AT two in the afternoon about a dozen of the most constant habituÉs of the Savage Club lay picturesquely scattered on the divans and easy chairs of their large drawing-room. In one corner was a group formed of General PatiÑo, Pepe Castro, Cobo Ramirez, Ramoncito Maldonado, and two other members with whom we have no concern. Apart from these sat Manolito Davalos, alone; and beyond him Pinedo with a party of friends. The attitudes of these young men—for they were most of them young—corresponded perfectly with the refinement which shone in every revelation of the elegance of their minds. One had his head on the divan and his feet on an armchair; another, while he curled his moustache with his left hand, was stroking the calf of his leg below his trousers with his right; one leaned back with his arms folded, and one condescended to rest his exquisite boots on the red velvet seats of two chairs.

This Club de los Selvajes is a parody rather than a translation of the English Savage Club. To be accurate, it is a translation of such graceful freedom that it keeps up the true Spanish spirit in close alliance with the British. In honour of its name, all the outward aspect of the club is extremely English. The members always appear in full dress every evening in the winter, in smoking jackets in the summer; the servants wear knee-breeches and powder; there is a spacious and handsome dining-room, a fencing court, dressing-rooms, bath-rooms, and a few bed-rooms; the club has, too, its own stables, with carriage and saddle horses for the use of the members.

The Spanish character is revealed in various details of internal management. The most remarkable feature is a general lack of ready money, which gives rise to singular situations among the members themselves, and in their relations to the outer world, producing a complicated and beautiful variety which could nowhere be met with in any other city in Christendom. It more especially leads to an immense and inconceivable development of that powerful engine by which the nineteenth century has achieved its grandest and most stupendous efforts—Credit. Within the walls of the Madrid Savage Club there is as much business done on credit as in the Bank of England. Not only do the members lend each other money and gamble on credit, but they effect the same transactions with the club itself viewed as a responsible entity, and even with the club-porter, both as a functionary and as a man.

Outside this narrow circle the Savages, carried away by their enthusiasm for credit, bring it into play in their relations with the tailor, the housekeeper, the coach-builder, the horse-dealer, and the jeweller, not to mention transactions on a large scale with their banker or landlord. Thanks to this inestimable element of economical science, coin of the realm has become almost unnecessary to the members of the club. Its function is beautifully fulfilled by an abstract and more spiritual medium—promises to pay, verbal or written. They live and spend as freely as their prototypes in London, without pounds sterling, shillings, dollars, and pesetas, or anything of the kind. The superior advantages of the Madrid Club in this respect are self-evident.

Nor are they less in the cool and frank impertinence with which the members treat each other. By degrees they have quite given up the polite and ceremonious courtesy which characterises the solemn British gentleman; their manners have gained in local colour approaching more and more to those of the picturesque quarters of Madrid known as LavapiÉs and Maravillas. Nature, race, and opportunity are elements it is impossible to resist, whether in politics or in social amusements.

The club always begins to warm up after midnight, the fever is at its height at about three in the morning, and then it begins to cool down again. By five or six every one has gone piously to bed. During the day the place is comparatively deserted. Two or three dozen of the members drop in in the afternoon, before taking a walk, to colour their pipes. Stupefied by sleepiness they speak but little. They need the excitement of night to display their native talents in all their brilliancy. These are concentrated for the time on the noble task of bringing a meerschaum to a fine coffee-colour. If, as some assert, objects of art were once objects of utility, so that the notion of art involves that of usefulness, it must be confessed that, in the matter of their pipes, the members of the Savage Club work like true artists. They have them sent from Paris and London; on them are engraved the initials of the owner with the count's or marquis's coronet, if the smoker has a right to it; they keep them in elegant cases, and when they take them out to smoke, it is with such care and so many precautions that the pipes become more troublesome than useful. A "Savage" has been known to make himself ill by smoking cigar after cigar solely for the pleasure of colouring his mouthpiece sooner than his fellows. No one cares about the flavour of the tobacco; the only important point is to draw the smoke in such a way as to colour the meerschaum equally all over. Now and again taking out a fine cambric handkerchief, the smoker will spend many minutes in rubbing the pipe with the most delicate care, while his spirit reposes in sweet abstraction from all earthly cares.

Grave, dignified, and harmonious in grace, the most select of the members of the club sucked and blew tobacco smoke from two till four in the afternoon. There is something confidential and pensive in the task, as in every artistic effort, which induces them to cast their eyes down and fix their gaze so as to enjoy more entirely the pure vision of the Idea which lies occult in every amber and meerschaum cigar-holder. In this elevated frame of mind lounged our friend Pepe Castro, smoking a pipe in the shape of a horse's leg, when the voice of Rafael Alcantara roused him from his ecstasy by calling across the room:

"Then you have actually sold the mare, Pepe?"

"Some days ago."

"The English mare?"

"The English mare?" he echoed, looking up at his friend with reproachful surprise. "No, my good fellow, the cross-bred."

"Why, it is not more than two months since you bought her. I never dreamed of your wanting to get rid of her."

"You see I did," said the handsome dandy, affecting an air of mystery.

"Some hidden defect?"

"No defect can be hidden from me," replied Alcantara haughtily. And every one believed him, for in this branch of knowledge he had no rival in Madrid, unless it were the Duke de Saites, who had the reputation of knowing more about horses than any other man in Spain.

"Want of pace, then?"

"No, nor that either."

Rafael shrugged his shoulders, and turned to talk to his neighbours; he was a ruddy youth, with a dissipated face and small greenish eyes full of cruelty. Like some others who were to be seen at the club every day, he frequented the company of the aristocracy without having the smallest right. He was of humble birth, the son of an upholsterer in the Calle Mayor. He had at an early age spent the little fortune which had come to him from his father, and since then had lived by gambling and borrowing. He owed money to every one in Madrid, and boasted of the fact.

