Rafael’s interest drifted to the lady.  His eyes rested on the back of a head of tightly-gathered golden hair, as luminous as a burnished helmet; on a white neck, plump, rounded; on a pair of broad, lithe shoulders, hidden under a blue silk blouse, the lines tapering rapidly, gracefully toward the waist; on a gray skirt, finally, falling in harmonious folds like the draping of a statue, and under the hem the solid heels of two shoes of English style encasing feet that must have been as agile and as strong as they were tiny.

The lady called to her maid in a voice that was sonorous, vibrant, velvety, though Rafael could catch only the accented syllables of her words, that seemed to melt together in the melodious silence of the mountain top.  The young man was sure she had not spoken Spanish.  A foreigner, almost certainly!...

She was expressing admiration and enthusiasm for the view, talking rapidly, pointing out the principal towns that could be seen, calling them by their names,—­the only words that Rafael could make out clearly.  Who was this woman whom he had never seen, who spoke a foreign language and yet knew the ribera well?  Perhaps the wife of one of the French or English orange-dealers established in the city!  Meanwhile his eyes were devouring that superb, that opulent, that elegant beauty which seemed to be challenging him with its indifference to his presence.

The keeper of the Hermitage issued cautiously from the house—­a peasant who made his living from visitors to the heights.  Attracted by the promising appearance of the strange lady, the hermit came forward to greet her, offering to fetch water from the cistern, and to unveil the image of the miraculous virgin, in her honor.

The woman turned around to answer the man, and that gave Rafael an opportunity to study her at his leisure.  She was tall, ever so tall, as tall as he perhaps.  But the impression her height of stature made was softened by a grace of figure that revealed strength allied to elegance.  A strong bust, sculpturesque, supporting a head that engaged the young man’s wrapt attention.  A hot mist of emotion seemed to cloud his vision as he looked into her large eyes, so green, so luminous!  The golden hair fell forward upon a forehead of pearly whiteness, veined at the temples with delicate lines of blue.  Viewed in profile her gracefully moulded nose, quivering with vitality at the nostrils, filled out a beauty that was distinctly modern, piquantly charming.  In those lineaments, Rafael thought he could recognize any number of famous actresses.  He had seen her before.  Where?...  He did not know.  Perhaps in some illustrated weekly!  Perhaps in some album of stage celebrities!  Or maybe on the cover of some match-box—­a common medium of publicity for famous European belles.  Of one thing he was certain:  at sight of that wonderful face he felt as though he were meeting an old friend after a long absence.