sing amiably, and
the doctor frequently visited the artist's studio in the afternoon. This
intimacy quite disconcerted people, for they could no longer tell with
certainty which one was the Alberca woman's master and which the
aspirant, even going so far as to believe that by a mutual agreement
they all three lived in an ideal world.

Monteverde admired the master and the latter, from his years and the
superiority of his fame, assumed a paternal authority over him. He
chided him when the countess complained of him.

"Women!" the doctor would say with a bored expression. "You don't know
what they are, master. They are only a hindrance to obstruct a man's
career. You have been successful because you haven't let them dominate
you because you are strong."

And the poor strong man looked at Monteverde narrowly suspecting that he
was making sport of him. He felt tempted to knock him down at the
thought that the doctor scorned what he craved so keenly.

Concha was more communicative with the master. She confessed to him what
she had never dared to tell the doctor.

"I tell you everything, Mariano. I cannot live without seeing you. Do
you know what I think? The doctor is a sort of husband to me and you are
the lover of my heart. Don't get excited; don't move or I'll call. I
have spoken from my heart. I like you too much to think of the coarse
things you want."

Sometimes Renovales found her excited, nervous, speaking hoarsely,
working her delicate fingers as if she wanted to scratch the air. They
were terrible days that stirred up the whole house. Marie ran from room
to room with her silent step, pursued by the ringing of the bells; the
count slipped out of doors, like a frightened school-boy. Concha was
bored, felt tired of everything, hated her life. When the painter
appeared she would almost throw herself in his arms.

"Take me out of here, Mariano; I'm tired of it, I'm dying. This life is
killing me. My husband! He doesn't count. My friends! Fools that flay
me as soon as I leave them. The doctor! as untrustworthy as a
weathercock. All those men in my coterie, idiots. Master, have pity on
me. Take me far away from here. You must know some other world; artists
know everything."

If she only was not such a familiar figure and if people only did not
know the master in Madrid! In her nervous excitement she formed the
wildest projects. She wanted to go out at night arm in arm with
Renovales. She in a shawl and a kerchie