The qualities for which he was still admitted to the best houses in the capital were his courage and his cynicism. Alcantara was really brave; he had fought three or four duels, and was always ready to fight again on the slightest pretext. He was, too, perfectly audacious; he always spoke in a tone of contempt, even to those who most deserved respect, and was disposed to make game of any one and every one. These characteristics had gained him great influence among his fellow "Savages;" he was treated an equal by all, and was indispensable to every ploy; but no one asked him for repayment of a loan.

"Well, General, did you like Tosti's singing last night?" asked Ramoncito of General PatiÑo.

"Only in her ballad," replied the General, after skilfully blowing a large cloud of smoke from a pipe made in the image of a cannon on its gun carriage.

"You do not mean that she was not good in the duet?"

"Certainly I mean it."

"Then, SeÑor, I simply do not understand you; to me she seemed sublime," replied the young man, with some irritation.

"Your opinion does you honour, Ramon. It is greatly to your credit," said Cobo Ramirez, who never missed an opportunity of vexing his friend and rival.

"So I should think; that is as true as that you are the only person here of any judgment. Look here, Cobo, the General may talk because he has reasons for what he says—do you see? But you had better hold your tongue, for you wear my ears out."

"But mercy, man! Why does Ramon lose his temper so whenever you speak to him?" asked the General laughing.

"I do not know," said Cobo, with a whiff at his cigar, while he puckered his face into a slightly sarcastic smile. "If I contradict him he is put out, and if I agree with him it is no better."

"Of course, of course! We all know that you are great at chaff. You need make no efforts to show off before these gentlemen. But in the present instance you have made a bad shot."

"I am of the General's opinion. The duet was very badly sung," said Cobo, with aggravating coolness.

"What does it matter what you say, one way or the other?" cried Maldonado, in a fury. "You do not know a note of music."

"What then! I have all the more right to talk of music because I do not strum on the piano as you do. At any rate, I am perfectly inoffensive."

This led to a long dispute, eager and incoherent on Ramon's part, cool and sarcastic on Cobo's; he delighted in putting his rival out of patience. This afforded much amusement to all present, and they sided with one or the other to prolong the entertainment.

"Do you know that Alvaro Luna has a fight on hand this evening?" said some one when they were beginning to tire of "Just tell me," and "Let me tell you," from Cobo and Ramon.

"So I heard," replied Pepe Castro, closing his eyes ecstatically as he sucked at his cigar. "In the Escalona's gardens, isn't it?"

"I think so."

"Swords?"

"Swords."

"Another honourable scar!" said Leon Guzman from where he was sitting.

"Rapiers."

"Oh! that is quite another thing."

And the whole party became interested in the duel.

"Alvaro has but little practice. The Colonel will have the best of it; he is the better man, and he fights with great energy."

"Too much," said Pepe Castro, taking out his handkerchief, after throwing away his cigar-end, and wiping the mouthpiece with extreme care.

Every one looked at him, for he had the reputation of being a first-rate swordsman.

"Do you think so?"

"Yes, I do. Energy is a good thing up to a certain point; beyond that it is dangerous, especially with rapiers. With the broadsword something may be done by a rapid succession of attacks; it may at any rate bother the adversary. But with pointed weapons you must keep a sharp look-out. Alvaro is not much given to sword-play, but he is very cool, very keen, and his lunge is perfection. The Colonel had better be careful."

"The quarrel is about Alvaro's cousin?"

"So it would seem."

"What the devil can she matter to him?"

"Pshaw! who knows!"

"As he is not in love with her I do not understand."

"Nothing is impossible."

"The girl is a perfect minx! This summer at Biarritz, she and that Fonseca boy behaved in such a way on the terrace of the Casino at night, that they would have been worth photographing by a flash light!"

"Why, Cobo, there, before he left, figured in some dissolving views in the garden."

"Alas! too true; that girl compromised me desperately," said Cobo in a tone of comical despair.

"Well, you had not much to lose. You lost your character by that affair with Teresa," said Alcantara.

"Beauty and misfortune always go hand in hand," Ramon added ironically.

"Et tu, Ramon!" exclaimed Cobo with affected surprise. "Why the time is surely coming when the birds will carry guns."

"Well, gentlemen, I confess my weakness," said Leon Guzman. "I cannot go near that girl without feeling ill."

"And the damsel cannot be near so sweet and fair a youth as you without feeling ill too," said Alcantara.

"Do you want to flatter me, Rafael?"

"Yes; into lending me the key of your rooms to-morrow, and not coming in all the afternoon. I want it."

"But there is a servant who devotes himself to water-colour painting every afternoon."

"I will give him two dollars to go and paint elsewhere."

"And a lady opposite who spends all her time in looking out of her window to see what is done or left undone in my rooms."

"She will have a real treat! I will shut the Venetians.—I say, Manolito, do you mean to pass the whole of your youth stretched on that divan without uttering a word?"

Davalos was in fact lying at full length in a gloomy and dejected manner without even lifting his head to notice his friend's sallies. But on hearing his name, he moved, surprised and annoyed.

"If you were in my place you would feel little inclined for jesting, Rafael," said he with a sigh.

It should be said that the young Marquis, who had never had a very brilliant intelligence, had now for some time been suffering from a distinct cloud on his brain. He was slightly cracked, as it is vulgarly termed. His friends were aware that this depression was all the result of his rupture with Amparo, the woman who had since thrown herself on the Duke's protection. She had, in a very short space, consumed his fortune, but he still was desperately in love with her. They treated him with a certain protecting kindness that was half satirical; but they abstained from banter about his lady-love, unless occasionally by some covert allusions, because whenever they touched on the subject, Manolo was liable to attacks of fury resembling madness. He was hardly more than thirty, but already bald, with a yellow skin, pale lips, and dulled eyes. His sister-in-law had taken charge of his four little children. He lived in an hotel on a pension allowed him by an old aunt whose heir he was supposed to be; on the strength of this prospect some money-lenders were willing to keep him going.

"If I were in your shoes, Manolito, do you know what I would do? I would marry that aunt."

