heart," he said to himself, with fierce impatience. "It
is not nature that a young girl should mock at everything, and be so
cruel, and have neither feeling nor even a little fear. She has a bad
heart, or none at all."

He would not look at her again; he swore it to himself. And for a short
time he kept his vow; but there came a moment when something, some
irresistible feeling, conquered him. It was as if he must look--as if
some magic forced him, drew his eyes toward her in spite of himself.
And when he had looked, a sharp shock thrilled him, for she herself was
looking at him; her eyes were fixed upon him with a strange steadiness,
as if perhaps they had been resting upon him for some minutes and she
had forgotten herself. It was a little thing perhaps, but it was enough
for his hot blood and swift-veering impulsive nature. He had just given
the final stroke; he was panting, glowing. The people were shouting,
rising in their seats, and repeating his name with caressing, applauding
epithets attached to it. Chance had brought him near the seat in
which she sat, with Jovita and Jose and the others near her. They were
applauding with the rest, all but Pepita, who only sat and smiled. And
in the midst of it Sebastiano made a swift movement, so swift that
it was scarcely to be understood--a mere touch of the hand to the
shoulder--and something bright, like a many-hued bird, flew over the
barrier and fell upon Pepita's lap. It was the knot of gay, rich ribbon
which a moment before the matador had worn.

"It is the _devisa!_" exclaimed Isabella, in an awestruck tone.

"It is his _devisa_," cried Jose--"his _devisa_, Pepita. He has thrown
it to you yourself--Sebastiano."

The next moment he was struck dumb with amazement. Pepita sat upright
and broke into a little laugh. She lightly waved her fan.

"Why did he not throw it to Jovita?" she said, and with a cruel,
careless little movement she swept the _devisa_ from her knee; it fell,
and she set her foot upon it.

"She has trodden upon it," said old Jovita. "She has done it for pride,
and to show herself above others. She is ready for the devil. Some one
should beat her."

"It was the _devisa_," gasped Jose. "Sebastiano."

Pepita left her seat. It seemed as if something strange must have
happened to her. The crimson had leaped to her cheeks, and her eyes were
ablaze.

"What is it to me, his _devisa?_" she said. "I do not want it. I will
not have it. Let him throw a