_danse du ventre_, and revealed her anemic emaciation
under a mask of rouge.

"How about this one?" the master would implore, almost in terror as if
he doubted his own eyes. "Don't you think she looks something like her?
Doesn't she remind you of her?"

His friend broke out angrily:

"You're crazy. What likeness is there between that poor little woman, so
good, so sweet and so refined, and this low creature?"

Renovales, after several failures which made him doubt the accuracy of
his memory, did not dare to consult his friend. As soon as he tried to
take him to a new show, Cotoner would draw back.

"Another discovery? Come, Mariano, get these ideas out of your head. If
people found out about it, they would think that you were crazy."

But defying his wrath, the master insisted one evening with great
obstinacy that he must go with him to see the "Bella Fregolina," a
Spanish girl, who was singing at a little theater in the low quarter,
and whose name was displayed in letters a meter high in the shop windows
of Madrid. He had spent more than two weeks watching her every evening.

"I must have you see her, Pepe. Just for a minute. I beg you. I am sure
that this time you won't say that I am mistaken."

Cotoner gave in, persuaded by the imploring tone of his friend. They
waited for the appearance of the "Bella Fregolina" for a long time,
watching dances and listening to songs accompanied by the howls of the
audience. The wonder was reserved till the last. At last, with a sort of
solemnity, amid a murmur of expectation, the orchestra began to play a
piece well known to all the admirers of the "star," a ray of rosy light
crossed the little stage and the "Bella" entered.

She was a slight little girl, so thin that she was almost emaciated. Her
face, of a sweet melancholy beauty, was the most striking thing about
her. Beneath her black dress, covered with silver threads, which spread
out like a broad bell, you could see her slender legs, so thin that the
flesh seemed hardly to cover the bones. Above the lace of her gown her
skin, painted white, marked the slight curve of her breasts and the
prominent collar bones. The first thing you saw about her were her eyes,
large, clear, and girlish, but the eyes of a depraved girl, in which a
licentious expression flickered, without, however, hurting their pure
surface. She moved like an overgrown school-girl, arms akimbo, bashful
and blushing and in this position she sang in a th