The audience laughed, for Manolo's aunt was a woman of eighty.

"Well, well," said he, in a piteous voice, "you know very well that you have not had to spend the morning fighting with unconscionable usurers only to end by giving in—in the most shameful way," he added in an undertone.

"Don't talk to me! Don't you know, Manolo, that I have to get a new bell for my front door once a month, because my duns wear it out? But I take it philosophically."

He went up to Davalos, and laying a hand on his shoulder, he said in so low a voice that no one else could hear him:

"Seriously, Manolo, I mean it, I would marry my aunt. What would you lose by it? She is old—so much the better; she will die all the sooner. As soon as you are married, you will have the management of her fortune, and need not count up the years she still hopes to live. What you want, like me, is hard cash. Make no mistake about that. If we had it, we would get as fat as Cobo Ramirez. Besides, if you were rich, you could make Amparo send Salabert packing—don't you see?"

Davalos looked wide-eyed at his adviser, not sure whether he spoke in jest or in earnest. Seeing no symptom of mockery in Alcantara's face, he began to be sentimental; speaking of his former mistress with such enthusiasm and reverence as might have made any one laugh. The scheme did not seem to him preposterous; he began to discuss it seriously and consider it from all sides. Rafael listened with well-feigned interest, encouraging him to proceed by signs and nods. No one could have supposed that he was simply fooling him, while from time to time, taking advantage of a moment when Manolo gazed at the toes of his boots, seeking some word strong enough to express his passion, Rafael was making grimaces at the group, who looked on with amusement and curiosity.

The door of the room presently opened and Alvaro Luna came in. His friends hailed him with affectionate pleasure.

"Bravo! Bravo! Here is the condemned criminal."

"How dismal he looks!"

"Like a man on the brink of the grave!"

The new-comer smiled faintly, and glanced round the room. Alvaro Luna, Conde de Soto, was a man of about thirty-eight or forty, slightly built, of medium height with hard, keen eyes and a bilious complexion.

"Have any of you seen Juanito Escalona?" he asked.

"Yes," said some one. "He was here half an hour ago. He told me that you expected him, and that he would return punctually at a quarter to four."

"Good, I will wait for him," was the answer, and Luna quietly came forward, and sat down among the party.

Then the chaff began again.

"Here, let me feel your pulse," said Rafael, taking him by the wrist, and pulling out his watch.

The Count smiled and surrendered his hand.

"Mercy, how frightful! a hundred and thirty. You might think he was condemned to death."

It was a pure invention. His pulse was quite normal, and Alcantara shook his head at his friends in denial. The jest did not vex him. Conscious of his own courage, and convinced that no one doubted it, he still smiled as calmly as before.

"Well, the funeral is at four to-morrow," said another. "I am sorry, because I had promised to go out hunting with Briones."

"And it is a long way to the cemetery at San Isidro," said a third.

"No, no, my dear fellow. We will take him to the Great Northern station, and carry him to Soto, the family Pantheon."

This joking was not in good taste; however, Alvaro made no demur, fearing perhaps that the least symptom of impatience might suggest a doubt of his perfect coolness. Encouraged by his phlegmatic smile, the "Savages" did not know when to leave off; the jest about the funeral was repeated with variations. In point of fact he was getting tired of it; but they could not move him from his cold and placid smile. He said very little, and when he spoke it was in a few supercilious words. At last, taking out his watch, he said: "It is three o'clock. Three-quarters of an hour yet. Who is for a game of cards?"

It was an excuse for releasing himself from these buzzing flies, and at the same time showed his perfect coolness. Three of the men went with him to the card-room. There the banter went on as it had done in the drawing-room.

"Look at him! How his hand shakes!"

"To think that within an hour he will have ceased to breathe!"

"I say, Alvaro, leave me Conchilla in your will."

"I see no objection," said Alvaro, arranging his hand.

"You hear, gentlemen, Conchilla is mine by the testator's will. What do you call such a will as that, Leon?"

"Nuncupatory," said Leon, who had picked up a few law terms in the course of a lawsuit against some cousins.

"Conchilla is mine, by nuncupatory bequest. Thank you, Alvaro. I will see that she goes into mourning, and we will respect your memory so far as may be. Have you any instructions to leave me?"

"Yes, to give her a dusting every eight or ten days; if she does not get a good cry once a week she falls ill."

"Very good, it shall be done."

"With a stick. She is used to a stick, and will not take a slapping."

"Quite so."

The fun grew broader and louder. Alvaro's imperturbability had the happiest effect. He understood that beneath all this banter his friends cared for him and appreciated his bravery.

At this moment a servant came in who handed him a note on a silver waiter. He took it and opened it with some interest. As he read it he again smiled and handed it to the man next him. It was from the manager of a Cemetery Company, offering his services and enclosing a prospectus and price list. Some of the youngsters had amused themselves by getting him to do it. But Luna did not take offence, and he seemed greatly interested in his game.

At last Juanito Escalona came to fetch him. After settling accounts he rose. They all gathered round him.

"Good luck to you, Alvaro!"

"I cannot bear to think of your being run through."

"Do not be absurd; there is no running through in the case. It will soon be over, with nothing but a scratch."

Jesting was now at an end, it was all good fellowship. Alvaro lighted a cigar with perfect coolness, and said quite easily: "Au revoir, gentlemen."

There was a large infusion of true courage in this demeanour; but there was also a touch of affectation, and deliberate effort. The younger members of the Savage Club, though not much addicted to literature, are nevertheless to a certain extent influenced by it. The class of work they chiefly study is the feuilleton, and the fashionable novel. These books set up an ideal of manhood, as the old tales of chivalry did before them. Only in the old romances the model hero was he who attempted achievements beyond his strength, out of noble ideas of justice and charity, while in the modern story it is he who for fear of ridicule abstains from all enthusiasm and generosity. The man who was always risking his life for the cause of humanity is superseded by the man who risks it for empty vanity or foolish pride. Swagger has taken the place of chivalry.

