"I am that charming daughter," laughed the fair Eve; "but the term applies much more correctly to my lovely cousin. Her beauty has created a furore in Madrid. We are great friends, and she stays with us part of every year. She has just become engaged to your brother's eldest son, and therefore some day will be Duchess de Nevada—though I trust the day is far distant. You have doubtless heard of the engagement?"
"Indeed, yes," returned the priest. "Only last week I wrote my nephew a long letter congratulating him upon his good fortune. But how comes it, madame, if I may be so indiscreet, that my fair travelling companion should not herself eventually have become Madame de Nevada?"
"For the excellent reason that sits opposite to me," quickly replied this lovely Eve, laughing and blushing in the most bewitching manner. Upon which she introduced her husband to the priest as Count Pedro de la Torre.
The name explained what had puzzled us for some time. We were haunted by a feeling of having met this young man in a previous state of existence, but now discovered that we had really met him in Toledo. He was amongst the group who had sat that first night of our arrival at the other end of the table, smoking and drinking wine and coffee. He it was who had come forward to speak to the man in the sheepskin, and then handed him a bumper of wine. He had left the very next day, and we had seen less of him than of the others.
We recalled the circumstance to his memory.
"I recognised you at once," he said, "but thought you had forgotten me. That man in the sheepskin was my father's head huntsman, a privileged being who was born and brought up on the estate, gave us our first lessons in sport and looks upon us as his own children. My father's place—my own, I fear, before long—is near Toledo. If you ever visit it again we should be delighted to show you hospitality. We live with my father when not in Madrid. He is old, in failing health, and could not bear the idea of my leaving home. On my part I was too glad to remain in the dear old nest."
"And we see that we have to offer you our congratulations," bowing as in duty bound to his lovely partner.
De la Torre laughed. "You make me your debtor," he replied. "But however profound your congratulations, they can never equal those I offer to myself. I am indeed far more blest than I merit."
"Wait until I show you my true character," laughed madame, "take the reins of government into my own hands, and leave you with no will of your own—a henpecked husband. At present I tender you a velvet hand; presently it may turn into——"
"If it changed into a cloven foot," he interrupted gallantly, "I should still say it was perfect."