"Pardon me, general, but my friend has frequently told me the story in its amplest details," Valentine observed. "Why seek to hide longer a thing you now know?"
"And to remove all doubts, if any remain, which I hardly suppose, papa, in the presence of this caballero's loyal assurance, look at this man," she added, pointing to the Spaniard. "Do you not recognise Don Cornelio, our old travelling companion, who constantly sang to his jarana the romance of El Rey Rodrigo?"
The general examined the young man attentively.
"It is true," he said presently; "I now recognise this caballero, whom I left wounded, at his own request, in the hands of my generous liberator."
"Whom I have not left since," Don Cornelio affirmed.
"Ah!" the general said. "But why this obstinacy on Don Louis' part to keep his secret? Did he fancy that gratitude was too heavy a burden for me to bear?"
"Do not think such a thing of my friend," Valentine exclaimed quickly. "Don Louis believed, and still believes, that the service he rendered you was too trifling to have such great importance attached to it."
"Caspita! When he saved my honour! But now that I know him he shall not escape me longer. I will find him sooner or later, and prove to him that we Mexicans have a memory as long for good as for ill. I am his debtor, and, by heavens! I will pay him my debt."
"That is good, papa," the young lady exclaimed, as she threw herself into his arms.
"Enough, little madcap, enough. Confusion! You are stifling me. But tell me, little rogue, I believe that in all this you have been playing me a nice little trick."