"But I must ask these gentlemen to do what remains," said he, turning and addressing our companions. "Luisa has doubtless changed the password since my time." "Willingly, Señor Fuentes," agreed de Ribalta. "You will not, of course, object to be blindfolded?--a formality, merely, in your case." The porter, having received the password in a whisper through the grille, unbolted to us, and opened the door upon a pitch-dark passage. Here we submitted to have our eyes bandaged, and Sebastian Paz took my hand to guide me. Eight flights of stairs we mounted before the hubbub of many voices and the tinkle of a guitar saluted my ears; two more, and the hubbub grew louder; another, and it grew obstreperous, deafening. At the head of the twelfth flight one of our guides rapped on a door; the noise died down suddenly; a bolt was shot back and the bandage dragged from my eyes. I found myself blinking and staring across a room filled with tobacco-smoke, and upon a company which at first glance I took for a crew of demons. They were, in fact, a students' chorus--young men in black, with black silk masks covering the upper half of their faces. All wore the same uniform--black tunic, short black cloak, knee-breeches, and stockings. Some squatted on the floor, two lolled on a divan by the window--each with a guitar across his knees. The man who had opened to us held a tambourine, and he alone wore a little round cap. The others wore black cocked hats, or had flung them off for better ease. In a deep armchair beside the fireplace sat a stiff-backed, middle-aged woman in black--a duenna evidently--who regarded us with eyes like large black beads, but did not interrupt her knitting. In the corner behind the door stood a bed, with a crucifix above it: and on the bed, between two crates, the one of them heaped with flowers, sat a young woman dangling a pretty pair of feet and smoking a cigarette while she made up a posy. In spite of their masks one could tell that all the men were young--mere lads, indeed. And if this were Luisa, Fuentes had slandered her sorely. She seemed scarcely eighteen--and we had taken her, too, at unawares, when a woman forgets for a moment her endless vigilant parry against Time. She tossed her posy into the half-filled basket, clapped her hands, and sprang off the bed. "Two new recruits! Bravo, Sebastianillo!" With that, as she stepped gaily forward, her eyes fell on Fuentes, and she swayed and fell back a pace, catching at the foot of the bed. "Don Eugenio!" "Your servant, Señorita." He bowed elaborately and coldly. "You keep the lamp burning, and I accepted its invitation. Your cheeks, too, Señorita, keep the old colour. I congratulate you--and you, Doña Isabel." He bowed to the old lady. "To live with youth--that is the way to live always young."