"It is I. Open, open directly."
"I am in bed."
"No matter, open at once."
"Let me dress."
"No; open directly, or I'll break the door."
"I am coming! I am coming!"
The young man waited a minute, but instead of the door he thought he heard the window of the room being opened.
"Open, Ventura!" he cried in a rage. And receiving no answer, he gave such a blow at the door with his powerful cyclopean leg that it burst the lock with a loud noise. The room was in darkness.
"Ventura! Ventura!" he cried.
No answer. He struck a match with a trembling hand, and gave a look round the room. His wife, pale and affrighted, was cowering in a corner in her night-dress. Gonzalo turned his eyes from her and looked all round in search of some one, until he noticed the window half open. Throwing it up and leaning out, he saw something white running under the trees—it was the figure of a man in his shirt-sleeves.