The party remained, talking of their friend's coolness. However, he was not for long the subject of their praise, for the first rule of "high tone" is never to show surprise, and the second is to discuss trifles at some length and serious matters very briefly. The company presently broke up, all the illustrious gentlemen going out to diffuse their doctrines throughout Madrid—doctrines which may be summed up as follows: "Man is born to sign I.O.U.'s and cultivate a waxed moustache. Work, education, and steadiness are treason to the law of Nature, and should be proscribed from all well-organised society."

Maldonado, as usual, hung on to Pepe Castro's coat-tails. The reader is already aware of the deep admiration he felt for his model. And Pepe allowed himself to be admired with great condescension, initiating his disciple now and then into the higher arcana of his enlightenment on the subject of English horses and amber mouth-pieces. By degrees Ramon was acquiring clear notions, not alone of these matters, but also of the best manner of introducing French words into Spanish conversation. Pepe Castro was a perfect master of the art of forgetting at a proper moment some good Spanish word, and after a moment's hesitation bringing out the French with an air of perfect simplicity. Ramoncito did the same, but with less finish. He was also learning to distinguish Arcachon oysters from others not of Arcachon; ChÂteau Lafitte from ChÂteau Margaux; the chest-voice of a tenor from the head-voice; and Atkinson's tooth-paste from every imitation.

But, as yet, Ramon, like all neophytes, especially if they are prone to exaltation and enthusiasm, exaggerated on the example of the teacher. In shirt-collars, for instance. Because Pepe Castro wore them high and stiff, was that any reason why Ramoncito should go about God's world with his tongue hanging out, enduring all the preliminary tortures of strangulation? And if Pepe Castro, in consequence of a nervous affection he had suffered from all his life, constantly twitched his left eyelid—a very graceful trick no doubt—what right had Ramon to spend his time grimacing at people with his? Then, too, the young civilian scented not only his handkerchief and beard but all his clothes, so that from a distance of ten yards, it was almost enough to give you a sick headache. And there was certainly nothing in the doctrines of his venerated master to justify this detestable habit.

But the noblest and loftiest precepts of a great man too often degenerate, or are perverted, when put into practice by followers and imitators. Pepe Castro, though he was aware of his disciple's deficiencies and imperfections, did not cast them in his teeth. On the contrary, with the magnanimity of a great nature, he showed his clemency in pardoning and screening them. In his presence no one dared to make game of Ramoncito's collars or grimaces.

It was a little after four when the two "Savages" came out of the club, buttoning their gloves. At the door stood de Castro's cart, which he sent away after fixing an hour for his drive. He was first to pay a visit by Ramoncito's request. They went down the Calle del Principe, where the club was situated, not hurrying themselves, and looking curiously at the women they met. They paused now and then to make some important remark on this one's elegance, or that one's style; not as bashful passers-by who gaze and sigh, but rather as Bashaws, who, in a slave market, discuss the points of those exposed for sale. On the men they bestowed no more than a contemptuous glance, or, as if that were not enough, they shrouded themselves, so to speak, in a dense puff of smoke, to show that they, Pepe and Ramon, belonged to a superior world, and that if they were walking down the street, it was only in obedience to a transient whim. Whenever Castro condescended to be seen on foot, his face wore an expression of surprise that his presence was not hailed by the populace with murmurs of admiration.

Maldonado was the more talkative of the two. He expressed his opinion of those who came and went, looking up at Castro with a smile, while his friend remained grave and solemn, replying only in monosyllables and vague grunts. Ramoncito, it may be noted, was as far below his companion physically as mentally. When they walked out together they really looked very like some learned professor shedding the dew of learning drop by drop, and an ardent disciple greedy of knowledge.

"By the way, where are we going?" asked Castro, vaguely, when they had gone down three or four streets.

"Why, were we not going to call on the CalderÓns?" asked Ramon, timidly, and a little disconcerted.

"Ah! to be sure; I had forgotten."

Maldonado kept silence, wondering in his heart at the singular faculty of forgetfulness possessed by his friend. And they went along the Carrera de San Jeronimo to the Puerta del Sol.

"How are you getting on with Esperancita?" Castro condescended to inquire, blowing a cloud of smoke, and stopping to examine a shop-front.

Ramoncito suddenly turned very grave, almost pale, and began to stammer a reply.

"Just where I was. Sometimes up, sometimes down. One day she is very sweet—well, not sweet—no; but any rate she speaks to me. Another day she is as gloomy as the grave; hardly comes into the room before she is gone again; scarcely notices me—as if I had offended her. Once, I understood, she had some reason to be vexed, for at the opera I often go to the Gamboas' box, and I fancy she had taken it into her head that I was sweet on Rosaura. Can you imagine such folly? Rosaura! But I have not been near them for this month past, and she is just the same, dear boy, just the same. The other day I had her to myself in the little room for a few minutes, and in the greatest haste I just managed to tell her that I wanted to know where we were; for you see I cannot hang on for ever. Well, she listened to me patiently. I must tell you that I was altogether carried away, and hardly knew what I was saying. When I ended, she assured me she had nothing to be vexed about, and fled to the drawing-room. After that, would you not suppose that it was a settled thing? Tell me, would not any man in my place suppose that he was on the footing of a regular engagement? Nothing of the kind; two days after, when I called, I tried to say a few words to her apart, as a lover may, and she snubbed me—she froze me. So there I am. I do not know whether she loves me, or ever will, and I have not the peace of mind to go about my business, or do anything on earth but think of that confounded little slut."

"It seems to me," replied Castro, without diverting his attention from the window before which they stood, "that the girl has begun the attack."

Ramoncito looked up at him with surprise and respect.

"The attack?" said he.

"Yes, the attack. In every battle the important point is to be the first to attack. If at the moment when the adversary is about to advance, you attack him with decision, you are almost sure to succeed; if you hesitate, you are lost."

