llow of the nationals
as with the white _boinas_ of Don Carlos, once committed to the
adventure he resolved that no follies that he could prevent should
damage a successful issue.

So, having settled the quarrel, and partaken of the excellent smuggled
vermuth de Torino, in which, by his uncle's order, Esteban the host and
his guests washed away all traces of ill-feeling, the three sat down to
enjoy the _puchero_, which all this while had been quietly simmering in
the kitchen of the inn. At their request the repast was shared by Gaspar
Perico, while the nephew, in obedience to a sign from his uncle, waited
at table. It was not difficult to perceive that Senor Gaspar was the
true patron of the Cafe de Madrid in the village of Sarria.

* * * * *

So soon as he knew that the cause for which he had stabbed his wife's
cousin had been one that in no wise concerned little Dolores the
disguised Ramon Garcia went out to seek his wife, a great pity and a
great remorse tearing like hungry Murcian vultures at his heart. He was
not worthy even to speak to that pure creature. His hasty jealousy had
ruined their lives. He it was who had squandered his chances, lost his
patrimony, broken up their little home behind the whispering reeds of
the Cerde. Yes, he had done all that, but--_he loved her_. So he went
forth to seek her, and the night closed about him, grey and solemn with
a touch of chill in the air. It was not hot and stifling like that other
when he had come home to meet his doom and crept up through a kind of
blood-red haze to strike that one blow by the latticed _reja_ of his
house.

Ramon did not hide and skulk now. He walked down the street with his
long locks shorn, his beard clean shaven, his Gallegan dress and plumed
hat, secure that none of his fellow townsmen would recognise him. And,
at least in the semi-darkness, he was entirely safe.

There he could see the little white shed on the roof where Dolores used
to feed her pigeons, and he smiled as he remembered how before he
married he had been wont to keep various breeds, such as Valencia
tumblers, pouters, and fast-flying carriers upon which he used to wager
a few reals with his friends.

But that was in his bachelor days. He smiled again as he thought that
when Dolores came it was a different story. Never was such a little
house-wife. She was all for the pot. She would have him part with his
fine sorts, save and except one or two t