vomiting bull fell in crashing death at his feet.

"Suppose, for a change, we go to the Aguila de Oro," Andres suggested;
"the air is better there." By that he meant that the cafe was
relatively free from Spaniards. The throng moved shoulder to shoulder
slowly to the doors; but Charles managed to work his way constantly
nearer the conspicuous figure of La Clavel. He despaired, however, of
getting close to her, when an unforeseen eddy of humanity separated
the dancer from her companions and threw her into Charles' path. She
recognized him immediately: but, checking his formal salutation, she
said, in a rapid lowered voice, that she would very much like to see
him ... at the St. Louis late on the afternoon of tomorrow. They were
separated immediately, leaving in Charles a sense of excited
anticipation. He joined Andres soon after and told him what had
occurred.

"I suppose it is safe for you," Andres decided; "you are an American,
no one has yet connected you with the cause of Cuba. But this
woman--What do we know of her?--you'll have to be prudent!"

Andres Escobar had grown severe in the last week, he had hardened
remarkably; his concentration, Charles felt, his bitterness, even
excluded his friends. Charles Abbott's affection for him increased
daily; his love, really, for Andres was a part of all that was highest
in him. Unlike the love of any woman, Andres made no demand on him,
what only mattered was what each intrinsically was: there were no
pretence, no weary protestations, nothing beside the truth of their
mutual regard, their friendship. What Charles possessed belonged
equally, without demand, to Andres; they had, aside from their great
preoccupation, the same thoughts and prejudices, the same taste in
refrescos and beauty and clothes. They discovered fresh identical
tastes with a rush of happiness.

It was, like the absorbing rest, immaterial, the negation of ordinary
aims and ideas of comfort and self-seeking. Charles would have died
for Andres, Andres for Charles, without of a moment's hesitation;
indeed, the base of their feeling lay in the full recognition of that
fact. This they admitted simply, with no accent of exaggeration or
boasting: on the present plane of their being it was the most natural
thing in the world.

At the Aguila de Oro, spinning the paddle of a molinillo, and
individual chocolate mill, Andres informed Charles that Vincente was
home. "He has told me everything," Andres Escobar conti