"What then?"
"I must confess to you, señor conde, that I have no other clothes save those I wear."
"Ah, that is of no consequence," the count replied with a smile, pointing at the same time to a heap of clothes thrown pell-mell on the furniture. "I suppose that you are sufficiently my friend not to feel annoyed at the cool way in which I treat you."
"Oh, not at all," the Spaniard exclaimed, with a movement of joy.
"I must ask you to make haste, though; for I am waiting."
"I only ask for five minutes."
"I give you ten. You will find me in the patio; I am going to give my escort orders to mount."
The count went out, and Don Cornelio eagerly set to work obeying him. We must add, to the glory of the Spaniard, that Don Louis' treatment of him, so far from annoying him, had caused him to feel a deep gratitude.
The Spaniard was not mistaken; there was really a tertulia at the governor's palace. General Guerrero was extremely rich: hence, the ball he gave this evening was sumptuous, and in every way worthy of the exalted post he occupied in the province.
The crowd filled his rooms, which glistened with light and dazzled with gilding. All the higher society of Pitic was assembled at the palace; tables, covered with gold, were surrounded by players, who, with that proud carelessness characteristic of Mexicans, risked enormous sums on a card. In a vast hall, a band, perhaps rather wild to European ears, regulated the movements of the dancers; while a private room was reserved for the ladies. Doña Angela, ravishingly beautiful, was seated on her throne, in the midst of this bevy of pretty women.