ur table
the wedding guests rose from theirs. I do not know but in any country
the women on such an occasion would look more adequate to it than the
men; at any rate, there in Spain they looked altogether superior. It
was not only that they were handsomer and better dressed, but that they
expressed finer social and intellectual quality.

All the faces had the quiet which the Spanish face has in such degree
that the quiet seems national more than personal; but the women's faces
were oval, though rather heavily based, while the men's were squared,
with high cheek-bones, and they seemed more distinctly middle class. Men
and women had equally repose of manner, and when the women came to put
on their headgear near our corner, it was with a surface calm unbroken
by what must have been their inner excitement. They wore hats and
mantillas in about the same proportion; but the bride wore a black
mantilla and a black dress with sprigs of orange blossoms in her hair
and on her breast for the only note of white. Her lovely, gentle face
was white, of course, from the universal powder, and so were the faces
of the others, who talked in low tones around her, with scarcely more
animation than so many masks. The handsomest of them, whom we decided
to be her sister, arranged the bride's mantilla, and was then helped on
with hers by the others, with soft smiles and glances. Two little girls,
imaginably sorry the feast was over, suppressed their regret in the
tutelage of the maiden aunts and grandmothers who put up cakes in
napkins to carry home; and then the party vanished in unbroken decorum.
When they were gone we found that in studying the behavior of the bride
and her friends we had not only failed to identify the bridegroom, but
had altogether forgotten to try.

VIII

The terrible Torquemada dwelt for years in Valla-dolid and must there
have excogitated some of the methods of the Holy Office in dealing with
heresy. As I have noted, Ferdinand and Isabella were married there and
Philip II. was born there; but I think the reader will agree with me
that the highest honor of the city is that it was long the home of the
gallant gentleman who after five years of captivity in Algiers and the
loss of his hand in the Battle of Lepanto, wrote there, in his poverty
and neglect, the first part of a romance which remains and must always
remain one of the first if not the very first of the fictions of the
world. I mean that

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