need to see you; I should be very
sorry if we quarreled. I like you as a friend; the best of all, the
first. I like you because you are good; a great big boy; a bearded baby
who doesn't know even the least bit about the world, but who is very,
_very_ talented. I've wanted for a long time to see you alone, to talk
with you quite freely, to tell you this. I like you as I like no one
else. When I am with you, I feel a confidence such as no other man
inspires in me. Good friends, brother and sister, if you will. But don't
put on such a gloomy face! Look pleasant, please! Give one of your
laughs that cheer my soul, master!"

But the master remained sullen, looking at the ground, running the
fingers of his hand through his thick beard.

"All that's a lie, Concha," he said rudely. "The truth is that you are
in love, you're mad over that worthless Monteverde."

The countess smiled, as if the rudeness of these words flattered her.

"Well, yes, Mariano. We like each other; I believe I love him as I
never loved any man. I have never told anyone; you are the first one to
hear it from me, because you are my friend, because somehow or other I
tell you everything. We like each other or, rather, I like him much more
than he does me. There is something like gratitude in my love. I don't
deceive myself, Mariano! Thirty-six years! I venture to confess my age
to you. However, I am still presentable; I keep my youth well, but he is
much younger. Years younger and I could almost be his mother."

She was silent for a moment, almost frightened at this difference
between her lover's age and hers, but then she added with a sudden
confidence:

"He likes me, too, I know. I am his adviser, his inspiration; he says
that with me he feels a new strength for work, that he will be a great
man, thanks to me. But I like him more, much more than he does me; there
is almost as great a difference in our affections as there is in our
ages."

"And why do you not love me?" said the master tearfully. "I worship you,
the tables would be turned. I would be the one to surround you with
constant idolatry, and you would let me worship you, caress you, as I
would an idol, my head bowed at its feet."

Concha laughed again, mocking the artist's hoarse voice, his passionate
expression, and his eager eyes.

"Why don't I love you? Master, don't be childish. There's no use in
asking such things, you cannot dictate to Love. I do not like you as you
want me to, bec