the convent--whether the Church could make her happier than you could if
you give her the opportunity of leading the life that God created her
for."

Marcos made no answer. And oddly enough Sarrion seemed to expect none.

"That is ...," he explained in the same careless voice, "if we may go on
the presumption that you are content to place Juanita's happiness before
your own."

"I am content to do that."

"Always?" asked Sarrion, gravely.

"Always."

There was a short silence. Then the Count came into the room, and as he
passed Marcos he laid his hand for a moment on his son's broad back.

"Then, my friend," he said, crossing the room and taking up his gloves,
"let us get to action. That will please you better than words, I know.
Let us go and see Leon--the weakest link in their fine chain. Juanita has
no one in the world but us--but I think we shall be enough."

Leon de Mogente lived in an apartment in the Plaza del Pilar. His father,
for whom he had but little affection, had made him a liberal allowance
which had been spent, so to speak, on his Soul. It elevated the Spirit of
this excellent young man to decorate his rooms in imitation of a
sanctuary.