The señorita returned and handed what she had written to her mother, who perused it and sealed it, and handed it to the messenger in turn. The man bobbed his head in respectful salute, and hurried out. A native servant closed the door behind him—but neglected to drop the heavy bar in place. Because of the unusual excitement, none noticed.
Don Carlos resumed his position at the foot of the table. This was a great night for him, and to-morrow would be a great day. He was happy because his fortunes were on the mend, because the Governor had been forced to cease his persecutions. But he was happy also because his daughter was to have happiness.
Don Carlos and his wife had lavished upon this, their only child, love enough for a dozen. And now both glanced at her as she fumbled at a silken shawl. Her black eyes were sparkling again, though dreams were glistening in them. Her cheeks were delicately flushed. Her dainty hands played with the silks. One tiny tip of a boot peeped from beneath her voluminous skirts. A bride of whom any man could honestly be proud, Don Carlos thought, and with proper blood in her veins and proper thoughts in her head.
“So Don Diego makes merry to-night with his young friends!” Don Carlos said. “I would like to peer in upon him now.”
Could he have done so, he would have seen a merry gathering. In the big living-room of Don Diego’s town casa a huge table had been spread. Don Diego sat at the head of it, dressed in fastidious garments, and caballeros were grouped around it. Richly dressed they were, with blades at their sides, blades with jeweled hilts, but serviceable weapons for all that. Wine cups and dishes were before them. They feasted, and they drank. They toasted Don Diego, and the Señorita Lolita, Don Diego’s father, and the señorita’s father, and one another.
“Another good man gone wrong!” cried Don Audre Ruiz. He sat at Don Diego’s right hand, because he was Don Diego’s closest friend. “Here is our comrade, Don Diego, about to turn into a family man!” he continued. “This scion of Old Spain, this delicate morsel of caballero blood to be gobbled up by the monster of matrimony! It is time to weep!”
“Into your wine cup!” Don Diego added.
“Ha!” Don Audre Ruiz cried. “But a few days ago, it seems, we rode after him as though he had been the devil, rode hard upon his heels, thinking that we were following some sort of renegade caballero playing at highwayman. Señor Zorro, by the saints! We shouted praises of him because for a time he took us out of our monotony. Then came the unmasking, and we found that Don Diego and Señor Zorro were one and the same!”
He ceased speaking long enough to empty his wine cup and make certain that a servant refilled it.
“Señor Zorro!” he continued. “Those were happy moments! And now he is to turn husband, and no more riding abroad with sword in hand. We shall die of monotony, Diego, my friend!”