it."

"Neither would Mrs. Steele if she had----"

"She nefer vould! Madame Steele ees a too vise voman. Vhat you dthink,
Madame? Senorita inseest to lean out far ofer dthose steps; I beg her
not, but----" he ends with a modest gesture of incompetence.

"And you," I begin, with a sudden determination to unmask his
villainy, "you rushed over and----"

"And hold you zo dthat you fall not. Madame Steele, desairve I not
dthanks?"

"Ah! yes, Baron. You are certainly very kind and watchful; but,
Blanche, if you don't care for yourself, you ought to consider other
people. It's a terrible responsibility to travel with such a foolhardy
person. I can't say I'm sorry if you've been a little frightened. Take
the brandy, dear."

My good friend is never severe long. The Baron holds the silver cup to
my lips, and I shut out the sight of him--with closed eyes I drink the
mixture obediently.

I lean my head against the window, and the voices of my friend and the
Baron grow less and less distinct. The next thing I know Mrs. Steele
is saying, "Is that Guatemala?" I rouse myself and look out. A white
city on a wide plateau. Is this the "Paris of Central America," with
its 70,000 inhabitants? Mrs. Steele is met in the depot by some
friends, Californians, who live here part of the year. We promise to
dine with them, and the Baron comes back from his search for a
carriage, saying one will be here presently.

"Vhile Madame Steele talks vidth her friends, vill you come zee dthe
Trocadero, vhere dthey haf bull-fights?"

"No, thank you."

"Oh, I dthought you vould like."

"Where is it?"

"Yust ofer dthere, dthree steps--dthat round house."

"I'd better see it perhaps while I have time," I think, and I walk
towards the circular building indicated. Baron de Bach keeps at my
side. He tries the door--shakes it--but it is evidently locked; he
leans down and looks through the keyhole.

"Oh, you can zee qvite vell dthrough here."

I put my eye to the little opening and can dimly descry an open arena
with seats in tiers opposite.

"Dthey zay dthey haf a bull-fight Dthursday"--the Baron is reading
the Spanish bill posted at the door. "Ve had better stay and let you
zee."

"There's the carriage!" I exclaim, and we hurry back, take leave of
Mrs. Steele's friends and drive over roughly cobbled streets to the
Gran Hotel. Our rooms are secured to us in three languages by the
Baron; he scolds the proprietor for delays in German, conciliat