“I went into my room and threw a world of bitter energy into my toilet, angry with myself for not being beautiful enough to win one heart from that pretty face, angry with him that he could not understand the depth of feeling and of thought which made my preference so much more worthy than anything that young creature could ever feel. I had a cruel pleasure in depreciating myself, and almost hated the face which looked into mine half angrily from the glass. Its large gray eyes, with their thick lashes, seemed heavy with unshed tears. There was a frown on the forehead, rendering it dark and turbulent. The mouth harmonized with this stormy look, and trembled into half sarcastic smiles, as if each feature reviled the other. Now I was larger, taller, more pronounced in face and person than the pretty fairy who could entertain him so flippantly, while I sat dumb and silent in his presence. No wonder I hated myself, yet many persons had thought me good looking, and I could recollect a thousand compliments on my talents and powers of pleasing, which came to me then like remembered mockeries.

“I made no effort to look beautiful, but over my simple white dress threw a lace mantilla, fastening it to my head with clusters of tea roses, and allowing it to sweep over my person, black and shadowy, like the thoughts that haunted my mind. This was a common dress among the Spanish ladies, and I put it on that day for the first time, thinking to escape the observation that a foreign costume was sure to provoke. Miss Eaton gave an exclamation of delight when I went down to the parlor. If any thing could inspire her to enthusiasm it was a novelty in dress.

“‘Oh, how charming! And you have turned Spaniard,’ she said, clasping her little hands and examining me from head to foot, in a sort of rapture. ’Ain’t she splendid, Mr. Harrington! Those crimson roses look superb in the black lace. I am sick of my bonnet. Just hold my parasol while I make myself a senorita also.’

“She ran out of the room, snatching some orange blossoms from a vase as she went, and sending back soft gushes of an opera song to us.

“‘What a light-hearted creature she is,’ said Harrington, watching her with admiring eyes as she floated off. ’A lovely face, don’t you think so?’

“‘Yes, I think so, a very lovely face.’

“Perhaps some of the bitterness in my heart found its way through my voice. Something there was which disturbed James Harrington. He turned and looked at me keenly, seemed about to make some reply, but checked himself and began to play with the coral handle of Lucy’s parasol. Directly, Lucy Eaton came back more like a summer cloud than ever, for over her head she had thrown a veil of Brussels point, delicate as a mist, and white as frost. But for her canary colored gloves and blue ribbons, she would have appeared in absolute bridal costume, for she had twisted the orange blossoms into a pretty garland which held the veil or mantilla over her head, and was blushing like a rose with a sense of her own completeness.

“We started for the public square through which the procession was to pass. The streets were full of people, men, women, and children, all in their richest costume, and brilliant with expectation. Every woman had the national fall of lace on her head, almost invariably fastened with clusters of natural roses; some of these mantillas were marvels of costly work, and fell shadow-like over those soft summer dresses, giving them a graceful and cloud-like lightness. All Seville was on foot, no carriages are permitted in the street during the holy week. Poor and rich were, for the time, on a perfect level, and each came forth well dressed and radiant, to honor the most interesting spectacle known to the nation. It was like looking down on an out door opera when we entered the queint stone balcony reserved for us, with fresh palm leaves interwoven in the carved work, and cushioned chairs waiting for our occupation. No flower garden was ever more radiant and blooming. Hundreds of colored parasols swayed towards the sun like mammoth poppies, gay fans kept the air in perpetual motion. Pretty white hands twinkled recognition from friend to friend; floating lace gave a cloud-like softness to the whole scene, indescribably beautiful. All was eagerness and gay commotion. On the outskirts of the square, horsemen with arms at their sides, were stationed like statues. The balconies were hung with gorgeously tinted draperies, crowded with beautiful women and garlanded with flowers.

“One balcony, more spacious than the rest, was richly ornamented with draperies of crimson velvet falling from a gilded crown over head, and drawn back by cords of heavy bullion. A flight of steps led to this balcony from the street, and altogether it had a look of regal magnificence which drew the general attention that way.

“While we were occupied with this novel scene, a hum and murmur of voices drew the general attention toward one of the principal streets entering the square. This was followed by a general commotion in the crowd, through which a murmur, like that of hiving bees, ran to and fro; ladies stood up, parasols swayed confusedly, expectation was in every face.

“Directly the cause of all this excitement became apparent. The Infanta had entered the square, and was approaching the royal balcony. She was a lovely woman, very young and in the full bloom of her beauty, dark-eyed, dark-haired, well formed, and carrying herself with queenly dignity, which it is said the sovereign herself does not equal. The slanting sunbeams fell directly upon her as she passed by our balcony in full state; the train of her dress, blue as the sky, and looped with clusters of pink roses, was carried by four noblemen, all richly attired, as if the street had been some palace hall. Her dress was looped back at the shoulders with aigrette of diamonds, whose pendent sparks dropped half way to the elbow, quivering like fire from beneath the long white mantilla that swept over her person as sweeps the blue of a summer sky. The veil was fastened to her graceful head by a tiara of the same pure gems, which twinkled through it like starlight on frost. Her walk was queenly, her look full of sweet womanliness. They tell me she is prettier and more popular than the queen, and I can readily believe it, for this young creature is very lovely.

“The steps of the royal balcony descended directly to the pavement. The Infanta mounted them, gliding upward with the grace of a bird of paradise, followed by her train-bearers. Directly after she was seated, the balcony filled from a room beyond it, into which the royal party had assembled. Le Duc de Montpensier, his sister, Princess Clementina, and her husband, the Duke of Saxe Coburg, the cousin of Prince Albert of England, and two or three pretty children, mingled with the group, giving it a domestic grace pleasant to contemplate.”