It was with this duo and its infinite variations that they charmed two months away. To Ruis, at first, no other months of all his life had been so fertile in delight. To Fausta they were not months, but dreams fulfilled.
Meanwhile, Don Jayme had not been idle. He had been much in Puerto Principe, and he had made two journeys to Havana. Now from Santiago to Havana the distance is 600 miles, and Don Jayme was not a man to undertake such a journey without due and sufficient cause. Be this as it may, it so happened that after his second visit to the capital he enjoyed a memorable interview with his son. To him he had as yet said nothing of his plans, but on this occasion he made no secret of them.
"Ruis," he said, leisurely, with the air of one engaging in conversation solely for conversation's sake, "you know the House of Sandoval?"
"Surely: we are more or less related. A hundred years ago an Ixar married a Sandoval—"
"Of the younger branch, however. We do not bear their arms."
"There was no bluer blood in all Castile."
"No, nor yet in Aragon. Don Jorge is in Havana."
"Don Jorge of Sandoval! I thought him dead."
"His credit was, but that has since revived. He came to Cuba the year before I came myself. I am little richer now than then, but he has garnered millions."
"Ah!"