The girl turned away and hurried off rapidly, the Spaniard following close at her heels.
Don Cornelio, like all the adventurers whom a hazardous life in Europe had cast on the American shores, nourished in his heart a secret hope of re-establishing, by a rich marriage, his fortunes, which were more than compromised. Several instances, though rare, we allow, of marriages contracted in this romantic fashion, had imbedded this idea deeply in the Spaniard's somewhat windy brain.
He was young, noble, handsome—at least he thought so; hence he possessed all needed for success. It is true that, until this moment, fortune had never deigned to smile on him; no young girl seemed to care for his assassinating glances, or respond to his interested advances. But this ill success had in no way rebuffed him, and what happened at this moment seemed to justify his schemes, by offering him, at the moment he least expected it, that occasion he had so long awaited.
Only one thing saddened his brow, and clouded the internal joy he experienced, and that was the seedy condition of his attire, sadly ill-treated by the brambles, and torn by the sharp points of the rocks, during his long journey in Sonora. But with that characteristic fatuity innate in the Spaniards, he consoled himself by the reflection that his personal advantages would amply compensate for the seedy condition of his dress, and that the lady who had sent for him, if she felt any tender interest in him, would attach but slight value to a new cloak or a faded cloak. It was with these conquering feelings that Don Cornelio arrived behind the camarista at the door of a cuarto, before which she stopped.
"It is here," she said, turning round to him.
"Very good," he said, drawing himself up. "We will enter whenever you please."
She smiled cunningly with a twinkle of her black eyes, and turned the key in the lock. The door opened.
"Señorita," the waiting-maid said, "I have brought you the gentleman."
"Let him come in, Violanta," a sweet voice answered.
The girl stepped aside to make room for Don Cornelio, who walked in, twisting his moustache with a conquering air.