The lady looked quickly about, and approaching, said in a tone he had not heard her use before, "Pedro, I have a word for thee."
"Oh, the fiend, señora!" he interrupted, paling slightly and looking for Pedrillo. "Say it to some one else—now do! There's a good woman! I—stew me!—I am a busy man. I have a roast on the point of burning, I swear it! Come, now, I—"
"It is for thee, Pedro," she said with resolution, but Pedro noted with relief that she spoke slowly. He had expected a storm of tender protestations without prelude, as vehement as her upbraidings of the men. "It is for thee," she said again, and Pedro quailed.
"Nay, Señora Bolio," he pleaded. "Be discreet, I pray thee! Talk of it first to—to Father Gregorio, now. Thou'rt young, and—" The señora blushed, and Pedro cursed the slip. Said she:
"I will talk to Father Gregorio later, Pedro; but first to thee."
Pedro groaned, and swore under his breath. "Hold, señora!" he cried. "Thou 'rt making a mistake. Say it not to me—to some other man. To Peralta—to De Soto! They are good men both; but I—"
"And so art thou!" she said hastily, "though once I did think thee a knave, like the rest."
"Ah! So I am! So I am!" cried Pedro with impetuosity. "That and worse, my word for it! I am a very Turk—a basilisk! Señora, thou knowest not the depth of mine iniquities—and moreover, I have but one leg. Consider that! Peralta hath two good ones. I am incomplete—a cripple—a—"
"Oh, Pedro, thou 'rt the only man I ever knew!" interrupted the lady, with fervor; then, rapidly: "Thou 'rt a good man, Pedro, and hast a kindly heart. Not once beneath this roof hast thou used an unbecoming word to me. Whilst these scapins of soldiers have tried my patience with their insolence, thou hast spoken only with gentleness—and 'tis rare enough to me—rare enough, God knoweth!" She brushed away a coming tear. "But I have come to tell thee, Pedro—"
"Do not say it! Do not say it!" shouted Pedro in desperation. "I tell thee, señora—"