son no one observed the
smile of triumph with which he received the medical student's remark.

"I agree with you that she grows prettier every day," said another of
the visitors. "But it seems to me that her disposition has been
undergoing a big change for some time back. You, my boy, have not
known her as long as we have. She used to be a fascinating talker, so
merry, so full of spirits! No one could ever remain out of temper in
her company. But now I find her grave and sad almost all the time."

"It's a fact that I have wondered at the melancholy look in her eyes."

Don Jeronimo took another enormous pull at his cigar. No one saw the
swift flare of anger that passed over his face.

"Changes like that, my boy, have only one cause, and that is love."

"Was she engaged?"

"Precisely,--Don Jeronimo knows the story well."

"Yes, and I am going to tell it to you," said the one referred to,
from the depths of his cloak. "Though you may believe me that it is no
pleasant task to relate such follies. But it concerns a girl whom we
all of us love, and whatever affects her ought to interest us.

"Some three years ago a young man, faultlessly dressed and with the
manuscript of a play under his arm, called upon the director of this
theater. Now there is nothing in the world more impressive and
awe-inspiring than a well-dressed young man who carries the manuscript
of a play under his arm. The director did his best to dodge him, and
held him off with a number of adroit moves; but he was finally
cornered, all the same. In other words, the young man invited him to
breakfast one day, enticing him with the seductive prospect of several
dozen oysters, washed down with abundant Sauterne, and for dessert he
shot off his play at close range.

"As it turned out, the play was no good. Pepe did what you know one
does in such cases: he expressed deep admiration for the
versification, he said 'bravo!' over certain obscurely phrased
thoughts, and finally he recommended a few changes in the second act,
after which the work would be unexceptionable.

"The unwary poet returned home greatly pleased, and set to work
zealously upon the revision. At the end of a fortnight he returned for
another interview with Pepe; this time the latter found the first act
somewhat slow, and advised him at any cost to put more action into it
and make it somewhat shorter. It took the poet a month to rewrite the
first act. When he once more presented himself, th