ing, brilliantly hued fans fluttered like a swarm of butterflies; the
music filled the air. Pe-" pita sat in a dream of joy, the color coming
and going on her cheeks, her rapture glowing in her eyes. She was a
Spanish girl, and not so far in advance of her age that the terrible
features of the pastime going on before her could obscure its brilliancy
and excitement. Truth to tell, she entirely forgot Sebastiano, not even
recognizing him in the pageant of the grand entry, she was so absorbed
in its glitter and blaze of color. But at the killing of the bull, that
was different. Just a moment before she had awakened to the fact that
Manuel was near her--near enough to speak. He had been staring at her,
and growing more restless every moment, until he had at last attracted
the attention of Jose and Jovita, and his first words to her came amid
shouts of applause and delight.

"Sebastiano," he said; "it is Sebastiano." Pepita turned to look. With
what a proud and careless air he advanced; with what a strong, light
step; how he held his head and shoulders; how his gold and silver
garnishings glittered; how the people called to him with a sort of
caressing ecstasy! They adored him; he was their idol. Yes, there was a
thrill in it, even for her cold heart. She felt a quick pulsation. To
be so proud and triumphant and daring--to be the central point of
everything--to be able to awake this exultant fervor--was something
after all. And he was beautiful too, though she cared nothing for that,
except as she could see that it added to his triumphs and made them more
complete. His athletic grace of bearing, his dark, spirited face, with
its passionate Andalusian eyes, their shadows intensified by the close,
long black lashes, the very arch of his foot, and superb movement of his
limbs, would have set him apart from ordinary, less fortunate mortals;
but to have all this and be also the demi-god of these impassioned
people, it must be worth living for. If one cared for men, if one did
not find them tiresome, if one was simple enough--like Sarita--to be
carried away by things, there was at least something in all this to
interest one a little.

"It is Sebastiano," said Jose.

But Sebastiano was addressing the president of the games. He extended
his glittering sword, and made his announcement in a clear, rich voice.
Pepita listened as he spoke. And then the most thrilling excitement of
the sport began. It was no child's play Sebastiano had