scrupulous care.

"Come, child, stand still!... If you aren