But perhaps, again, if he were really present, there could be no better time or place for telling him her story and appealing to his kindness. Her impatience to do that turned the scale.
‘Diego, are you here?’ she asked softly.
There was no answer, but the breathing ceased for a moment and then the unseen person drew a longer breath. Maria felt a little thrill that was not fear; it was more like resentment. She took the taper from the floor and rose to her feet.
‘Who is here?’ she asked in a louder tone.
Still there was no answer. Perhaps, after all, it was only a cat that had slipped in when the chapel was being swept, and had gone to sleep. Maria moved towards the altar, shading the light from her eyes with her hand and peering over it into the gloom. She spoke as she walked.
‘I hear you breathing. Show yourself, whoever you are! Come forward at once!’
She spoke authoritatively and coolly, though at that very moment something told her that the intruder might be a thief who had come to steal the famous relic of the Cross that was preserved under the altar. She looked first to the right and then to the left, and there, flattened against the wall in the shadow of the pilaster, she saw the figure of a man. Without hesitating a moment she went straight towards him. When he understood that he was caught he came forward at last, and the light of the taper showed her the face of Orlando Schmidt, the steward.
Maria stopped two paces from him.
‘What are you doing here at this hour?’ she asked sternly.