The Grandee replied immediately, and folding and retaining the letter, he said, with some effort to control his voice that trembled:
"Nobody. One of the persons I recommended, complains that he has been kept waiting. This governor! He has nor memory, no regularity at all!"
Anxiously and restlessly awaiting the course of events, she retired to her boudoir. Jacoba came in the evening with an air of mystery and gave her a letter from the count.
"What does this man want with me?" she asked in a surprised, vexed tone.
"I don't know, señorita. He wrote the letter in my house, and is there waiting for the answer."
The count's letter ran thus:
"Amalia, I know that our child is in danger of death. By all that you love best in the world, by the salvation of your soul, grant me an interview. I must speak to you. If this evening it cannot be, come to-morrow to Jacoba's house.
Yours, Luis."
"Yours! yours!" she murmured with a bitter smile. "You have been mine, but you have changed your owner, and it will cost you dear."
"Shall I take the answer, señorita?"