"Senor, the original of this is probably the cause of your sadness," she said, in a tremulous voice, while she held up her rival's miniature, which had fallen from the lapelle of Ronald's uniform, and hung at the full extent of the chain. "She is very beautiful. If this is her miniature, she must be a queen among women; and you love her very much, doubtless," she added in a cold and sorrowful tone which sunk deeply into the heart of Ronald as he hastily concealed the object of her emotion.
"May I ask who she is, senor?"
"A very dear friend, or rather one who was such."
"She is dead, then,—or perhaps it is a portrait of a sister."
"I never had one," replied the young man colouring with confusion, while he taxed his imagination to find a reply in vain. Happily for him he was relieved from his dilemma by an exclamation from Donna Inesella, who had hitherto sat silent, and had, or affected to have, been gazing intently at the preacher.
"Holy Virgin!" she earnestly whispered. "See, Catalina, yonder is my brother the condé, leaning against the third column from Pizarro's monument."
"Here at church—the Condé de Truxillo here?" replied her cousin, becoming pale and agitated.
"Would to Heaven and San Juan that Balthazzar was any where else than here at this moment! Somewhat disagreeable will certainly come of it. Oh, senor! I tremble for you."
"For me, Donna Inesella! Sure you mean not what you say. I have a hand to protect myself with, and care not a straw for any condé or cavalier in Spain."
"True, senor. I meant not to offend, but my brother Balthazzar is so fiery——Ah! he sees us now."