As he uttered the last words, he turned away from the shop-window and continued his majestic progress along the side-walk. Ramon did the same; he had very imperfectly understood the application to his case of this simile, derived from the art of fencing, but he abstained from asking any explanation.

"So that you think——"

"I think that you are preposterously in love with the girl, and that she knows it."

"But then, Pepe, what reason can she have for refusing me?" Ramoncito began in a fume, as if he were talking to himself. "What does the girl expect? Her father is rich, but there are several children to divide the money. Mariana is still young, and besides, you know what Don Julian is. He would be torn in pieces sooner than part with a dollar. Honestly, waiting for his death does not seem to me a very hopeful business. I am not a nabob, but I have my own fortune; and it is my own, without waiting for anybody to die. I can give her as much comfort and luxury as she has at home—more!" he added, giving his head a determined shake. "Then I have a political career before me. I may be Under-Secretary or Minister some day when she least expects it. My family is better than hers; my grandfather was not a shop-keeper like Don Julian's father. Besides, she is no goddess; she is not one of those girls you turn round to stare at, you know. Why should she give herself airs when I take a fancy to her? Do you know who is at the bottom of it all? Why, Cobo Ramirez, and such apes as he, who have turned her head for her. The little fool expects a prince of the blood to come courting her, perhaps!"

Ramoncito denied his lady's beauty, a sure sign of his being deeply and sincerely in love with her; his affection was not the offspring of vanity. His excess of devotion led him to run her down. Castro reflected that his companion's personal defects might have something to do with his ill-success in this and some other affairs; but he did not express the opinion. He thought it safer, as he closed his eyes and sucked his cigar, to pronounce this general truth:

"Girls are such idiots."

Ramoncito, agreeing in principle, nevertheless persisted in driving the application home.

"She is a little goose. She does not know herself what she wants. I say, Pepe, what would you do in my place?"

Castro walked on in silence for a little way, staring up at the balconies, wondering, no doubt, that all the world did not come out to see him pass. Then, after two or three deep puffs at his cigar, he put on a very grave and judicial air, and replied: "My dear fellow (pause), in your place, I should begin by not being in love. Love is pour les bÉbÉs, not for you and me."

"That is past praying for," said the young deputy, looking so miserable that it was quite sad to behold.

"Well, then, if you cannot get over the ridiculous weakness, at any rate do not let it be seen. Why do you try to convince Esperancita that you are dying for her? Do you think that will do any good? Convince her of the contrary, and you will see how much better the result will be."

"What would you have me do?" asked Ramon anxiously.

"Do not make such a show of your devotion, man; don't be so spoony. Do not go to the house so often and gaze at her with eyes like a calf with its throat cut. Contradict her when she talks nonsense; hint that you have seen much nicer girls; give yourself a little consequence, and you will see how matters will look up."

"I cannot, Pepe, I cannot!" exclaimed Ramon, wiping his brow in excess of anguish. "At first I could master myself, talk without embarrassment, and flirt with other girls. Now, it is impossible. As soon as I am in her presence, I grow confused and bewildered, and do not know what I am saying, especially if I find her cross; every word she utters freezes me. You cannot imagine how haughty she can be when she chooses. If I try to talk to some one else, Esperanza has only to smile to bring me to her side at once. I did once pass nearly a month, almost without speaking to her; but at last it was too much for me. I would rather talk to her, even when she ill-treats me, than to any one else in the world."

The two young men walked on in silence, as though under the burden of some great calamity. Pepe Castro was deep in thought.

"You are lost, Ramon," he said at last, throwing away the end of his cigar, and wiping the mouth-piece with his handkerchief, before putting it by. "You are utterly done for. What you say has no sense in it. If you had any notion of managing yourself, you would never have got into such a mess. Women must always be treated with the toe of your boot; then you get on all right."

Having given utterance to these few but profound words he again pulled up in front of a shop window.

"Look," said he, "what a pretty dog-collar, it would just do for Pert if I bought it."

Ramon looked at the collar without heeding, completely absorbed in his melancholy reflections.

"Yes, Ramoncito," the young man went on, laying his arm on his companion's shoulder, "you are altogether done for; still, I venture to say that Esperanza will love you yet, if you only do as I tell you. Just try my plan."

"I will try; I must come out of this fix one way or another," replied the youth pathetically.

"Well, then, for the present you must go to the CalderÓn's not more than once a week, or less. We will go together or meet there. You must not find yourself alone with her, or in some weak moment you will undo everything. You are not to talk much to Esperanza, but a great deal to the other girls who may be present. Then you should sing the praises of rosy cheeks, tall figures, fair skins—of everything, in short, that is least like her, and be sure you are sufficiently enthusiastic. Contradict her, and without seeming too much grieved. You are very obstinate, and it does not do to discuss matters too much, a tone of mild depreciation is far more effective. You had better glance at me from time to time; I can give you some covert signals, and so you will always be sure of your ground."

And thus, by the time they had reached the door of the CalderÓns' house, Castro had expatiated on his masterly plan of campaign, with many valuable hints and details. Only a marvellously lucid intellect, joined to wide and rich experience, only the most subtle nature could have entered so completely into the secret struggle to which Esperanza's objection to Ramon had given rise in his soul. At the same time he was the only person who could solve the riddle. Maldonado reached the young lady's home in a state of comparative tranquillity. As to his inmost purpose, it may be said that he had fully determined to assume the utmost dignity he could put on, and to offer a bold resistance to Esperanza's advance and attack.

To begin with, he thought proper to put his hands in his pockets and pinch his lips into an ironical and patronising simper. He thus entered the little drawing-room where the banker's family were assembled, gently shaking his head as though he could not hold it up for the weight of many thoughts it contained. From the elegant to the coarse—as from the sublime to the ridiculous—there is but a step, and it would be bold to declare that Ramoncito, at the beginning of his interview with Esperanza, always kept on the right side of the narrow rift. There is some reason for supposing that he did not. What is, at any rate, quite certain, is that the young lady did not immediately detect the change, and when she did, it did not make so deep an impression as he had hoped.

