There was not a grey hair in the dark brown of her head, there was not a wrinkle--yes, there were two at the corners of her mouth, which told the story of her restlessness, of her hunger for the excitement of which she had been deprived all these years.

To go back to Cadiz ?--oh, anywhere, anywhere, so that her blood could beat faster; so that she could feel the stir of life which had made her spirit flourish even in the dangers of the far-off day when Gonzales was by her side.
She looked at her guitar.

She was sorry she could not take that away with her.

But Jean Jacques would, no doubt, send it after her with his curse.

She would love to play it once again with the old thrill; with the thrill she had felt on the night of Zoe's birthday a little while ago, when she was back again with her lover and the birds in the gardens of Granada.