nd public gardens and
promenades.

On the Rambla, once the bed of a river, the military bands played waltz
music, and the favourite operas, and hot blood moved faster to the
unfailing enchantment of the Habernera, and the newest works of
Massenet and Charpentier.

It was now dark, and the stars blazed down upon the never-resting city,
with its sinister record of outrages and crimes, and its charm which
was as the alluring of some wild gypsy queen.

Men fleeing from the justice or vengeance of their own country could
find here a City of Refuge. Here the tide of life ran swiftly, and
churches and cruelty walked hand in hand, and Hate trod close upon the
heels of Love.

Here no man's life was safe, for from time to time an epidemic of bomb
throwing would break out. Infernal machines would be hurled in an
apparently purposeless fashion wherever there was a large gathering of
people in street or square. A few policemen, soldiers, or onlookers
would be killed or mutilated, and a panic created, but few arrests were
ever made. The whole of the Press would unite to lift up its voice in
an indignant appeal to the Government, and then everything would be
forgotten till the next explosion. People in Barcelona lived from day
to day and accepted lawlessness as a matter of course.

Emile's own particular circle had no hand in these promiscuous
destructions of life. Their own attempts were invariably well
organised and directed towards some definite end. They did not destroy
life for mere wanton cruelty, and their victims were marked out and
hunted down with an accurate aim.

It suddenly occurred to Emile that during the last few months he had
looked upon Barcelona with a changed vision. He had always seen her
beauties and hated them, as a man may hate the fair body of a despised
mistress, while he yet sees it fair. Now the thought that he might at
any time, and at a few days' notice, be forced to leave the place,
struck him with a feeling of blankness and desolation.

The sense of exile was almost gone, the nostalgia for his own land no
longer keen. Had he turned traitor to his own country, the country for
whose woes he was now suffering--?

There he had neither home, parents, friends nor lover. Here he
possessed at least interests.

A rustling sound behind him made him turn quickly. In the gloom he
could only see the outline of a white moving figure. He groped for the
matches, struck one and lit a candle.