"Ah! that is better. Dear Virginia!" and he kissed her hand again. It was indeed such a hand as one would never tire of holding. So tiny, and so delicate,—and set off by the handsome black bracelet round the slender wrist. "Why would you leave me so soon, Virginia?" said he, gazing on her beautiful Spanish features. "It is long,—very long since we last met!"
"Only a few months, Luiz; and yet the time does appear very long. But we may be observed; these sharp-sighted French soldados keep guard on every nook and corner, and my father may hear that I have met you."
"He is busy over the chess-board; and no Frenchman would spoil pleasure such as ours."
"I must indeed leave you. Alas! I am not so free here as at pleasant Aranjuez."
"Hear me, before you go,—but one word, Virginia?"
"Well, then,—one only."
"Who is this Don Felix,—this Count of Aranjuez?"
"You have spoken a dozen, and broken your covenant."
"Who is he?"
"One of whom we had better beware. He is no more a Count than the tambour passing yonder with his drum on his back; but he is as false at heart as ever was Rodriguez, or the Counts of Carrion."