And from the anxious and excited expression of her face it became apparent that madame’s nerves were astir.
‘Who is here?’
‘Why, Esteban Larralde, of course.’
‘Ah!’ said Concha patiently. ‘But need we for that hide behind the bushes and walk on the flower borders? Life would be much simpler, señora, if people would only keep to the footpath. Less picturesque, I allow you, but simpler. Shall I climb up a tree?’
The lady cast her eyes up to heaven and heaved an exaggerated sigh.
‘Ah—what a tragedy life is!’ she whispered, apparently to the angels, but loud enough for her companion to hear.
‘Or a farce,’ said Concha, ‘according to our reading of the part. Where is Señor Larralde?’
‘Oh, he has gone to the fruit garden with Julia—there is a high wall all round, and one cannot see. She may be murdered by this time. I knew he was coming from the manner in which she ran downstairs. She walks at other times.’
Concha smiled rather grimly.
‘She is not the first to do that,’ he said, ‘and many have stumbled on the stairs in their haste.’