appeared, she looked like a convalescent and the frowns had
disappeared completely from the face of her mother and her
grandmother.

"She looks like an infanticide," said the priest when he saw her
again, "but she's prettier than ever."

Whether any transgression had been committed, none could say with
surety; soon everything was forgotten; a patron appeared for the girl,
and he was, from all appearances, wealthy. In commemoration of so
happy an event the boarders participated in the treat. After the
supper they drank cognac and brandy, the priest played the guitar,
Irene danced _sevillanas_ with less grace than a bricklayer, as
the landlady said; the Superman sang some _fados_ that he had
learned in Portugal, and the Biscayan, not to be outdone, burst forth
into some _malaguenas_ that might just as well have been a
_cante flamenco_ or the Psalms of David.

Only the blond student with the eyes of steel abstained from the
celebration; he was absorbed in his thoughts.

"And you, Roberto," Celia said to him several times,--"don't you sing
or do anything?"

"Not I," he replied coldly.

"You haven't any blood in your veins."

The youth looked at her for a moment, shrugged his shoulders
indifferently and his pale lips traced a smile of disdainful mockery.