"Three of them were men and three were women. Some one said they were English."
"English?" said Lopez, growing more excited still at this news, which was so much in accordance with his wishes—"English? Tell me more about them."
"Well, señor, of the men one was elderly; the other two were young, quite handsome; they looked rich, noble, proud."
"Never mind. Now tell me about the women. Were they ladies?"
"Yes, señor, they were noble ladies, wealthy, high-born, proud. And one was elderly, and they said she was a great lady. And some said she was the mother of the young ladies, though they did not look like her daughters, nor did they look like sisters."
"Tell me about them; what did they look like?"
"One, señor, looked like a Spanish lady. And she was dark and beautiful and sad, with melancholy eyes. Never did the sun shine on a more lovely lady; but her sadness always made me feel sad."
Lopez interrupted her with an impatient gesture.
"Never mind her. Now describe the other one." said he.
"The other?" said Rita; "she looked like an English duchess. She was light—oh, a wonderful light blonde, with golden hair, and eyes as blue as heaven, with cheeks pink-and-white, and with dimples dancing on them, and with the smile of an angel that always lurked in her lips and laughed out of her eyes. And she was as beautiful as a dream, and no one ever saw her sad. Heaven does not hold in all its mansions a more beautiful, beautiful angel than this English duchess."