"Do you know them?"

"Why, of course I know them. The poor things are in the greatest want.
I don't know how they manage to live. When Don Francisco Troya died a
subscription was raised for them, but that did not last very long."

"Poor girls! I imagine they are not models of virtue."

"And why not? I do not believe what they say in the town about them."

Once more the blinds opened.

"Good-afternoon, girls!" cried Don Juan Tafetan to the three girls, who
appeared, artistically grouped, at the window. "This gentleman says that
good things ought not to hide themselves, and that you should throw open
the blinds."

But the blind was closed and a joyous concert of laughter diffused a
strange gayety through the gloomy street. One might have fancied that a
flock of birds was passing.

"Shall we go there?" said Tafetan suddenly.

His eyes sparkled and a roguish smile played on his discolored lips.

"But what sort of people are they, then?"

"Don't be afraid, Senor de Rey. The poor things are honest. Bah! Why,
they live upon air, like the chameleons. Tell me, can any one who