"Who, then?"
"Doña Anita."
"Oh, oh! My friend, you must explain yourself, for I confess I do not understand you at all," Don Sylva said sharply, as he rose and began walking up and down the room in considerable agitation.
"Good gracious, my friend, I am quite in despair at having produced this discussion! I love Doña Anita. Love, as you know, easily takes umbrage. Although my betrothed has ever been amiable, kind, and gracious to me, still I confess that I fancy she does not love me."
"You are mad, Don Gaëtano. Young girls know not what they like or dislike. Do not trouble yourself about such a childish thing. I promised that she shall be your wife, and it shall be so."
"Still, if she loved another, I should not like—"
"What! Really what you say has not common sense. Anita loves no one but you, I am sure; and stay, would you like to be reassured? You say that you start for Guetzalli this evening?"
"Yes."
"Very good. Prepare apartments for my daughter and myself. In a few days we will join you at your hacienda."
"Is it possible?" the count said joyfully.