"Dreaming of home and of the country ways,
The village feastings and the green spring days."
She repeated the lines many times to herself with sing-song monotony, which ended by putting her asleep. She dreamed she was at home. Her young sister played "Stefánia" on her mandoline. Regina saw the mandoline distinctly and its inlaid picture of a troubadour with a mandola. The little black cat was listening, rather bored, and yawning ostentatiously. Outside fell the evening, violet-grey, velvety, silent. Suddenly a perplexed visage with gold-rimmed eye-glasses started up behind the window-panes. Regina laughed so loud that she woke her husband.
"Whatever is it?" he asked in alarm.
"His Excellency," she murmured, still dreaming.
Next morning, on awakening, Antonio found Regina in tears.
"You were laughing last night—now you cry," he said, with slight impatience. "Can't you explain what on earth's the matter with you?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing! You're crying! What are you crying about? I can't bear it any longer! Why do you torment me like this?"
She took his hand and passed it over her eyes. He repented.