In the little sitting-room, when they were shown in, Mariana and Esperancita, with DoÑa Esperanza, the grandmother, were seated at their needlework; or, to be exact, DoÑa Esperanza and her grand-daughter were at work, Mariana was lounging in her chair, her eyes fixed on vacancy, and not moving a finger. Pepe Castro and Ramon, as being intimate with the family, were made welcome without ceremony. After shaking hands—excepting that Maldonado did not go through the ceremony with Esperancita—they sat down; Esperanza quite unable to imagine why Ramon intentionally neglected her, by way of a worthy beginning to the grand course of unpleasant discipline by which he hoped to school his beloved. Pepe took a chair next to Mariana, and Ramon next to DoÑa Esperanza. Before seating himself he had a momentary weakness. Seeing Esperancita sitting at some little distance from her mother, it seemed to him a favourable opportunity for a few private words, and as he moved his chair he hesitated; an expressive frown from Castro brought him to his senses.

"The sight of you is good for weary eyes, Pepe," said Esperancita, fixing her smiling glance on the illustrious dandy.

"They are beautiful eyes which see him now!" Ramon hastily put in.

Castro, instead of replying, looked sternly at his friend, and the deputy much abashed, went on to remedy his blunder.

"Fine eyes are the rule in this family."

"Thank you, Ramon. But you are beginning to be as false as all politicians," said Mariana.

"I do every one justice," replied he, blushing with delight at hearing himself spoken of as a public personage.

"Why, how long is it since I was here?" said Pepe to the girl.

"A fortnight, at least. It was on a Monday; Pacita was here. And this is Saturday; so you see—thirteen days."

No one recollected so precisely when Maldonado had called last. Castro accepted this proof of interest with entire indifference.

"I did not think it was so long. How the time flies!" said he profoundly.

"Evidently. It flies for you—away from us."

The young man smiled affably, and asked leave to light a cigar. Then he said:

"No. It flies fastest when I am with you."

"Faster than with Clementina?" asked the girl in an innocent tone, which betrayed no malice. But Castro looked at her gravely. His connection with Osorio's wife had hitherto remained more or less a secret; and that it should be known here, in her sister-in-law's house, disturbed him. Esperancita blushed scarlet under his inquiring gaze.

"Much the same," he said coolly. "We are very good friends."

"Are you going there to-day?" asked Mariana, not observing this by-play.

"Yes; Ramon and I are going—Saturday? Isn't it? And you?"

"I am not inclined to go out. I have been suffering a little these few days from sore throat."

"Do not say you are ill, mamma," said Esperancita, pettishly; "say you would rather go to bed early." Her mother looked at her with large, dull eyes.

"I have a relaxed throat, my dear."

"How opportune!" exclaimed the girl, ironically. "I have not heard a word about it till this moment."

"If you wish to go," said Mariana, understanding at last, "your father will take you."

"You know very well that if you do not go, papa will not care to go either."

Her voice betrayed her irritation. A gleam of satisfaction lighted up Ramon's face, and he shot a look of triumph at Pepe. It was when she heard that he, too, was going that she had begun to wish to join the party.

The conversation now drifted into common-place, dwelling chiefly on the most trivial subjects: the news of the day, or the singers at the opera. Tosti's beauty was again discussed. Ramoncito, in the joy of his triumph, dared to call it in question, and abused tall and, above all, red-haired women. He admired only brunettes, round faces, a medium stature, and black eyes—in short, Esperancita; there was no need to name her. His friend Pepe, alarmed by this outburst, which was directly opposed to all the plans of siege on which they had agreed, made a series of grimaces for his guidance, and presently brought him back into the right way; but he then went so far into the other extreme, and began to contradict himself in so disastrous a manner, that the ladies presently remarked it, and he got bewildered and tied himself into a knot, from which he could not have extricated himself but for a timely rescue by his friend and chief.

To remedy the blunder to some extent he entered on a long account of the sitting of the day before, with so many details that Mariana began to yawn, like the simpleton she was, and DoÑa Esperanza devoted herself to her embroidery, and made no secret of thinking of something else. Esperancita at last made a sign to Castro to come and sit by her. He obeyed, taking a low seat at her side.

"Listen, Pepe," said she, in a low and tremulous voice. "Of late you have been very sullen with me. I do not know whether I can have said anything to vex you. If so, pray forgive me."

"I do not know what you mean. I could never be vexed by anything that such a sweet little person as you might say," replied the young man, with the lordly smile of a Sultan.

"I am glad it was a false alarm on my part. Many thanks for the compliment, if you mean it—which I doubt. It would grieve me to the heart to displease you in any way," and as she spoke she blushed up to her ears.

"But I hear you are very apt to be displeasing."

"Oh, no!"

"So my friend Ramon tells me."

Esperancita's countenance clouded, and a deep line marked her childlike brow.

"I do not know why he should say so."

"Your conscience does not prick you?"

"Not in the least."

"What a heart of stone!"

"Why? If I have hurt his feelings it is his own fault."

"So I told him. But I believe his complaint is in a fair way to be cured, and that he will not again expose himself to your thrusts. He has been more cheerful and less absent-minded these last few days."

Castro was quite honestly doing his best for his friend.

"I should be only too glad to hear it," said the girl, with perfect simplicity.

Castro sang the praises of his friend and earnestly recommended him to Esperancita's good graces. But as he poured exaggerated eulogies into the girl's ear, his tone of disdain and the satirical smile which accompanied them somewhat weakened their effect. And even if it had not been so, she would have received them with no less hostility.

"Come, Pepe, you want to make a fool of me?"

"Indeed, Esperancita, Ramon has a great future before him, and in time may very likely be made Minister."

