u write me a
formal letter just stating the facts, the unfortunate facts, which I will
be able to forward. There is an agent of ours, a fellow I have been
employing for purchasing supplies, a perfectly honest man. He is coming
here from the north by the ten o'clock train with some papers for me of a
confidential nature. I was rather embarrassed about it. It wouldn't do
for him to get into any sort of trouble. He is not very intelligent. I
wonder, Don George, whether you would consent to meet him at the station
and take care of him generally till to-morrow. I don't like the idea of
him going about alone. Then, to-morrow night, we would send him on to
Tolosa by the west coast route, with the news; and then he can also call
on Dona Rita who will no doubt be already there. . . ." He became again
distracted all in a moment and actually went so far as to wring his fat
hands. "Oh, yes, she will be there!" he exclaimed in most pathetic
accents.

I was not in the humour to smile at anything, and he must have been
satisfied with the gravity with which I beheld his extraordinary antics.
My mind was very far away. I thought: Why not? Why shouldn't I also
write a letter to Dona Rita, telling her that now nothing stood in the
way of my leaving Europe, because, really, the enterprise couldn't be
begun again; that things that come to an end can never be begun again.
The idea--never again--had complete possession of my mind. I could think
of nothing else. Yes, I would write. The worthy Commissary General of
the Carlist forces was under the impression that I was looking at him;
but what I had in my eye was a jumble of butterfly women and winged
youths and the soft sheen of Argand lamps gleaming on an arrow of gold in
the hair of a head that seemed to evade my outstretched hand.

"Oh, yes," I said, "I have nothing to do and even nothing to think of
just now, I will meet your man as he gets off the train at ten o'clock
to-night. What's he like?"

"Oh, he has a black moustache and whiskers, and his chin is shaved," said
the newly-fledged baron cordially. "A very honest fellow. I always
found him very useful. His name is Jose Ortega."

He was perfectly self-possessed now, and walking soft-footed accompanied
me to the door of the room. He shook hands with a melancholy smile.
"This is a very frightful situation. My poor wife will be quite
distracted. She is such a patriot. Many thanks, Don George. You
relieve me gre