"No, m'sieur," she answered firmly, holding out her hand. "And when shall we resume our chat?" I asked. She hesitated, gazing away to the misty cliffs across the bay. I half feared she would refuse to meet me again. "If you are not bored by my wretchedness and bad temper," she said at last, with a sad smile, "I will be here to-morrow morning, at eleven." "I shall not fail to keep the appointment," I said, delighted. "Meanwhile try and forget your secret; try and be equally happy with those around you, and remember that at least you have one sympathiser, even though he is almost a stranger." Tears welled in her beautiful eyes as I clasped her hand. "Thank you," she said in a low voice, trembling with emotion. "I--I appreciate your sympathy. _Au revoir, m'sieur, sans adieu_." For an instant our eyes met, then, turning towards the Concha, she walked away, and was, a few seconds later, hidden by a bend in the path. I strolled back to the Ezcurra, utterly mystified. Women's ways are as many and as devious as "luck's lines" on one's hand, but the Senorita Doroteita was an enigma. I was not one of those "minor lovers" whose petty passions could be caged in a triolet, for her marvellous beauty and exquisite grace now held me in fascination. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ No solution of the political crisis presented itself. In those agitated and troublous times under which Spain was labouring, I was compelled to make a daily journey to Bayonne, a distance of thirty-four miles, in order to dispatch my telegram to London. The Carlists were active; the various political parties were holding conferences incessantly; in military circles dissatisfaction was being openly expressed, and there were sinister rumours of a projected _coup d'etat_. With Senor Canovas del Castillo, Senor Romero y Robledo, and Senor Navarro Reverter I had had short interviews, the substance of which had been transmitted to London; and spending the brilliant sunny mornings in strolling with my enchanting senorita, the afternoons in writing, and the evenings in travelling to and fro across the frontier, the days glided by, and I took no count of them. In the course of those charming morning rambles we had visited Los Pasajes and Monte Igueldo, we had strolled along the Paseo de Ategorrita, and ascended Monte Orgullo to enjoy the view of the Pyrenees, and each hour I spent with her increased my admiration. She had discarded the mantilla, and was always dressed in gowns and hats that were unmistakably from the Rue de la Paix. Patrician refinement was stamped upon every line of her handsome countenance, and her conversation was always bright, witty, and delightful. One day, while we were walking along the Paseo de Ategorrita, beside the sea, outside the town, I explained to her how, as a newspaper correspondent, I was exceedingly anxious to obtain reliable information regarding the