hesitation, and then in a whisper I heard this: "Not as a recompense, but simply as a remembrance,—for the poor rose has gone,—would you accept this étui?"
"It is very ungracious on my part, madam," I said, with pique, "but I must decline your gift."
"It is very precious to me, because it belonged to my poor husband. Were you unworthy I would not have offered it. I am so sorry! But now good-evening. You have been so good, so considerate to me, that your refusal does not wound me. Good-night." And, bowing to me, she left the balcony.
Had I made a fool of myself? I scarcely knew. I went out of the hotel. Happening to look on the pavement, I saw between the interstices of the rough stones the identical rose, stripped only of a leaf or two. I stuck it in my button-hole. It was late before I went to bed, and later when I slept.
I had never seen my Chilian lady at breakfast before. Next morning, just as I was seated at the table, dawdling with a bunch of grapes, the man-servant entered, and, either by accident or design, moved a chair for his mistress directly opposite to me. The lady sat down. At once she spoke to me. "I have not closed my eyes all night. I never breakfast before twelve; but I could not let you go away angry with me, without—without—" she had not lifted her face from her plate, but now she looked at me with her large, dreamy eyes—"without apologizing for my indiscretion. But indeed it was the best thing for me to do. Oh, the weary days I shall have to spend! Why—why did I leave home? If I only had an adviser! Is that my rose?" she suddenly asked, indicating with outstretched taper finger the flower. It was fresh still, for I had placed it in water over-night.
"It is, madam. I did not jump over the balcony, but found it—poor thing!—just where you had thrown it."
"Then you must have looked for it."
"Do you give it to me now?" I asked.
"I could not claim it," she sadly said. "But let us talk of other things. Fortunately, no one here understands English. Had I better take some chocolate? I am faint for want of food, for I broke no bread yesterday." Then she talked of Seville,—what little she knew of it. She had seen, so far, nothing. Next she asked, very quietly, "Are you going away to-day?"
"All my preparations are made, and you will have the supreme happiness of never seeing me again. In less than a month from now I shall be in the United States."
"God give you a safe return home! I shall pray devoutly for
