The Velvet Glove

oudoir in olden days--the Count de Sarrion sat down to write a letter to his son. He despatched i

letter. "It wants a younger man. Marcos will do it, though he hates the

his face, was dust-coloured. He wore knee-breeches of homespun, brown stockings, a handkerchief that had once been coloured bound round his head, with

and give it into the hand of my son with your own hand. It i

-so taciturn that in politely greeting the passer on the road the

ssenger left the room noiselessly, for th

er sent by hand, while the railway is still looked upon with suspicion by the authorities as a means of circulating

feeble clue that he had of the incident in the Calle San Gregorio. The Count had been a politician in his youth, and his position entailed a passive continuance of the policy he had actively advocated in earlier days. But as an old sailor, weary with the battle of many storms, learns at last to treat

he had been exiled in the uncertain days of Isabella. Francisco de Mogente had been placed in one of those vague positions of Spanish political life where exile had never been commuted, though friend and enemy

he Cathedral of the Seo. A priest hurried past, late, and yet in time to save his record of services attended. The beggars were leisurely making their wa

e never opened door of a deserted palace, he had stood for a moment fighting with his back to the wall. Here he had fallen. From that corner had come aid in the person--Sarrion was

n Bruno, and from the movements of the bearers Sarrion had received the conviction that they had e

door had never particularly attracted his attention. Like many of the doorways of these great houses, it was wide and high, giving acce

he apartments into which the house was divided, paused for a moment, and waited on the threshold. He looked up the dark stairs, and slowly distingui

m habit than from any particular tie of sympathy. For we all find at length that the nursery carpet is not the world. Their ways had parted soon

with Evasio Mon," Sarrion once said to his son in

s contemplative way, having given the matter his consid

eir hats to each other with rather more ceremony than when they had last m

. A man bears his school mark all through life. This layman ha

"What is this house? I

ng with a little wave of the hand, ind

y friend, as you see--

o lives

As in any other. People one must

way, as it were, unconsciously away f

Sarrion, who did not move a step

e finger. "Because, my friend, none b

od God sent so many

nts a few sain

Their half-bantering talk suddenly collapsed, and they stood looking at each other in silenc

ng into this house. I have long ceased to take an inte

ad only done what was wise and sensible in a ma

was attacked in this street--by the usual street cutthroats, it is to be supposed. I

d pointed out the Sarrion Palace, gloomy an

g unconsciously to answer a question passing in his companion

e; for before I could descend help

t yourself in the fate of some rake, who was probably ti

mentioned

cidents do not happen in the early evening. However, let us

ity to the house, l

g him more slowly, "I have conceived the i

, he must be an old

sco de

surprise, followed instantly by a qui

aid, "what made you think of him after a

an indifferent voice and waited for the answer; but S

blood in the street, but it had been covered with dust. This also

man still carries in his hand whenever he

ake inquiries. I know most of the people in this house. They are poor people

ory is usually related by one who repeats it, while Sarrion stood at the door and looked around him. It was Mon who persisted

in Santiago de Cuba, and will probably never return. If he were here in Saragossa surely his own son would know it. I saw Leon de Mogente the day before yesterday, by the way, and he said nothing of his father. And it is not long since

ll betray those who wait most assiduously upon her, the curtain of the great door of the cathedral w

lucky chance," said M

e was a pale and bloodless man--food for the cloister. He bowed with an odd humility to Mon, but spoke

ened. My father is dead. He died without the benefits of the Church. He returned

rrion, indicating with his stick t

ed glance at Mon. "It may have been. I do not know. He died wit

rather coldly, "yo