hair, and another on her bosom, came out of the Alcazar. Waving her fan,
and tripping over the pavement like a wag-tail, she came directly towards
the disputants.

Ulrich recognized her instantly; it was Carmen, the pretty embroiderer of
the shell-grotto in the park, now the wife of the new porter, who had
obtained his dead predecessor's office, as well as his daughter.

"Carmen!" exclaimed Ulrich, as soon as he saw the pretty little woman,
then added confidently. "This young lady knows me."

"I?" asked the young wife, turning up her pretty little nose, and looking
at the tall youth's shabby costume. "Who are you?"

"Master Moor's pupil, Ulrich Navarrete; don't you remember me?"

"I? You must be mistaken!"

With these words she shut her fan so abruptly, that it snapped loudly,
and tripped on.

Ulrich shrugged his shoulders, then turned to the porter more
courteously, and this time succeeded in his purpose; for the artist
Coello's body-servant came out of the treasury, and willingly announced
him to his master, who now, as court-artist, occupied Moor's quarters.

Ulrich followed the friendly Pablo into the palace, where every step he
mounted reminded him of his old master and former days.

When he at last stood in the anteroom, and the odor of the fresh oil-