So the courteous gentleman, the brave Scottish soldier who had saved her—Lewie's terrible uncle—was her mother's early lover!
'The past is gone,' said the General gravely and sadly, and making an effort to withdraw, and yet staying nevertheless; 'so let us not tear open an old wound.'
'Pardon, and permit me to heal it, if I can,' said the Countess coquettishly, as she touched his bronzed hand with her lovely lips, and at this touch he trembled; so Dolores, saying something about taking off her ornaments, withdrew and left them, wonder and joy mingling in her heart together, while the General made an effort to appear indifferent, and to speak calmly, an effort in which he, eventually, signally failed.
'It is strange, madame,' said he; 'but I have lived so completely in camp and caserne, that I knew not that Mercedes—the Mercedes of other days, and the Countess van Renslaer, of whom my nephew speaks so much, were one and the same.'
'My husband, the Lieutenant——'
The General coughed, and said interrupting:
'Whom you preferred to poor John Kinloch of the Scots Brigade—well?'
'Died soon after succeeding to his title—a Flemish one—and I have been a widow since.'
'All these years?'
'All these years.'