CHAPTER XVI.
A day went by, and though I had become even letter-perfect in my new rôle I had not the chance to play it to my audience; but it came at last.
It was in the long, dreamy hour of the early afternoon, when sleep comes easiest. Doña Orosia had ordered her couch to be placed in the shadiest part of the breezy garden, close against the gray stone wall. Designedly she chose the corner nearest the iron gate, through which we could command a portion of the sunny street; and here she lay and made me sing to her all the songs I knew, the while she dozed and waked again, and whiles teased her parrot into uttering discordant cries until for very anger I would sing no more.
Suddenly she laid aside her petulance, and with a quick, imperious gesture bade me take up the lute again; then, falling back among her pillows, she closed her eyes and let her bosom rise and fall with the gentle breathings of a sleeping child.
I hesitated in some astonishment; but again the sharp command hissed from her softly parted lips,—
"Sing, little fool!—Melinza passes!"
I touched the lute with shaking fingers and lifted my trembling voice. The notes stuck in my throat and came forth huskily at first; but then I thought on my dear love in his hateful prison, and I sung as I had never sung before.
Above the gray wall I saw Don Pedro's plumed hat passing by. He reached the gate and halted, gazing in with eager eyes. His quick glance compassed the green nook, passed over the sleeping figure, and fixed itself upon my face.
The song died away; I leaned forward, smiling, and laid a warning finger on my lip.
He made me a bow so courtly that the feather in his laced hat swept the ground.