dres," said Rafael. "I remember Doctor Moreno very well."
And his ears seemed to tingle again with the diabolical melodies that
had floated in to the side of his little bed on terrible nights still
fresh in his memory.

"Very well," continued the old man. "That lady is the Doctor's daughter.
What a man he was! How he made your father and me fume in the days of
'73! Now that all that is so far in the past, I'll say he was a fine
fellow. His brain had gone somewhat bad from reading too much, like don
Quixote; and he was crazy over music. Most charming manners he had,
however. He married a beautiful orchard-girl, who happened to be very
poor. He said the marriage was ... for the purpose of perpetuating the
species--those were his very words--of having strong, sound, healthy
children. For that he didn't need to bother about his wife's social
position. What he was looking for was health. So he picked out that
Teresa of his, as strong as an ox, and as fresh as an apple. But little
good it did the poor woman. She had one baby and died a few days
afterward, despite the science and the desperate efforts of her husband.
They had lived together less than a year."

Rafael's companions were listening with as much attention as he; for
morbid curiosity is the characteristic of the people of small places,
where the keenest pleasure available is that of knowing the private
affairs of others intimately.

"And now comes the good part," don Andres continued. "The mad Doctor
had two saints: Castelar and Beethoven. The pictures of those fellows
were scattered in every room of the house, even in the attic. This
Beethoven (in case you don't know it), was an Italian or an Englishman,
I'm not sure which--one of those fellows who makes music up out of his
head for people to play in theatres or for lunatics like Moreno to amuse
themselves with. Well, when his daughter was born the Doctor wondered
what name to give her. As a tribute to Emilio Castelar, his idol, he
felt he ought to call her Emilia: but he liked the sound of Leonora
better (no, not Lenor, but Leonora!). According to what he told us, that
was the title of the only opera Beethoven ever wrote--an opera he could
read, for that matter, the way I read the paper. Anyhow, the foreigner
won out; and the Doctor packed the child off to church with his sister,
who took a few neighbors of the poorer sort along to see Leonora
baptized.

"You can imagine what the priest said after he had looke