“I must interrupt you, Señhora,” said I, offended at the tone she assumed towards me. “There is no need to 'buy me off;' I am ready to take my leave,—to quit Naples within an hour,—and I pledge myself that we shall never meet again, or if we do, as utter strangers to each other.”
“These were the terms of our contract once before,” said she, fixing her gaze steadfastly on me.
“And by whom broken, and how?” said I.
“True,—too true!” exclaimed she, in a voice of deep emotion. “Fate, that did this, has doubtless other punishments in store for me! It is plain, then, that I must trust you,—I, who can feel confidence in none!”
“I do not seek for it, Señhora,” replied I; “my offer is to leave this city, where already I see but little prospect of urging my suit with success. Why should we meet again in life, when both of us are travelling opposite roads?”
“This suit of yours is, then, a real demand, founded upon an actual loss,—matter of fact throughout?” This, although said in these few words, had nothing offensive in its tone, and I replied by an assurance of my good faith and veracity.
“Send me the memorial this evening; to-morrow, or the day after at farthest, you shall have an answer. As for your demand upon the Havannah, the banker is my own, and I can answer for your being honorably dealt with; all your property in his keeping, I will guarantee.”
“If that be so, Señhora, I am indifferent about the Spanish Minister's reply; I shall have wealth more than enough for all my desires, without him.”
“How do you call yourself in these papers?” asked she, hurriedly.
“El Condé de Cregano.”