ously, like a naturalist who has just
stumbled upon some new zooephyte, while something that tried to be a
smile, but succeeded in being only a horrible grimace, vexed his thick,
livid lips.

"Oj, oj, oj.... Trrr, trrr, trr.... Is there a marquis in my shop? blast
him!"

And he flung another glance around the room without having any objective
point for it, as though there were no living beings in it.

Then, with perfect calmness and care, as though he were performing one
of the most delicate operations of art, he crushed the hat between his
hands until he had made it as flat as a pancake; and having done this,
he flung it through the door into the middle of the street with no less
delicacy and care.

Enrique suddenly grew as red as a pepper; then instantly turned pale; he
leaped hastily from his seat like a new David, full of the impulse to
meet the Goliath in battle; but Manolita restrained him, making no end
of expressive signs going to show that the giant was not at heart a
stern man. Then Enrique left the shop, a very disgusted man.

"Father, the hat belonged to this gent, and he was a customer."

"Hold your tongue, you! Do you understand?"

And in order to reinforce the significance of his wish, he gave the girl
a slap.

But Enrique heard neither the daughter's amiable explanation nor the
father's gentle reply; all he thought of was to straighten out and
arrange his hat.

"Catch me coming to this pigsty of a shop again!" he exclaimed,
furiously clapping his hat on his head, and sweeping like the north wind
up the street in search of a hatter.

X.

In fact, he did not return ... until the next day; but he went dressed
_de corto_, that is to say, in short jacket, tight pantaloons, and
sombrero.

"See here, senorito, are you going to the slaughterhouse to skin
something?" asked Manolita, as soon as she saw him in that rig.

And then began their skirmish of love-making; he making use of all the
honied words at his command, she replying to each loving phrase with a
proud, tierce parry.

Enrique was not foiled by that, and he was right. By the example of her
young girl friends and companions, and by her rude training, the _chula_
was armed with a tough bark full of thorns; but God knew well, and
Enrique likewise knew, that at heart she was a poor girl, good,
industrious, long-suffering, ignorant as a fish, and more innocent in
certain respects than might have been supposed from her speech and