“As, Panem et Circenses was the cry Among the Roman populace of old; So, Pany Toros! is the cry of Spain.” The Senora smiled appreciatively and put out her hand. “Pan y Toros!” she repeated. “And have you reflected, children, that no other nation in the world cries it. Only Spain and her children! That is because only men of the Spanish race are brave enough to fight bulls, and only Spanish bulls are brave enough to fight men.” She was quite pleased with herself for this speech, and finding no one inclined to dispute the statement, she went on to describe a festival of bulls she had been present at in the city of Mexico. The subject delighted her, and she grew eloquent over it; and, conscious only of Isabel’s shining eyes and enthusiastic interest, she did not notice the air of thoughtfulness which had settled over her husband’s face, nor yet Antonia’s ill-disguised weariness and anxiety. On the night of the Valdez’s party her father had said he would talk with her. Antonia was watching for the confidence, but not with any great desire. Her heart and her intelligence told her it would mean trouble, and she had that natural feeling of youth which gladly postpones the evil day. And while her father was silent she believed there were still possibilities of escape from it. So she was not sorry that he again went to his office in the city without any special word for her. It was another day stolen from the uncertain future, for the calm usage of the present, and she was determined to make happiness in it. When all was still in the afternoon Isabel came to her. She would not put the child to the necessity of again asking her help. She rose at once, and said: “Sit here, Iza, until I have opened the door for us. Then she took a rich silk kerchief, blue as the sky, in her hand, and went to the wide, matted hall. There she found Rachela, asleep on a cane lounge. Antonia woke her. “Rachela, I wish to go into the garden for an hour.” “The Senorita does the thing she wants to, Rachela would not presume to interfere. The Senorita became an Americano in New York.” “There are good things in New York, Rachela; for instance, this kerchief.” “That is indeed magnificent!” “If you permit my sister to walk in the garden with me, I shall give it to you this moment.” “Dona Isabel is different. She is a Mexicaine. She must be watched continually.” “For what reason? She is as innocent as an angel.” “Let her simply grow up, and you will see that she is not innocent as the angels. Oh, indeed! I could say something about last night! Dona Isabel has no vocation for a nun; but, gracias a Dios! Rachela is not yet blind or deaf.” “Let the child go with me for an hour, Rachela. The kerchief will be so becoming to you. There is not another in San Antonio like it.” Rachela was past forty, but not yet past the age of coquetry. “It will look gorgeous with my gold ear-rings, but--”