There was a moment of painful silence. The two gentlemen, lying back in their butacas, with their heads buried in their hands, remained plunged in gloomy and sorrowful thoughts. At length the hacendero spoke.
"Still," he said, "on reflection, I think that it will be better both for you and me to come to a thorough understanding about the steps we mean to take, and arrange so that failure cannot be possible. But the conversation will be a long one; I have much information to impart to you, and so, my dear count, whether you like it or not, you must defer your departure till tomorrow, and consent to pass the night beneath my roof."
"I am in a very exceptional position here, Don Aníbal. The persons assembled in the hacienda at this moment have a right to regard me as an enemy, perhaps a spy. I should not like—"
"That concerns me, my dear count. Thank heaven, the well-known honour of your character places you above all suspicion; and who knows, perhaps your stay here, however short it may be, will not prove useless to the cause you serve."
"What do you mean? Pray explain yourself, my friend, for I do not understand you."
"You will soon do so; but for the present I shall feel obliged by your not pressing the point."
"Very good; I will await a more propitious moment to obtain from you the double explanation you promise me."
At this moment the door opened, and Don Melchior appeared. He bowed.
"Well, Don Melchior, what good wind has brought you here?" Don Aníbal asked with a smile.
"The Señor Conde's horses are ready, father," he replied; "his people are only awaiting his pleasure."