“Are you not at all jealous, you fish-blooded German?”

“Jealous?  No, I certainly am not.  Besides which, you give me no cause.”

“Indeed! and what about my tete-a-tetes with Don Antonio?”

“Oh, Don Antonio!” laughed Wilhelm.

“You are quite right, sweetheart, but it aggravates me that you should not want to know what he and I are brewing.  You do not take nearly so much interest in my affairs as you ought.”

“But you told me that Don Antonio was your man of business.”

“Well, then—­no—­this time it is not a matter of business.  I wanted to prepare a surprise for you.”  She seated herself on his knee, and laying her cheek to his, she whispered:  “I have been trying to have myself naturalized in Belgium, and then, as a Belgian subject, get a divorce from Count Pozaldez.  In that way I might have become your wife before the law as well.”

He looked at her with a face expressive rather of alarm and astonishment than joy, and she went on with a sigh, “However, Don Antonio has just told me I must give up that pleasant dream—­it cannot be realized.”

He kissed her lips and brow, and stroked her silky hair.  She laid her head on his shoulder, and remained long in silent thought.  Presently she rose, walked up and down the room once or twice, and finally seated herself on a footstool at Wilhelm’s feet.  “But something I must do to bind you to me,” she said.  “I shall not rest till there is some written bond, something legal between us.  I shall alter my will, and give you the place in it you occupy in my life.”

“Pilar,” exclaimed Wilhelm, “if you love me, and if you wish that we should remain what we are to one another, never say such a word again.  If I ever find out that you have mentioned me in your will, all is at end between us.”  She drooped her head disconsolately, and he continued in a milder tone—­“Dorfling’s will has not brought me so much luck that I should ever wish to inherit money again.”

The idea to which she had given expression did not leave Pilar, however.  There should be something in writing—­some document with stamps and seals to testify that Wilhelm belonged to her.  This wish assumed the proportions of a superstition with her, and she never rested till it was satisfied.

One morning the inmates of the house on the Boulevard Pereire saw the arrival of three carriages, which discharged eight persons at the door.  A well-dressed gentleman rang the bell, marshaled his seven companions in the hall, and desired to be shown up to the countess.  She was expecting him, and received him in the red salon.  After a short conversation, she went downstairs with him to the yellow salon, where Wilhelm, at her request, followed them.  The visitor was the Spanish consul in Paris.  He produced a casket ornamented with mother-o’-pearl, broke a seal with which it was fastened, unlocked it with a small silver key, and took out a document in a closed envelope, and