"How so?"
"You shall judge."
Doña Anita was in torture; she knew not what to do. Seeing that her father was about to divulge all to the count, she did not feel in herself the courage to be present at such a revelation, and rose tottering.
"Gentlemen," she said in a feeble voice, "I feel indisposed; be kind enough to allow me to retire."
"Really," the count said, as he hurried towards her, and offered her his arm to support her, "you are pale, Doña Anita. Allow me to accompany you to your apartment."
"I thank you, caballero, but I am strong enough to proceed there alone, and, while duly grateful for your offer, pray permit me to decline it."
"As you please, señorita," the count replied, inwardly piqued by this refusal.
Don Sylva entertained for a moment the idea of ordering his daughter to remain; but the poor girl turned towards him so despairing a glance that he did not feel the courage to impose on her a longer torture.
"Go my child," he said to her.
Anita hastened to take advantage of the permission; she left the salón, and sought refuge in her bedroom, where she sank into a chair, and burst into tears.