e
morrow, which was St. John's day. Besides the gentry of the village,
many strangers were there, who had come in from the neighboring villages
to be present at the fair and the vigil in the evening.

The principal point of reunion was the court-yard, which was paved with
marble. In its center played a fountain, which was adorned with
flower-pots containing roses, pinks, sweet-basil, and other flowers.
Around this court-yard ran a corridor or gallery, supported by marble
columns, in which, as well as in the various saloons that opened into
it, were tables for _ombre_, others with newspapers lying on them,
others where coffee and other refreshments were served, and finally,
lounges, benches, and several easy-chairs. The walls were like snow,
from frequent whitening; nor were pictures wanting for their adornment.
There were French colored lithographs, a minute explanation of the
subject of each being written, both in French and in Spanish below. Some
of them represented scenes to The life of Napoleon, from Toulon to St.
Helena; others, the adventures of Matilda and Malek-Adel; others.
Incidents in love and war, in the lives of the Templar, Rebecca, Lady
Rowena, and Ivanhoe; and others, the gallantries, the intrigues, the
lapses and the conversions of Louis XIV. and Mademoiselle de la
Valliere.

Currito took Don Luis, and Don Luis allowed himself to be taken, to the
saloon where were gathered the cream of the fashion, the dandies and
_cocodes_ of the village and of the surrounding district. Prominent
among these was the Count of Genazahar, of the neighboring city of--.
The Count was an illustrious and much admired personage. He had made
visits of great length to Madrid and Seville, and, whether as a country
dandy or as a young nobleman, was always attired by the most fashionable
tailors.

The Count of Genazahar was a little past thirty. He was good-looking,
and he knew it; and could boast of his prowess in peace and in war, in
duels and in love-making. The Count, however--and this notwithstanding
the fact that he had been one of the most persistent suitors of
Pepita--had received the sugar-coated pill of refusal that she was
accustomed to bestow on those who paid their addresses to her and
aspired to her hand.

He had not yet recovered from the irritation produced in his proud heart
by this rejection. Love had turned into hatred, and the count lost no
occasion of giving utterance to his feelings, holding Pepita up, on