Doña Clara smiled bitterly.
"Oh," she answered, "keep these deceitful and useless protestations to yourself, father; I have learned to know you too, thanks be to Heaven, for some time past, and am aware what faith can be placed in your word."
The monk bit his lips spitefully.
"Perhaps, you are mistaken, madam," he answered, with a humble bow, "and too readily put faith in false appearances."
"Very false, in truth," the girl exclaimed, "since your conduct, up to this day, has only proved their correctness."
A flash shot from the monk's savage eye, which expired as soon as it burst forth; he composed his countenance, and continued with immoveable gentleness—
"You judge me wrongly too, señorita; misfortune renders you unjust. You forget that I owe all to your father."
"It is not I, but you, who have forgotten it," she said, sharply.
"And who tells you, madam," he said, with a certain degree of animation, "that if I am in the ranks of your enemies, it is not to serve you better?"
"Oh!" she answered, ironically; "it would be difficult for you to supply me with proofs of such admirable devotion."