At the height of the shower a horseman came galloping up. Astonished, confounded by what he saw, he stopped for a moment to look around him; then he drove his spurs into his horse, and by dealing blows of his chicote liberally all around, he succeeded in clearing the dense crowd, and reached the hacendero's house, which he entered.
"Here is the count," Don Sylva said laconically to his daughter.
In fact, within a minute that gentleman entered the saloon.
"Halloh!" he said, stopping at the doorway, "What strange notion is this of yours, Don Sylva? On my soul, you are amusing yourself by throwing millions out of the window, to the still greater amusement of the leperos and other rogues of the same genus!"
"Ah, 'tis you, señor Conde," the hacendero replied calmly; "you are welcome. I shall be with you in an instant. Only these few handfuls, and it will be finished."
"Don't hurry yourself," the count said with a laugh. "I confess that the fancy is original;" and drawing near the young lady, whom he saluted with exquisite politeness, he continued,—
"Would you deign, Señorita, to give me the word of this enigma, which, I confess, interests me in the highest degree?"
"Ask my father, Señor," she answered with a certain dryness, which rendered conversation impossible.
The count feigned not to notice this rebuff; he bowed with a smile, and falling into a butaca, said coolly,—
"I will wait; I am in no hurry."