"I see," the count said, "that like myself you have a foreboding of danger."
The majordomo shook his head. "Don Melchior will not give up the game," he replied, "until he has either won or utterly lost it."
"Do you then suspect him to be capable of a horrible trap?"
"This man is capable of anything."
"Why, in that case he is a monster."
"No," the majordomo replied gently, "he is a mixed blood, an envious and proud man, who knows that fortune alone can obtain him the apparent consideration which he covets: all means will be right to obtain this consideration."
"Even parricide?"
"Exactly."
"What you tell me is horrible."
"What would you have, señor? It is so."