"Yes, yes!" cried Doña Eva, clapping her hands with joy; "Don Sebastiao is one of the aides-de-camp of my father."
The countenance of the young man clouded.
"So you are sure you know him?" pursued he.
"Certainly," answered the marchioness; "how can my daughter and I fail to know a man who is our distant relation, and who has stood godfather to my daughter?"
"Then, Madame, I am deceived, and the news I bring you is really good news for you. I have been wrong in hesitating so long in announcing it to you."
"How is that?"
"Among the strangers who have arrived this morning at Casa-Frama, one of them is charged with claiming your being immediately set at liberty, on the part of the Marquis de Castelmelhor—your husband, Madame—your father, Señora. This stranger is named Don Sebastiao Vianna, wears the costume of a Portuguese officer, and is, he says, aide-de-camp of General the Marquis de Castelmelhor. I ought to avow that in this matter Don Pablo Pincheyra has conducted himself as a true caballero. After having denied that you were his prisoners, he nobly refused the sum proposed for your ransom, and engaged to place you today in the hands of Don Sebastiao, who is, under his escort, to conduct you to your husband."
There was a minute's silence. The marchioness was pale, her eyebrows knitted under the influence of internal emotion, and her fixed look denoted an intense feeling, which she repressed with difficulty. Doña Eva, on the contrary, brightened up; the hope of liberty illuminated her features with a halo of happiness.
The young man looked at the marchioness without understanding this emotion, the cause of which he vainly sought. At last she said:
"Are you really certain, caballero," said she, "that the officer of whom you speak is named Don Sebastiao Vianna?"