My eyes dilated with horror; my fingers released their hold on the
picture. I don't know how I was able to articulate:

"You--the portrait--is you?"

"Don't you think I am as pretty now, boy? Bah! one is better looking
at twenty-three than at--than at--I don't know what, for I have
forgotten how old I am!"

My head drooped and I almost fainted again; anyway, my father lifted
me in his arms on to the bed, and made me swallow some tablespoonfuls
of port.

I recovered very quickly, and never wished to enter my aunt's room
again.




AN ANDALUSIAN DUEL

Serafin Estebanez Calderon


Through the little square of St. Anna, towards a certain tavern, where
the best wine is to be quaffed in Seville, there walked in measured
steps two men whose demeanor clearly manifested the soil which gave
them birth. He who walked in the middle of the street, taller than the
other by about a finger's length, sported with affected carelessness
the wide, slouched hat of Ecija, with tassels of glass beads and a