Now he came slowly into the room, holding in his hand an unsealed letter. Doña Beatriz looked up. "He sleeps," she said.
"Then let him sleep on, señora mia."
"But will you not look? See, how pretty he is! How he smiles in his sleep! And those dear small hands--"
"Have their share in dragging me further than you wot of, my Beatriz."
"Nay; what dost thou mean? Do not be grave and sad to-day--not to-day, Don Juan."
"My beloved, God knows I would not cloud thy brow with a single care if I could help it. Nor am I sad. Only we must think. Here is a letter from the Duke of Savoy (and very gracious and condescending too), inviting me to take my place once more in His Catholic Majesty's army."
"But you will not go? We are so happy together here."
"My Beatriz, I dare not go. I would have to fight"--(here he broke off, and cast a hasty glance round the room, from the habit of dreading listeners)--"I would have to fight against those whose cause is just the cause I hold dearest upon earth, I would have to deny my faith by the deeds of every day. But yet, how to refuse and not stand dishonoured in the eyes of the world, a traitor and a coward, I know not."
"No dishonour could ever touch thee, my brave and noble Juan."
Don Juan's brow relaxed a little. "But that men should even think it did, is what I could not bear," he said. "Besides"--and he drew nearer the cradle, and looked fondly down at the little sleeper--"it does not seem to me, my Beatriz, that I dare bring up this child God has given me to the bitter heritage of a slave."