A FEW days later, on a Sunday afternoon, Quentin went out for a horseback ride. Before turning toward the mountain, he drew rein in the Paseo de la Victoria to watch the people as they went by.

His reputation as a gambler, a dare-devil, and a rude and powerful man, made it possible for him to have his little successes with the ladies, and more than one of them looked at him with the long, staring, and penetrating glance of a woman not altogether understood by her husband.

As was customary on fiesta days, the carriages were driven to and fro along the Paseo, and among them rode several horsemen on spirited mounts. In one of his turns, Quentin saw Rafaela and Remedios alone in a carriage. Neither of the two girls noticed his presence, and in order that this should not happen again, Quentin placed himself in such a position that they would have to see him as they came back.

Remedios was the first to recognize him, and she told her sister. Quentin bowed to them very ceremoniously. When they reached the extreme end of the drive, Rafaela must have told her coachman to leave the Paseo. Remedios looked back several times. Quentin rode up to the carriage and entered into conversation with the two sisters. Rafaela was pale and had dark rings under her[208] eyes; she was in the last month of pregnancy; her eyes were sunken and her ears transparent.

Remedios was prettier than ever; she was just reaching that intermediate stage when the child becomes the woman.

“Are you two girls well?” Quentin asked them with real interest.

“I am well,” answered Rafaela a trifle weakly. “Just waiting from day to day ... and you can see for yourself that Remedios is prettier and healthier than ever.”

Remedios burst into one of her silent laughs.

“Yes,” replied Quentin, “one can see that the country is good for Remedios.”

“Don’t you believe it!” exclaimed the child. “I would rather live in our house on the Calle del Sol.”

“They say you have become a terrible person,” said Rafaela. “I believe you write for the papers, ... that you keep bad company....”

“Nothing to it—just gossip.”

“And you don’t go to the house any more, either. You have deserted poor grandfather.”

“That’s true. I’m always thinking about going, but I never do.”

“Well, he asks after you all the time. The poor dear is very ill, and so lonely.... Since we have been in town, we have been to see him every day.”

“Well, I’ll go, too, don’t you worry.”

“Go tomorrow,” said Remedios.

“Very well, t............