"Yes, the woman is called, as I hear, Doña Rosario de Mendoz; and is, they say, a beautiful creature!"
That name, pronounced with such apparent indifference, produced the effect of a clap of thunder upon the chief; he sprang up, his face inflamed, and his eyes sparkling.
"Rosario de Mendoz, did you say, my sister?" he shouted.
"Good heavens! I hardly know," she replied. "I have only heard her name—I believe that may be it—but," she added, "what interest can my brother take in it?"
"Oh! none," he said, as he quietly resumed his seat. "Why does not my sister avenge herself upon the man who has abandoned her?"
"To what purpose? and, besides, what vengeance can I hope for? I am but a weak and timid woman, without friends, without support; in short, alone."
"And I?" said the chief; "what am I, then?"
"Oh!" she replied, warmly; "I would not on any account that my brother should constitute himself the avenger of an insult which is personal to myself."
"My sister is mistaken; in attacking this man I avenge my own insult."
"My brother must explain himself—I do not understand him."