f the difficult names,
taking lessons from his most cultured friends.

"It is for appearance's sake," he said naively. "It is because I don't
want people to poke fun at me, even if I am only a painter."

The day of the reception he had luncheon long before noon. He scarcely
touched the food; this ceremony, which he had never seen, made him
rather worried. To his anxiety was added the irritation he always felt
when he had to attend to the care of his person.

His long years of married life had accustomed him to neglect all the
trivial, everyday needs of life. If he had to appear in different
clothes than usual, the hands of his wife and daughter deftly arranged
them for him. Even at the times of greatest ill-feeling, when he and
Josephina hardly spoke to each other, he noticed around him the
scrupulous order of that excellent housekeeper who removed all obstacles
from his way, relieving him of the ordinary cares of life.

Cotoner was away; the servant had gone to the countess's to take her
some invitations which she had asked for, at the last minute, for some
friends. Renovales decided to dress alone. His son-in-law and daughter
were going to come for him at two. Lopez de Sosa had insisted on taking
him to the Academy in his car, seeking, no doubt, by this a little ray
of the splendor of official glory that was to be showered on his
father-in-law.

Renovales dressed himself, after struggling with the many difficulties
that arose from his lack of habit. He was as awkward as a child without
his mother's help. When at last he looked at himself in the mirror, with
his dress coat on and his cravat neatly tied, he heaved a sigh of
relief. At last! Now the insignia--the ribbon. Where could he find those
honorary trinkets? Since Milita's wedding he had not had them on, the
poor departed had put them away. Where could he find them? And hastily,
fearing the time would go by and his children would surprise him before
he finished the decoration of his person, out of breath, swearing with
impatience, wandering around in hopeless confusion, unable to remember
anything definitely, he entered the room his wife had used as a
wardrobe. Perhaps she had put away his insignia there. He opened the
doors of the great clothes-closets with a nervous pull. Clothes! Nothing
but clothes.

The odor of balsam, which made him think of the silent calm of the
woods, was mingled with a subtle, mysterious perfume, a perfume of years
gone by, of dea