c want of finish, the
gorgeous dabs of color that make so many of that master's works like
the visions of delirium; on an inlaid table, a little Moorish casket,
through the crystal lid of which one saw a collection of old Spanish
coins of astounding dimensions; a small cabinet on the wall, containing
stars and orders, with their chains, on a white satin ground; a trophy
formed of a sword, gold spurs, epaulettes, and a gold-fringed scarf;
here and there great Catalonian knives with open blades, daggers in
rich sheaths and with engraved handles, and even an open velvet-lined
case with a pair of chased ivory pistols. Some photographs on the
chimney-piece and on the gold brocade-covered piano arrested Wilhelm's
attention. First of all, Pilar in two different positions, then the
pictures of three children, a girl and two boys, and finally the
full-length portrait of a gentleman in the embroidered dress coat and
sword of the diplomatic service, and the handsome, vacuous, carefully
groomed head of a fashion plate.

Wilhelm was engaged in studying this face, with its fashionably twirled
mustache, when Pilar entered the room.

"You have changed your dress?" cried Wilhelm, surprised; for she had
donned an emerald-green velvet tea-gown, with a long train, and her
hair was hanging down.

"Yes," said she, as she kissed him fondly, "for we are not going away
again just yet. You will stay and dine with me--I have given the
necessary orders. You must be quite sick of the monotonous hotel meals.
For my part, I simply yearn to eat at my own table with you."

So saying, she took his hat out of his hand, coaxingly relieved him of
his greatcoat, then rang and ordered Auguste to take them away. Taking
advantage of this distraction of Wilhelm's attention, she rapidly
snatched up the photograph he had been examining when she came in, and
hid it under the piano-cover. She then opened the piano, seated
herself, and gazing passionately over her shoulder at Wilhelm standing
behind her, she began playing the Wedding March out of "Midsummer
Night's Dream." The melodious sounds rushed from under her fingers like
a flight of startled doves, and fluttered about her, joyous and
exultant. She went on with immense power and brilliancy till she came
to the first repetition of the triumphant opening motif, with its
jubilant blare of trumpets, then stopped abruptly, and jumping up and
throwing her arms round Wilhelm:

"Isn't it that, my one and only Wi