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 mitted, nor even thought, an offense against it, but she can no longer fight against the calumnies that Y. E. believes so readily. Señora Villegas, artist, called the Perichole, therefore returns herewith such of Y. E.’s gifts as have not been placed beyond recall, since without Y. E.’s confidence, Y. E.’s servant can take no pleasure in them.”

Camila continued walking about the room for several minutes, consumed by her thoughts. Presently without so much as glancing at her secretary, she commanded: “Take another leaf. ''Have you gone mad? Do not ever think of dedicating another bull to me again. It has caused a frightful war. Heaven protect you, my colt. Friday night, the same place, the same time. I may be a little late, for the fox is wide-awake''. That will be all.”

Manuel rose.

“You swear that you have made no errors?”

“Yes, I swear.”

“There is your money.”