s indulged more freely than usual in gossip and
laughter. Don Jeronimo, muffled closely in his cape (one of his
privileges), lounging at ease in the big corner chair, and with his
inevitable cigar between his teeth (another special privilege), was
giving utterance to rare and racy stories, which from time to time
caused his hearers to cast a glance in the direction of Clotilde and
brought a slightly heightened color to the latter's cheeks.

Don Jeronimo himself took no notice of this; he had first known her as
such a mere child that he considered he had the right to dispense with
certain courtesies that are due to ladies,--assuming that in the whole
course of his life he had ever shown them to any woman, which is very
doubtful. He had met her first as a mere child and had opened the way
for her to the stage. At the time that he ran across her, she was
living wretchedly and trying to learn the art of making artificial
flowers. Today, thanks to her talent, she earned enough to keep her
mother and sisters in comfort.

Clotilde's attraction lay in her charm of manner rather than her
beauty. Her complexion was olive, her eyes large and black, the best
of all her features; her mouth somewhat big, but with bright red lips
and admirably even teeth. Tonight she was costumed as a lady of the
time of Louis XV, with powdered hair, which was marvelously becoming
to her. She took almost no part in the conversation, but seemed
satisfied to be merely a listener, constantly turning her serene gaze
from one speaker to another, and often answering only with a smile
when they addressed her.

All at once there came the voice of the call-boy:

"Senorita Clotilde, if you please--"

"Coming," she answered, rising.

She crossed over to the mirror, gave a few final touches to her brows
and lashes with a pencil, adjusted with somewhat nervous fingers the
coils of her hair, the cross of brilliants which she wore at her
throat, and the folds of her dress. Her friends became for the moment
silent and abstractedly watched these last preparations.

"Good-by for the present, gentlemen." And she left the dressing-room,
followed by her maid, carefully bearing her train, a magnificent train
of cream-colored satin.

"She grows lovelier every day, Clotilde does," said the medical
student, allowing an imperceptible sigh to escape him.

Don Jeronimo took an enormous pull at his cigar, and instantly became
enveloped in a cloud of smoke. For this rea