“I went to the notary and told him what had happened, what the merchant had said, and who had heard him—and the notary laughed. 'Where is your paper?' he asked; and, of course, I had no paper. I went to another notary, and at last I saw the Alcalde. 'You should have asked for a paper properly signed,' he said. But no gentleman could have asked for that.”
“No,” replied Rosa, rather doubtfully.
“I found the driver of the carriage,” continued Tomaso, “and took him to the Alcalde, but that was no better. The Alcalde and the notaries laughed at us. Such a story, they said, would make any lawyer laugh.”
“But there is Felipe Fortis, who heard it too.”
“Yes,” answered Tomaso, in a hollow voice, “there is Felipe Fortis. He was in Palma, and I found him at the cafe. But he said he had not time to come to the Alcalde with me then, and he was sure that if he did it would be useless.”
“Ah!” said Rosa.
She got up and walked to the edge of the terrace, looking down into the moonlit valley in silence for some minutes. Then she came slowly back, and stood before him looking up into his face. He was head and shoulders above her.
“So your fortune is gone?” she said. And the moonlight shining on her face betrayed the presence of that fleeting wise smile which Tomaso had noticed more than once with wonder.
“Yes—it is gone. And there is an end of it.”
“Of what?” asked Rosa.