tered his soul. And while she spoke, her
eyes gazed so faithfully, lovingly, and yearningly into his, that he saw
nothing else. He read in them love, true, self-sacrificing love; not like
pretty Carmen's or that given by the ladies, who had thrown flowers to
him from their balconies. His heart swelled, and when he saw how the
flush on Isabella's dear face deepened under his answering glance,
unspeakable gratitude and joy seized upon him, and he could not help
clasping her in his arms and drawing her into his embrace.

She permitted it, and when she looked up at him and her soft scarlet
lips, from which gleamed two rows of dazzling white teeth, bloomed
temptingly near him, he bent his, he knew not how, towards them. They
kissed each other again and again, and Isabella flung her little hands
around his neck, for she could not reach him with her arms, and said she
had always loved him; he assured her in an agitated voice that he
believed it, and that there was no better, sweeter, brighter creature on
earth than she; only he forgot to say that he loved her. She gave, he
received, and it seemed to him natural.

She saw and felt nothing except him and her happiness; he was wholly
absorbed by the bliss of being loved and the sweetness of her kiss; so
neither noticed that Coello had opened the door and watched them for a
minute, with mingled wrath and pleasure, irresolutely shaking his head.

When the court-artist's deep voice exclaimed loudly:

"Why, why, these are strange doings!" they hastily started back.

Startled, sobered, confused, Ulrich sought for words, and at last
stammered:

"We have, we wanted . . . the farewell. . . . Coello found no time to
interrupt him, for his daughter had thrown herself on his breast,
exclaiming amid tears:

"Forgive us, father-forgive us; he loves me, and I, I love him so dearly,
and now that we belong to each other, I am no longer anxious about him,
he will not rest, and when he returns. . . ."

"Enough, enough!" interrupted Coello, pressing his hand upon her mouth.
"That is why a duenna is kept for the child; and this is my sensible
Belita! It is of no importance, that yonder youth has nothing, I myself
courted your mother with only three reales in my pocket, but he cannot
yet do any really good work, and that alters the case. It is not my way
to dun debtors, I have been in debt too often myself for that; but you,
Navarrete, have received many favors from me, when you were badly of