The figure was that of "Juan" Belmonte.
"You here?" I said, springing up, and then I advanced toward it, my hands outstretched, while my companion of so many days sprang to my arms, lay in them, sobbing as though with a broken heart.
"Do not weep, do not weep," I said, and, as I spoke, my lips touched that white brow--no whiter now than all the rest of the face, "do not weep. What is, is, and must be borne."
"My love, my love!" those other lips--whose rich crimson I had once marvelled at so much--sobbed forth now, "my love, how can I help but weep? Oh, Mervan, I have learnt to love you so, to worship you, for your strength and courage! And now to see you thus--thus! My God!"
"Be brave still," I said; would have added "Juan"; only, not knowing, I paused.
"What shall I call you?" I asked.
"Juana."
"Do they--the judges--know?"
"The Alcáide knows: 'Tis through that knowledge I am here."
"Why," I whispered, my arms about her as she clung to me, "why was this disguise assumed, these dangers run? Oh! Juana, since I learnt what you were in truth I have shuddered, sweated at the memories of your risks. What reason had you for coming to Europe as a man? and with such beauty, too! 'Tis marvellous it was never seen through."