The hero in question, meanwhile, was explaining, with his usual fluency, to Mariana and her mother, how he had discovered an extensive fraud in the custom-house returns on imported meat: three hundred and fifty hams had been brought into the country, a few days since, smuggled in with the cognisance of some of the officials. Ramoncito meant to bring these men to justice without delay. Mariana implored him not to be too severe with them; they were perhaps fathers of families, but she could not mollify him. His sense of municipal rights was more rigid perhaps than the muscles of his neck—to judge by the number of times he turned his head to look where Pepe and Esperancita were talking. He was not jealous; he had absolute confidence in his friend's loyalty; but he wanted his beloved to hear him when he brought out certain phrases: "To the bar of justice;" "I can no doubt obtain an adverse verdict;" "The municipal law requires that they should be prosecuted," and so forth, so that the angel of his heart might fully appreciate the high destiny in store for her if she were united to so energetic an administrator.

They now heard steps in the adjoining room, and a cough which they all knew only too well. DoÑa Esperanza when she heard it hastily handed her work to her daughter, or, to be exact, crammed it into Mariana's hands.

When CalderÓn came in, his wife was stitching with affected diligence, while her mother was sitting with her hands folded, as if she had not stirred from her attitude for a long time. Ramon and Castro had scarcely noticed the manoeuvre. The reason of it was that CalderÓn could not forgive his wife her apathy and indolence, regarding these faults as positive calamities, and himself as most unfortunate for having married so inert a woman. Not that any work she might do mattered in the household; but his vehemently laborious temperament asserted itself against one so diametrically opposed to it. Mariana's limpness and indifference irritated his nerves and gave rise to sharp discussions and frequent squabbles. She feebly defended herself, declaring that her parents had not brought her up to be a maid-of-all-work, since they had enough to allow her to live like a lady. Whereupon Don Julian would turn furious, and declare that it was the duty of every one to work, or at any rate to do something; that total idleness was incomprehensible; that it was a wife's duty to see that the property of the household was not wasted, even if she could not add to it, &c. &c. And, finally, that the mistress's incurable indolence was at the bottom of their domestic discomfort.

DoÑa Esperanza was very unlike her daughter; by nature she was active, vigilant, and at least as avaricious as her son-in-law; she could never sit a quarter of an hour without something to occupy her hands. In the affairs of the house, indeed, she played no important part, because CalderÓn took a pleasure in managing and ordering everything himself. And this indicated a contradictory characteristic which must here be mentioned for a full comprehension of his character. He complained that his wife did not undertake the care of the house, and that he consequently was compelled to manage it, but at the same time, though he knew that his mother-in-law was both capable and willing, he would not leave it to her. This gave rise to a suspicion that, even if Mariana had been a prodigy of energy and method, he would no more have entrusted her with the management of domestic affairs than with his business. His suspicious and sordid nature made him prefer toil to rest; he would have liked to possess a hundred eyes to watch over everything that belonged to him. DoÑa Esperanza also lamented her daughter's incapacity, and eagerly seconded her son-in-law's stinginess, helping him very materially in his close vigilance. But while she herself found fault with Mariana's apathy, she was her mother after all; she hated that CalderÓn should blame her, and acutely felt their matrimonial differences. Consequently, whenever she could avert one she did so, even at the cost of some sacrifice, concealing Mariana's faults and voluntarily taking them on herself. It was for this reason that she had so precipitately handed to her the cushion she was embroidering.

Don Julian came into the room reading the feuilleton of La Correspondencia, which he carefully preserved and stitched together. Don Julian, strange as it may seem, was very fond of novels; but he only read those which came out in the Correspondencia, or the religious tales he gave his daughter who was at school. He had never been known to go into a bookseller's of his own accord to buy one. And not only did he read them, but he was very prone to weep over them. He was deeply sentimental at the bottom of his heart; it was a weakness of his constitution, like rheumatism or asthma. The misfortunes or poverty of others touched him greatly; if he could have remedied them by any means not involving any loss of money he would no doubt have done so at once. Generous deeds made him shed tears of enthusiasm; but he thought himself incapable of doing them—and he was right. And he made great efforts to do violence to his instincts; he was by no means the least ready to give of the rich men of Madrid. He set aside a fixed sum for the poor, and entered it in his accounts as though they were his creditors. But when once the monthly allowance was spent, he might, perhaps, have left a poor wretch to die of hunger in the street and not have given him a penny; not for want of feeling, but by reason of the strong hold figures had over his mind. The idea of depriving himself of a peseta for any other form of outlay than buying to sell was beyond his ken. Thus far his almsgiving had superior merits to that of other men.

As he now entered the little morning-room his face betrayed traces of emotion. After greeting his visitors, he said, as he seated himself in an arm-chair:

"I have just read an exquisite chapter in this novel—quite exquisite! I could not resist the temptation of bringing it in to read to these ladies."

He paused, not daring to propose it to Castro and Maldonado, though he would have liked to do so. He was very fond of reading aloud, because he did it fairly well, and Mariana took pleasure in hearing him; so far they were well matched.

"Read it, by all means, my dear; I do not think that Pepe and Ramon will object," said his wife.

Pepe bowed slightly; Ramoncito hastened to express enthusiastic pleasure: he was devoted to fine passages, &c. From the father of his inamorata he would have listened to the reading of a table of logarithms.

Don Julian wiped his spectacles, and, in a mild throat-voice which he kept for such occasions, began to read the episode describing the sufferings of a child lost in the streets of Paris. But his eyes instantly grew dim and his voice began to break, till at length he was so choked by emotion that he could scarcely be heard, and Ramon took the paper and read on to the end. Castro, looking on at this absurdity, hid a superior smile behind volumes of tobacco-smoke.

The chapter being ended, every one praised it in the most flattering terms. Mariana looked at her work, and observed that she would need a piece of silk for the lining, since the cushion was nearly finished. DoÑa Esperanza, to whom she made the remark, was of the same opinion.

"Ramoncito," said she, "be so good as to ring that bell."

The young civilian hastened to comply, and the lady's maid immediately appeared.

"I want you to go out and buy me a yard of silk," said her mistress.

