r. It makes me so sad. If you leave Nature
alone to itself it is very commonplace."

They entered a little square in the center of which was a pool, on the
level of the ground, with stone posts that marked where there had once
been a railing. The water, swollen by the melting snow, was overflowing
the stone curb, and reached out in a thin sheet as it started down hill.
The countess stopped, afraid of wetting her feet. The painter went
ahead, putting his feet in the driest places, taking her hand to guide
her, and she followed him, laughing at the obstacle and picking up her
skirts.

As they continued their way down another path, Renovales kept that soft
little hand in his, feeling its warmth through the glove. She let him
hold it, as if she did not notice his touch, but still with a faint
expression of mischievousness on her lips and in her eyes. The master
seemed undecided, embarrassed, as if he did not know how to begin.

"Always the same?" he asked weakly. "Haven't you a little charity for me
to-day?"

The countess broke out in a merry laugh.

"There it comes. I was expecting it; that's why I hesitated to come. In
the carriage I said to myself several times: 'My dear, you're making a
mistake in going to Moncloa; you will be bored to death; you may expect
declaration number one thousand.'"

Then she assumed a tone of mock indignation.

"But, master, can't you talk about anything else? Are we women condemned
to be unable to talk with a man without his feeling obliged to pour out
a proposal?"

Renovales protested. She might say that to other men, but not to him,
for he was in love with her. He swore it; he would say it on his knees,
to make her believe it. Madly in love with her! But she mimicked him
grotesquely, raising one hand to her breast and laughing cruelly.

"Yes, I know, the old story. There's no use in your repeating it; I know
it by heart. A volcano in my breast, impossible to live without you--if
you do not love me, I will kill myself. They all say the same thing. I
never saw such a lack of originality. Master, for goodness sake, do not
be so commonplace! A man like you saying such things!"

Renovales was crushed by her mocking mimicry. But Concha, as if she took
pity on him, hastened to add, in an affectionate tone:

"Why should you have to be in love with me? Do you think I shall esteem
you less if I relieve you from an obligation that all men who surround
me feel under? I like you, master; I