"You are sure his Excellency said 'alone'?" asked the commandant.
"As sure as I have ears," answered Beppo. "But her ladyship—see! She is walking after him."
Beppo shrugged his shoulders. "She always does what she pleases; no orders apply to her."
In the shadow of the cloister roof, at a corner where the double row of pillars met, the girl paused; looked out through the columns, her hand at her breast. The Governor was unconcernedly writing; not even when the prisoner stepped forward did he turn from his occupation; at his leisure dotted an "i" and crossed a "t"; sprinkled sand lightly over the paper; waited a moment; then tapped the fine particles from the letter. For his part, the prisoner displayed equal patience, standing in an attitude of stolid endurance.
"Your name is Sanchez?" At length the Governor seemed to notice the other's presence.
"Yes."
"And you formerly served the Seigneur Desaurac? Followed him to America?"
"As your Excellency knows." The servant's tone was veiled defiance.
A trace of pink sprang to the Governor's brow, though the eyes he lifted were impassive. "You will answer 'yes' or 'no'!" He reached for a stick of wax, held it up to the tiny flame of a lamp; watched the red drops fall. "When you returned, it was to live in the forest with—a nameless brat?"
"My master's son!"