own her cheeks.

"I don't know, I don't know, let me alone!" he exclaimed, with a gesture
of despair.

"Tell me, Alfonso: I am very anxious to know."

"What difference does it make who she is? I hate her, I detest her."

"At any rate, I want to know what her name is."

"She is the Countess de San Clemente."

"Is she young?"

"Much older than you are: she is at least twenty-five or twenty-six."

"Is she pretty?"

"How do I know? What difference does it make to me whether she is pretty
or homely?"

"But is she pretty?"

"They say she is; but I tell you that it makes no difference to me."

The girl was silent for a long time; her heart beat violently. At length
she said in a melancholy tone, giving her lover an anxious look:--

"They will persuade you, Alfonso. At last you will agree to marry her."

The Andalusian _caballero_ looked at her with an angry face, and
exclaimed with energy:--

"They might tear me in pieces before such a thing happened!"

"You cannot be perfectly sure of it," said she, looking at him with the
same anxiety; "they will continue working at you, working at you; they
will get you so entangled that finally there will be no way out of it
but to yield."

"No, I swear to you, no! Come, don't speak any more of this, Julita, for
this sort of talk annoys me very much."

For a moment the young girl's eyes sparkled joyfully. Then the same
expression of unhappiness came back into them.

Five or six days passed. Don Alfonso redoubled his manifestations of
affection. Nevertheless, such oppressive unhappiness weighed upon the
lovers that they were obliged to remain long moments in silence, with
their heads down and their eyes fixed on vacancy. Julita often shed
tears, and Saavedra, also overwhelmed with sorrow put forth useless
efforts to console her. The truth was they saw no way out of their
difficulties. The horizon was absolutely shut in and dark.

"I haven't any profession whatever," said the _caballero_. "If we were
to marry, we should starve to death.... That is the result of having
educated me for a rich man!"

"As for starving to death, I don't believe it," said Julita, her face
deeply flushing. "Mamma and I are not rich, but we can live decently....
It is clear that for you who are accustomed to another sort of life, it
would be very hard ... but ..."

"Oh, don't speak of that, Julia!" exclaimed the _caballero_, with the
gesture of a man whose dignity was wounded.... "It is l