There was no mistaking the emphasis placed on the girl’s name; nor was there any disguising the effect its peculiar pronunciation had upon her. Sajipona looked at Raoul in alarm, then turned from him in manifest confusion. Presently, she gave a low laugh and her eyes sought his again.
“Ah, you Yankees are strange people,” she said. “Some say, you are only money makers. But, it appears, you are more than that; for you listen to foolish legends, like the rest of us—and you believe them.”
“Yes, I believe this one, Sajipona.”
“Does the man who so strangely lost his memory by your dynamite explosion believe this one?” she asked laughing.
“I don’t know. Perhaps he never heard it.”
“Well, it’s very interesting, anyway—I mean, about the trance and the dynamite. I want to hear the end of it. You will surely come again, won’t you? And tell me when your friend arrives in Bogota,” she added, giving him her hand.
“You are ever the queen; you dismiss me from your presence,” he complained, taking her hand, nevertheless, and kissing it.
“The streets are safe for you now, Senor,” she said.
“Thanks to you, La Reina!”
“Ah, I would do much more for you than that, as you know, Don Raoul!” she exclaimed, an arch smile giving to her beautiful features a rare flash of piquancy. “And now—Adios, Senor!”