at Court--asserting that all countries were most insignificant when
compared with her husband's. She even affected a certain condescension
toward Desnoyers, praising him as "a very worthy man, but without
ancient lineage or distinguished family--and French, besides."

Karl, on the other hand, showed the same devotion as before, keeping
himself submissively in the background when with his brother-in-law
who had the keys of the cash box and was his only defense against the
browbeating old Patron. . . . He had left his two older sons in a school
in Germany. Years afterwards they reached an equal footing with the
other grandchildren of the Spaniard who always begrudged them their
existence, "perfect frights, with carroty hair, and eyes like a shark."

Suddenly the old man became very lonely, for they had also carried off
his second "Peoncito." The good Chicha could not tolerate her daughter's
growing up like a boy, parading 'round on horseback all the time, and
glibly repeating her grandfather's vulgarities. So she was now in a
convent in the Capital, where the Sisters had to battle valiantly in
order to tame the mischievous rebellion of their wild little pupil.

When Julio and Chichi returned to the ranch for their vacations, the
grandfather again concentrated his fondness on the first, as though the
girl had merely been a substitute. Desnoyers was becoming indignant
at his son's dissipated life. He was no longer at college, and his
existence was that of a student in a rich family who makes up for
parental parsimony with all sorts of imprudent borrowings.

But Madariaga came to the defense of his grandson. "Ah, the fine
cowboy!" . . . Seeing him again on the ranch, he admired the dash of the
good looking youth, testing his muscles in order to convince himself