‘And you have always been poor, you say, sometimes almost starving?’
‘Yes—always poor, deadly poor, señorita,’ answered Conyngham with a gay laugh; ‘and since I have been on my own resources frequently—well, very hungry. The appetite has been large and the resources have been small. But when I get into the Spanish army they will no doubt make me a general, and all will be well.’
He laughed again, and slipped his hand into his jacket pocket.
‘See here,’ he said, ‘your father’s recommendation to General Espartero in a confidential letter.’
But the envelope he produced was that pink one which the man called Larralde had given him at Algeciras.
‘No—it is not that,’ he said, searching in another pocket. ‘Ah! here it is—addressed to General Espartero, Duke of Vittoria.’
He showed her the superscription, which she read with a little inclination of the head, as if in salutation of the great name written there. The greatest names are those that men have made for themselves. Conyngham replaced the two letters in his pocket and almost immediately asked:
‘Do you know anyone called Barenna in Ronda, señorita?’ thereby proving that General Espartero would do ill to give him an appointment requiring even the earliest rudiments of diplomacy.
‘Julia Barenna is my cousin. Her mother was my mother’s sister. Do you know them, Señor Conyngham?’
‘Oh no,’ answered Conyngham, truthfully enough. ‘I met a man who knows them. Do they live in Ronda?’