"Don Louis, madam," the Spaniard answered complacently, "is a true caballero, kind, noble, and generous, ever ready to help with purse or sword those who claim his assistance. Since I have had the honour of living in his society I have had many opportunities of appreciating the greatness of his character."
"I am happy to hear what you tell me, señor, for I confess that this caballero left a very bad impression on me, doubtlessly through the rough manner in which he parted from us."
"That bad impression was unjust, madam. As for the roughness with which you reproach him alas! It is only melancholy."
"What!" she exclaimed quickly, while a rosy tinge suddenly invaded her forehead, "melancholy, do you say? Is the gentleman unhappy?"
"Who is not so?" Don Cornelio asked with a sigh.
"Perhaps, though, you are mistaken."
"Alas! No, madam. Don Louis has been the victim of frightful disasters: judge for yourself. He had a wife he adored, who had presented him with several charming children. One night the Indians surprised his hacienda, fired it, massacred his wife, his children, his whole family, in a word, and himself only escaped by a miracle."
"Oh, that is horrible!" she exclaimed, as she buried her face in her hands. "Poor man! Now I heartily pardon what appeared singularity in his manners. Alas! The society of his fellow men must weigh upon him."
"Yes, madam, it doubtlessly does so; for the grief he endures is of that nature which cannot be consoled. And yet, when he knows of a misfortune to alleviate, or any good deed to do, he forgets himself only to think of those he wishes to aid."
"Yes, you are right, caballero; that man has a noble heart."