Pepe arose, and threw the window wide open.
“That which makes you ill, is affectation. You moan too much for such a trifle. Do they not tell you, you are about rendering up your soul? Señora Princess, I go to order your coffin, and afterwards to kill Medianoche, in honor of Lucia del Salto, who, gracias á Dios, cannot but be more amiable.”
“Still this woman!” screamed Maria. “This woman, who is going off with an Englishman! Pepe, you will not do as you say. It would be infamous!”
“Do you know what would be an infamy?” said Pepe, placing himself in front of the Gaviota; “it would be, when I go to risk my life, that you, in lieu of sustaining my courage by your presence, remain at home to receive the duke freely.”
“Always the same fear! Will it not content you to be concealed here in my alcove, and act as a spy upon me, and to be convinced with your own eyes that there exists nothing between the duke and me? Do you not know that that which pleases him in me is only my voice, and not my person? As to me, you know too well—”
“What I do know is, that you fear me; and, by the blood of Christ! you have reason to fear me. But God only knows what may happen if I leave you alone, and certain not to be surprised by me. I have faith in no woman, not even my mother.”
“I have fear? I?” said Maria, “I have fear?”
“But do you believe myself so blind,” interrupted Pepe, “as not to see what is passing? Do I not know, from a good source, that you put on a good face before the duke, because you have got it in your head to obtain for your imbecile husband the position of surgeon to the queen.”
“’Tis a lie!” cried Maria.
“Maria, Pepe Vera does not mistake bladders for lanterns. Know that I understand as well the ruses of the rude bull of the mountains as those of the less ferocious bull of the plains.”