I sat on, as the hours passed, and watched the moon rise till it poured its flood of silver light all over the city, sat thinking on the horror of man and wondering what strange law has fashioned him to be the devil he is.

Towards sunrise, the wind blew cold off the marshes round the city, and I went in and down to the lower floor of the hotel.

Its world was fast asleep.  In the hall I saw two Mexican porters in their thin white clothes, curled up on the door mat, without covering or pillow, fast asleep.

I made my way to the little-used reception-room, found my way across it to a wide old couch, threw myself upon it, and closed my eyes.  The couch smelt musty and the room seemed cold, but I was accustomed to sleep anyhow and anywhere, and in a few moments, with my thoughts on Viola, I drifted into oblivion.

At breakfast time the next day I went to the administrador and told him to send up ours by another waiter, and never to allow the former one to come into our room again.  Then I went upstairs to Suzee.  As I unlocked the door and entered I saw she was up and dressed.  She came to me, looking white and frightened.

“Oh, Treevor, do forgive me, I never will again.  Only say you forgive me.  I was so frightened all last night, I thought you had locked me up here to starve.”

Again the absence of deep feeling, of any ethical consideration prompting her contrition, jarred upon me.  She would be good because she did not want to starve or be otherwise punished.  That was her view of it, and that alone.

I bent over her, took her hand, and kissed her.

“We needn’t think of it any more,” I said gently.  “Only you must remember if such a thing occurs again, we cease to live together, that’s all.”

Suzee reiterated her promises with effusion, and presently an old, grey-haired waiter appeared with our breakfast.

I could not repress a smile as I saw the administrador had determined to be on the safe side this time.

Suzee was extremely amiable and docile all that day.

Most women who do not shew gratitude for kindness and consideration, when the man retaliates or shews any harshness, begin to improve wonderfully; while a delicate nature like Viola’s, that responds to love and gives devotion in return, would meet that same harshness with passionate resentment.  Suzee sincerely mourned her lost jewels and gazed wistfully and furtively down into the street where they had gone in the darkness.

I paid the bill for them that day, but I never knew what became of them, nor whose neck they now adorn!

The following day was Sunday, the day appointed by the Prince of Peace, and dedicated here by his followers, the Christians, to the torture and slaughter of their helpless companions in this world—­the animals.  Sunday, throughout Mexico, is the day most usually fixed for a bull-fight, and to-day there was going to be one, and Suzee had begged me to take her to see it.