“Do you mean then that we shall not meet again?”

“Never!  And you, especially, should not regret it.”  And then with a smile that was utterly without joy she extended her exquisite hand to me and said:  “Pray to God for me.”

I pressed her hand and made a low bow.  She entered a handsome victoria which was awaiting her, and as it moved away she bowed to me again.

* * * * *

Two months later I met her again.

At two o’clock in the afternoon I was jogging along in an old cart on the road that leads to Cordoba.  The object of my journey was to examine some land which I owned in that neighborhood and pass three or four weeks with one of the judges of the Supreme Court, who was an intimate friend of mine and had been my schoolmate at the University of Granada.

He received me with open arms.  As I entered his handsome house I could but note the perfect taste and elegance of the furniture and decorations.

“Ah, Zarco,” I said, “you have married, and you have never told me about it.  Surely this was not the way to treat a man who loved you as much as I do!”

“I am not married, and what is more I never will marry,” answered the judge sadly.

“I believe that you are not married, dear boy, since you say so, but I cannot understand the declaration that you never will.  You must be joking.”

“I swear that I am telling you the truth,” he replied.

“But what a metamorphosis!” I exclaimed.  “You were always a partisan of marriage, and for the past two years you have been writing to me and advising me to take a life partner.  Whence this wonderful change, dear friend?  Something must have happened to you, something unfortunate, I fear?”

“To me?” answered the judge somewhat embarrassed.

“Yes, to you.  Something has happened, and you are going to tell me all about it.  You live here alone, have practically buried yourself in this great house.  Come, tell me everything.”

The judge pressed my hand.  “Yes, yes, you shall know all.  There is no man more unfortunate than I am.  But listen, this is the day upon which all the inhabitants go to the cemetery, and I must be there, if only for form’s sake.  Come with me.  It is a pleasant afternoon and the walk will do you good, after riding so long in that old cart.  The location of the cemetery is a beautiful one, and I am quite sure you will enjoy the walk.  On our way, I will tell you the incident that ruined my life, and you shall judge yourself whether I am justified in my hatred of women.”

As together we walked along the flower-bordered road, my friend told me the following story: 

Two years ago when I was Assistant District Attorney in ——­, I obtained permission from my chief to spend a month in Sevilla.  In the hotel where I lodged there was a beautiful young woman who passed for a widow but whose origin, as well as her reasons for staying in that town, were a mystery to all.  Her installation, her wealth, her total lack of friends or acquaintances and the sadness of her expression, together with her incomparable beauty, gave rise to a thousand conjectures.