"No; but at your capability, pardon me—for deceit."
"Ah señor, there is no deceit in serving one's country, or one's religion; and, in serving the Emperor, I aid the cause of both."
"But to be a spy—a spy! oh it is an occupation so base, so horrible, that the person proved to be one, is deemed worthy of instant hanging, without judge or jury, mercy or remorse."
"You tell me this," said she, pausing suddenly; "and yet I am going back among you."
As she spoke, the winning softness of the woman disappeared from her blue—almost black—eyes, and a red dusky fire, such as might have filled the orbs of a fallen angel, sparkled in them; and she placed her hand in her bosom, where the dagger was concealed.
"Trust to me, señora," said I, "rather than to that holiday poniard, which, to say the least of it——"
"I trusted at yonder willows, and was deceived. You gave me your word——"
"Not to interrupt your tête-a-tête, with Reichardt, who sells groceries in the Burger-platz, or his messenger; but I knew not that the latter would come in the shape of an Imperialist officer."
The fire of her eyes passed away, and they assumed a pensive and caressing expression.
"Señor, you task my temper too much," she said, in a broken voice; "I take Heaven—el Altissimo Dios—witness, that I am a poor but honest girl—a poor actress, and the victim of circumstances. I appear richly dressed, with jewels on my brow and smiles on my face; the bright lights are before me, and the gay scenery behind. I see a thousand admiring eyes; I sing—I seem happy; but oh, señor, this is often with an aching heart, and withal my life is miserable."