"Did she speak? Did she reveal anything to you?"
"Nothing, señor. During the days that followed, only things without meaning or connection, such as those in fever speak, or broken words of prayer, were on her lips. Until the very last, and then she was worn and weak, and could but receive the rites of the Church, and whisper a few directions about the poor babes. She bade us give you the name you bear, since he had said that his next boy should be called for the great Emperor. Then she prayed very earnestly, 'Lord, take him Thyself--take him Thyself!' Doctor Marco, who was present, thought she meant the poor little new-born babe--supposing, and no wonder, that it would be better tended in heaven by Our Lady and the angels, than here on earth. But I know it was not you she thought of."
"My poor mother--God rest her soul! Nay, I doubt not that now she rests in God," Carlos added, softly.
"And so the curse fell on your house, señor; and in such sorrow were you born. Yet you grew up merry lads, you and Don Juan."
"Thanks to thy care and kindness, well-beloved and faithful nurse. But, Dolores, tell me truly--have you never heard anything further of, or from, my father?"
"From him, never. Of him, that I believed, never."
"And what do you believe?" Carlos asked, eagerly.
"I know nothing, señor. I have heard all that your worship has heard, and no more."
"Do you think it is true--what we have all been told--of his death in the Indies?"
"I know nothing, señor," Dolores repeated, with the air of a person determined to say nothing.