rain of a
poet. She lifted her little feet in a manner that transformed boards
into clouds. There were moments when she seemed actually to soar.

"She is a little genius!" thought Rezanov enthusiastically. "Anything
could be made of a woman like that."

It was not her dancing alone that interested him, but its effect on her
audience. The young men had begun with audible expressions of
approval. They were now shouting and stamping and clapping. Suddenly,
as once more she danced back to the very center of the room, her bosom
heaving, her eyes like stars, her red lips parted, Don Ignacio, long
since recovered from his spleen, invaded his pocket and flung a handful
of silver at her feet. It was a signal. Gold and silver coins,
chains, watches, jewels, bounced over the floor, to be laughingly
ignored. Rezanov looked on in amazement, wondering if this were a part
of the performance and if he should follow suit. But after a glance at
the faces of the young men, lost to everything but their passionate
admiration for the unique and beautiful dancing of their Favorita, and
when Sturgis, after wildly searching in his pockets, tore a large pearl
from the lace of his stock, he doubted no longer--nor hesitated.
Fastened by a blue ribbon to the fourth button of his closely fitting
coat was a golden key, the outward symbol of his rank at court. He
detached it, then made a sudden gesture that caught her attention. For
a moment their eyes met. He tossed her the bauble, and mechanically
she lifted her hand and caught it. Then she laughed confusedly,
shrugged her shoulders, bowed graciously to her audience, and signalled
to the musicians to stop. Rezanov was at her side in a moment.

"You must be tired," he said. "I insist that you come out on the
veranda and rest."

"Very well," she said indifferently; "it is quite time we all went out
to the air. Santiago mio, wilt thou bring my reboso--the white one?"

Santiago, more flushed than his sister at her triumphs, fetched the
long strip of silk, and Rezanov detached her from her eager court and
led her without. Elena Castro followed closely, yet with a cavalier of
her own that her friend might talk freely with this interesting
stranger. The night air was cool and stimulating. The hills were
black under the sparks of white fire in the high arch of the California
sky. In the Presidio square were long blue shadows that might have
been reflections of the smoldering blue be