"In the name of the fiend, Pedro," said he, "canst suppress that woman? If so, do it—in a gentle way if possible; for she is a woman. Those varlets below deserve their flaying, but it groweth wearisome." Pedro shook his head. "I doubt if she could be estopped by anything short of strangulation. However, I’ll cast about." But he muttered as he moved away: "Now the saints lend me their protection! This is what cometh of being a cook." Thereafter, when the lady broke out, Pedro, with marvellous patience, would go to the patio, approach her with all deference, and oppose her torrent with an equal flood of apologies, assurances, entreaties, compliments, and cajoleries, with splendid versatility. And however great her rage, the moment would come when Madame would stop to listen—and be undone. The cook would thereupon lead her ceremoniously to her door, bow her across the threshold, and return to his kitchen leaving the lady appeased. But having regained his privacy, Pedro would swear roundly. These repeated softenings were not without their effect upon the señora. This effect was cumulative. As the days went by it grew apparent that in her hostility toward mankind she made the suave _cantinero_ an exception. This he noticed at first with natural complacency. Later, when her attitude became one of tolerant friendliness, he blessed his stars, vowing privately that his circumspection should be without a flaw. Still later, as a consequence, the señora’s amiability grew more pronounced, expressed by small favors, and even by occasional invitations to sup. The good Pedro’s serenity increased, and its influence seemed to spread over the establishment. Alas for his tranquillity, for its life was short! The señora had speaking eyes, and as they looked with growing favor upon the gracious cook, they softened in a measure that could never have escaped one less unsuspecting than he. Pedro went his placid way, unconscious of the growing tenderness, until a glance awoke him to his peril. There was no doubt, no need of words to interpret. It was only a glance in passing, but Pedro looked after the lady in consternation. As she passed he crossed himself, stood a moment, then deserted his task and stumped with precipitation to the first refuge—to Cristoval. The cavalier looked up as the cook entered. Pedro sank into a chair. "Ho! Pedro, what is to do?" demanded the cavalier, surveying his agitation with concern. "What hath happened?"