There was one person upon whom the tragedy of life thus far sat lightly.  Even her enemies, if she had any, would not deny that Carmen had an admirable temperament.  If she had been a Moslem, it might be predicted that she would walk the wire ‘El Serat’ without a tremor.  In these days she was busy with the plans of her new house.  The project suited her ambition and her taste.  The structure grew in her mind into barbaric splendor, but a barbaric splendor refined, which reveled in the exquisite adornment of the Alhambra itself.  She was in daily conferences with her architect and her artists, she constantly consulted Jack about it, and Mavick whenever he was in town, and occasionally she awakened the interest of Henderson himself, who put no check upon her proceedings, although his mind was concerned with a vaster structure of his own.  She talked of little else, until in her small world there grew up a vast expectation of magnificence, of which hints appeared from time to time in the newspapers, mysterious allusions to Roman luxury, to Nero and his Golden House.  Henderson read these paragraphs, as he read the paragraphs about his own fortune, with a grim smile.

“Your house is getting a lot of free advertising,” he said to Carmen one evening after dinner in the library, throwing the newspaper on the table as he spoke.

“They all seem to like the idea,” replied Carmen.  “Did you see what one of the papers said about the use of wealth in adorning the city?  That’s my notion.”

“I suppose,” said Henderson, with a smile, “that you put that notion into the reporter’s head.”

“But he thought he suggested it to me.”

“Let’s look over the last drawing.”  Henderson half rose from his chair to pull the sheet towards him, but instantly sank back, and put his hand to his heart.  Carmen saw that he was very pale, and ran round to his chair.

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” he said, taking a long breath.  “Just a stitch.  Indigestion.  It must have been the coffee.”

Carmen ran to the dining-room, and returned with a wineglass of brandy.

“There, take that.”

He drank it.  “Yes, that’s better.  I’m all right now.”  And he sat still, slowly recovering color and control of himself.

“I’m going to send for the doctor.”

“No, no; nonsense.  It has all passed,” and he stretched out his arms and threw them back vigorously.  “It was only a moment’s faintness.  It’s quite gone.”

He rose from his chair and took a turn or two about the room.  Yes, he was quite himself, and he patted Carmen’s head as he passed and took his seat again.  For a moment or two there was silence.  Then he said, still as if reflecting: 

“Isn’t it queer?  In that moment of faintness all my life flashed through my mind.”

“It has been a very successful life,” Carmen said, by way of saying something.

“Yes, yes; but I wonder if it was worth while?”