ents hot from the sun; its sleepy solitude: an
occasional woman, or a priest, or a tourist,--and you could hear their
footsteps even when they were far away! Here was a curious corner of the
_Palacio de Dos Agnas_--panels of jasper stucco with a leaf design on
the mouldings! That talking came from the drivers gathered in the hotel
door--the innkeeper and the servants were setting the chairs out on the
sidewalk as if they were back at home--in a small Italian town! Behind
the roof opposite, the sunlight was gradually fading, growing paler and
softer every moment.

She looked at her watch. Six o'clock! Where on earth could that Rafael
have gone? They were going to lose the train. In order to waste no time,
she ordered Beppa to have everything in readiness for departure. She
packed her toilet articles; then closed her trunks, casting an inquiring
glance over the room with the uneasiness of a hasty leave-taking. On an
armchair near the window she laid her traveling coat, then her hand-bag,
and her hat and veil. They would have to run the moment Rafael came in.
He would probably be very tired and nervous from returning so late.

But Rafael did not come!... She felt an impulse to go out and look for
him; but where? She had not been in Valencia since she was a child. She
had forgotten the streets. Then she might actually pass Rafael on the
way without knowing it, and wander aimlessly about while he would be
waiting for her at the hotel. No. It would be better to stay there!

It was now dusk and the hotel-room was virtually dark. She went to the
window again, trembling with impatience, filled with all the gloom of
the violet light that was falling from the sky with a few red streaks
from the sunset. They would surely lose the train now! They would have
to wait until the next day. That was a disappointment! They might have
trouble in getting away!

She whirled nervously about as she heard someone calling from the
corridor.

"Madame, madame, a letter for you!"

A letter for her!... She snatched it feverishly from the bell-boy's
hand, while Beppa, seated on a trunk, looked on vacantly, without
expression.

She began to tremble violently. The thought of Hans Keller, the
ungrateful artist, suddenly rose in her memory. She looked for a candle
on the chiffonier. There was none. Finally she went to the balcony and
tried to read the letter in the little light there was.

It was his handwriting on the envelope--but tortuous, lab