orgotten had reawakened in her with a painful pressure.
She was pale. Aguirre could guess what she was trying to say. She was
about to tell him of her previous betrothal, of that Jewish fiance who
was in America and might return. But after a brief pause of indecision
she returned to her former attitude, without breaking the silence. Luis
was grateful to her for this. She desired to conceal her past, as do all
women in the first moment of love.

"Agreed. We'll be sweethearts. Let's see, consul. Say pretty things to
me, of the sort that you folks say in Spain when you come to the
grating."

That morning Luna returned to her house somewhat late for the lunch
hour. The family was awaiting her impatiently. Zabulon looked at his
niece with a stern glance. Her cousins Sol and Estrella alluded to the
Spaniard in a jesting manner. The patriarch's eyes grew moist as he
spoke of Spain and its consul.

Meanwhile the latter had stopped at the door of the Hindu bazaar to
exchange a few words with Khiamull. He felt the necessity of sharing his
brimming happiness with another. The Hindu was greener than ever. He
coughed frequently and his smile, which resembled that of a bronze
child, was really a dolorous grimace.

"Khiamull, long live love! Believe me, for I know much about life. You
are sickly and some day you'll die, without beholding the sacred river
of your native land. What you need is a companion, a girl from
Gibraltar... or rather, from La Linea; a half gypsy, with her cloak,
pinks in her hair and alluring manners. Am I not right, Khiamull?..."

The Hindu smiled with a certain scorn, shaking his head. No. Every one
to his own. He was of his race and lived in voluntary solitude among the
whites. Man can do nothing against the sympathies and aversions of the
blood. Brahma, who was the sum of divine wisdom, separated all creatures
into castes.

"But, man!... friend Khiamull! It seems to me that a girl of the kind
I've mentioned is by no means to be despised...."

The Hindu smiled once more at the speaker's ignorance. Every race has
its own tastes and its sense of smell. To Aguirre, who was a good
fellow, he would dare to reveal a terrible secret. Did he see those
whites, the Europeans, so content with their cleanliness and their
baths?... They were all impure, polluted by a natural stench which it
was impossible for them to wipe out. The son of the land of the lotus
and the sacred clay was forced to make an effort in orde