“Almost.”
“Do you know that Señor de Miranda has not come by the morning train?”
“I have been told so.”
“What do you say to that? Is it not very strange?”
Ignacio did not answer. He began, in truth, to think the conduct of this bridegroom, who had abandoned his bride on their wedding-day in the carriage of a railway train, strange and more than strange. Of course, some disagreeable and unforeseen accident must have occurred to the unknown Miranda; whose fate, by a singular chance, had come to influence his own in the manner it had done during the last forty-eight hours.
“I will telegraph everywhere,” he said; “to Alsásua, to—— do you wish me to telegraph to Leon, to your father?”
“God forbid!” exclaimed Lucía “he would be capable of taking the next train to come in search of me, and suffocating on the way with asthma—and with worry. No, no!”
“At all events I am going to take measures——”
And Artegui thrust his arms through the sleeves of his overcoat and took up his hat.
“Are you going out?” asked Lucía.