“Yes, señor.”
“What?”
Again she hesitated. Now she was more than ever confused. She fastened her eyes on the floor, and her little foot tapped the carpet nervously.
“I beg your pardon, señorita,” said the boy, with swift intuition. “I fear I have no right to question you so closely. I did not know.”
“It is right,” came hastily from her lips. “You should know, and so I must tell you. You will better understand your peril.”
Still she hesitated, seeming to find it an awkward subject to approach.
Ephraim began to grin. Whistling softly, he walked to the window and looked out. The sun was setting, and twilight was coming on in the square below. Lights were twinkling. Throngs of people were returning slowly and soberly from the bull fights. It seemed that they had spent all their enthusiasm. They were not calling to each other, and there was no sound of merry laughter. It seemed an entirely different crowd from the hilarious throng that had rushed to the fights some hours before.
After some moments of confusion, Zuera spoke:
“Señor, it is like this: Villasca has been much with me since Señor Menandez was forced to fly from the country.”
“Señor Menandez? You must understand that I do not know all these people who are known to you.”