"Forgive me, Dominique; I love doña Carmen."
"Oh, thanks, Great Heaven!"
"What do you mean?"
"I love too," said Dominique; "you render me very happy, for the woman I love is doña Dolores!"
The count offered his hand to Dominique, but the latter threw himself into his arms. They held each other closely embraced for some time, but at last the count gently liberated himself.
"Let us hope!" he said; and this one word contained the feelings which were boiling in his heart.
[CHAPTER XXVII.]
AN HONEST MAN.
It was about two in the afternoon. There was not a breath of air, the country seemed to have fallen asleep under the weight of a leaden sun, whose burning beams fell from heaven with the colour of burnished copper on the gaping earth, and made the pebbles flash like so many diamonds on a wide and tortuous road which wound with infinite curves across an arid plain covered with greyish white rocks, on whose sides a blending light formed a cascade of fire. The perfectly transparent atmosphere, such as always exists in countries deprived of humidity, allowed the diversities of the country to be plainly distinguished as far as the horizon, with a crudity of forms, and details which, owing to the want of aerial perspective, gave them something harsh which saddened the eye. At a spot where this road separated into several branches, and formed a species of square, stood a small house with white walls and Italian roof, whose door was ornamented by a portello of coarsely planed tree trunks, supporting a balcony of trellis work which enclosed it like a cage. This cottage was a venta. Several horses tied by the bridle to the portello, with sadly hanging heads, heaving sides, and running down with perspiration, seemed to be as much exhausted by the heat as by fatigue. Here and there several men, rolled up in their sarapes, with their heads in the shade and their feet in the sun, were sleeping, according to the Spanish expression, a pierna suelta.