The girl, having taken her instructions, was about to depart on the errand, when Don Julian, who was listening, stopped her.

"Wait a moment," said he; "I will see if I do not happen to have the thing you want." And he briskly left the room. In three minutes he returned with an old umbrella in his hand.

"Do not you think the silk of this umbrella might serve your purpose?" he said. "It seems to me to be just the colour."

Castro and Maldonado exchanged significant glances. Mariana blushed as she took the umbrella.

"It is, no doubt, the right colour," she said; "but it is full of holes; it will not do."

Esperancita pretended to be absorbed in her work, but her face was of the colour of a poppy. DoÑa Esperanza alone took up the question and discussed it seriously. Finally, the silk was rejected, to the chagrin of the banker, who muttered various uncomplimentary remarks on the management and economy of women.

Ramon, by this time, could no longer endure the torments of Tantalus, to which his friend's plans had condemned him; he never ceased gazing across to the spot where Pepe and Esperancita were chatting. He began by rising from his chair under pretence of moving about a little, and walked to and fro. By degrees he approached the couple, and stood still in front of them.

"Well, Esperancita, is it long since you saw Pacita?"

How absurd an excuse for addressing her! He himself was conscious of it, and blushed as he spoke. Pepe flashed an indignant glance at him, but either he did not see it, or he pretended not to see it. The girl frowned, and replied, shortly, that she did not exactly recollect. This would have been enough for most people, but Ramon would not take an answer; on the contrary, he tried to prolong the conversation with vacuous or irrelevant remarks, and even tried to wedge a chair in between them and sit down; but Castro hindered him by covertly giving him a fiercely expressive stamp on the toes, which brought him to his senses. He continued his melancholy walk till, presently, he went back to his seat by the two elder ladies. He was soon engaged in an animated discussion with CalderÓn as to whether the paving of the streets should be done by contract or managed by a commission. He would have been only too glad to agree with his host; it was his interest to do so, since his happiness or misery lay in his hands, but the obstinate and fractious temper which Nature had bestowed on him led him to continue the argument, though he saw that CalderÓn was heated, and within an ace of being angry. Fortunately for him, before this point was reached, a servant entered the room.

"What is it, Remigio?" asked the banker.

"A man, SeÑor—a friend of Pardo's—SeÑor Mudela's coachman—has come to say that SeÑorito Leandro is not very well."

"Bless me! What has happened to the boy? He is not accustomed to such dissipation. He has spent all his life at school or tied to his mother's apron-string. He must be taken away from this life of excitement.—And what is the matter with him?"

Leandro was Don Julian's nephew, the son of a sister who lived in La Mancha. He had come to pay a visit to Madrid, and was leading a very jolly life in the society of other youths of his own age. He had begged his uncle to lend him his carriage for an excursion into the country. Don Julian, anxious not to offend his sister, to whom it was his interest to be civil, had granted the favour, though sorely against the grain.

"The sun and the dinner have upset him a little."

"Pooh! an attack of indigestion. He will get over that!"

"I think you ought to go to see him, Julian," said Mariana.

"If it were necessary, of course I should go; but, so far, I see no necessity. I say, Remigio, is he too ill to come here? Is he in bed?"

"Well, SeÑor," said the man, turning his cap in his hands, and looking down, as conscious that his news was serious, "the fact of the matter is this—one of the mares, Primitiva, is knocked up."

CalderÓn turned pale.

"And she could not come home?"

"No, SeÑor; she seems to be pretty bad, from what the Mudela's coachman says. Of course, those youngsters know nothing about it, and they let her drink her fill."

Don Julian started up in the greatest agitation, and, without saying another word, he left the room, followed by Remigio. The young men again exchanged meaning looks. Esperancita happened to see this, and turned scarlet.

"Papa takes such things so much to heart!" said she.

"How should he do otherwise, child?—a thoroughbred which cost him three thousand dollars! It is a shame in Leandrito!" And for some minutes the old lady gave expression to her wrath, which was almost as great as her son-in-law's. Castro and Maldonado presently took leave. Mariana, who had taken the disaster with much philosophy, asked them to dinner.

"Stay and dine; it is too late now for a walk."

"I cannot," said Castro; "I dine at your brother's."

"Ah, to be sure; it is Saturday. I had forgotten. We will look in, if I am no worse, at ten, when the cards begin."

"Do you dine with Aunt Clementina every Saturday?" asked Esperancita in a low voice, but with a peculiar intonation. The young dandy looked at her for a moment.

"Most Saturdays, since I dine with your Uncle Tomas."

"Aunt Clementina is very pretty and very agreeable."

"She is considered so," replied Castro, a little uneasy.

"She has heaps of admirers. Are not you one of the most ardent of them?"

"Who told you so?"

"No one; I imagined it."

"You imagined rightly. Your aunt is, in my opinion, one of the loveliest and most elegant women of Madrid. Good-bye till this evening, Esperancita." And he held out his hand with a condescending air, which pained the poor child. She showed her annoyance by addressing Ramon, who was standing a little apart.

"And you, Ramon, why cannot you stay? Are you, too, going to dine at Aunt Clementina's?"

"I? Oh, no."

"Then stay with us—do. We will take care not to bore you."

"I—bored in your society!" exclaimed he, almost overcome with delight.

"Well, you will stay, then—won't you? Let Pepe go if he has other engagements."

Ramoncito was about to accept with the greatest rapture, but Castro began to make negative signs at him over the girl's head, and with such vehemence that his hapless friend could only say, in a subdued voice:

"No, I cannot either."

"But why, Ramon, why?"

"Because I have some business to attend to."

"I am sorry."

The young man was so deeply touched that he could scarcely murmur his thanks, and he left the room almost at a snail's pace. As soon as he was in the street Pepe complimented him eagerly, and assured him that his firmness must lead to the best results. But he received these congratulations with marked coldness, and preserved a stubborn silence till he reached home, where his friend and guide left him, his head full of gloomy presentiments and the blackness of night.