open arms. As I entered his handsome house I could
but note the perfect taste and elegance of the furniture and
decorations.

"Ah, Zarco," I said, "you have married, and you have never told me
about it. Surely this was not the way to treat a man who loved you as
much as I do!"

"I am not married, and what is more I never will marry," answered the
judge sadly.

"I believe that you are not married, dear boy, since you say so, but I
cannot understand the declaration that you never will. You must be
joking."

"I swear that I am telling you the truth," he replied.

"But what a metamorphosis!" I exclaimed. "You were always a partisan of
marriage, and for the past two years you have been writing to me and
advising me to take a life partner. Whence this wonderful change, dear
friend? Something must have happened to you, something unfortunate, I
fear?"

"To me?" answered the judge somewhat embarrassed.

"Yes, to you. Something has happened, and you are going to tell me all
about it. You live here alone, have practically buried yourself in this
great house. Come, tell me everything."

The judge pressed my hand. "Yes, yes, you shall know all. There is no
man more unfortunate than I am. But listen, this is the day upon which
all the inhabitants go to the cemetery, and I must be there, if only
for form's sake. Come with me. It is a pleasant afternoon and the walk
will do you good, after riding so long in that old cart. The location
of the cemetery is a beautiful one, and I am quite sure you will enjoy
the walk. On our way, I will tell you the incident that ruined my life,
and you shall judge yourself whether I am justified in my hatred of
women."

As together we walked along the flower-bordered road, my friend told me
the following story:

Two years ago when I was Assistant District Attorney in ----, I
obtained permission from my chief to spend a month in Sevilla. In the
hotel where I lodged there was a beautiful young woman who passed for a
widow but whose origin, as well as her reasons for staying in that
town, were a mystery to all. Her installation, her wealth, her total
lack of friends or acquaintances and the sadness of her expression,
together with her incomparable beauty, gave rise to a thousand
conjectures.

Her rooms were directly opposite mine, and I frequently met her in the
hall or on the stairway, only too glad to have the chance of bowing to
her. She was unapproachable, however, and it was impossible