Saddened he slowly returned. For him all the Carnival was shrouded and ended. Should he have been more determined and found a way in the crowd? How could he find her again? It was not certain that she lived in Seville. If not, it might be impossible to find her. And little by little, by an unhappy illusion, the image that his mind held of her became more charming. Certain details of her sweet features that had only won a moment’s curious notice now became transmuted in the crucible of memory into the principal things that made up her tender attitude. There was a certain detail in the dressing of the hair, an extreme mobility in the corners of the lips. The latter changed each instant in form and expression. Often almost hidden, often almost curved upwards, rounded, slender, pale or darkened, animated, so to speak, with a varying flame of life and soul. Ah! perhaps one could blame all the rest of that face--say that the nose was not Grecian, the chin not Roman; but not to colour with pleasure at the sight of those little lip-corners was to be past all forgiveness in this world. So his thoughts flew on and on till a voice cried behind him rough but warning: a carriage was passing quickly in the narrow street. In the carriage was a young woman who, when she saw André threw gently towards him, as one would throw a rose, an egg inscribed “Quiero.” But, now, after the word there was a decided flourish. It was as if the fair one had wished to reply by stressing his own one-word message. CHAPTER II Her carriage had turned the corner of the street. André went in pursuit, anxious not to lose a second chance that might be the last. He arrived as the horses went through the gates of a house in the Plaza del Triunfo. The great black gates closed upon the rapidly caught silhouette of a woman. Without doubt it would have been wiser if he had prepared to learn the name and family, or mode of life of the stranger, before bursting into all the divine unknown of any such intrigue, in which, knowing nothing, he could not be master of anything. André nevertheless resolved not to quit the place without a first effort to find out something. He deliberately rang the gate bell. A young custodian came, but did not open the gates. “What does Your Grace demand?” “Take my card to the Señora.” “To what Señora?” “To the one who lives here, I presume.” “But her name?” “I say that your mistress awaits me.” The man bowed and made a deprecatory sign with his hands, then retired without opening the gates or taking the card. Then André rang a second and third time. Anger had made him discourteous. “A woman so prompt to reply to a declaration of this type,” he thought, “cannot be surprised that one insists upon trying to see her.” It did not occur to him that the Carnival and the bacchanal forgives passing follies, that are not usually permitted in normal social life.