"I neither understand what you say, nor to what you allude," said Don Torribio haughtily.
"Aha!" said the other, laughing grimly; "Is that the way you answer me?"
"Why should I give you a different answer? What right have you to my confidence? On what plea, supposing I have a secret, do you pretend to search into it?"
"Because your enemy is mine also; because, in avenging you, I avenge myself. Do you understand me now?"
"No more than I did before. If you have nothing else to say, we had better break off our conference and part."
The stranger made a gesture of impatience: he had not expected to meet with so much inflexibility.
"One word more, Don Torribio Quiroga. The man whom you hate, whose death you have already plotted, is called Don Fernando Carril. That man who for a long time has crossed your path at every turn, counteracting your plans and ruining your hopes, has overthrown you in all your reencounters; your very life belongs to him; he has taken all, even to the heart of her you love. Is not this true? Will you trust me now?"
Don Torribio had listened with mingled pain and anger to the revelations of the singular being who had accosted him.
"Yes," said he, clenching his hand with rage, "yes, you are well informed. I care not whether you have gleaned your knowledge from heaven or hell; it is accurate. This man is my evil genius, always and forever crossing my path, and overthrowing, as if in wantonness, my most cherished aspirations. I would sacrifice my whole fortune to avenge myself on him—to hold him, panting and despairing, in my power."
"I thought we should end by coming to an understanding."