"Are we speaking in enigmas?"
"Do I not Know that you have played your part to perfection—I who, without being in the secret of the motives which have induced you to act thus, know the man as well as you."
"What secret? What motives? And of what man do you speak, companion?" cried Don Pablo impatiently.
"Pardieu! Of the man who has just left us."
"Don Sebastiao Vianna, the aide-de-camp of General de Castelmelhor."
"Well, it is capitally played," said Emile. "But now all dissimulation is useless. For the rest, if you persist in not uttering his name, that is your own affair. All this, in fact, does not much disturb me. You are free to give to Don Zeno Cabral the name of Dom Sebastiao."
"Eh!" cried the partisan, jumping up, "What name did you say?"
Don Pablo knit his eyebrows. A livid pallor covered his face.
"So this man," cried he, in a voice stifled by anger, "this man is Don Zeno Cabral?"
"Did you really not know that?" asked the young man.