“Wishes to see me,” asked the lady, looking up. “What and who is he?”
“That he will not tell; but he is a handsome cavallero, and—pardon me, lady, if I say that he is a perfect image of el coronel when I first saw him.”
“Of my husband?” exclaimed the lady, as her face flushed. “And young, say you? Oh, Santissima Virgin, if it should be—ah, no, he is dead long since,” she murmured; then added: “Go, Josefa, and show him here. I will see him.”
In a few moments the old nurse, as she was still called, returned and ushered in the persistent stranger. At first he appeared somewhat abashed and ill at ease, for the ladies had arisen and were facing the door in half eager expectation, and quickly doffing his hat he made a stiff, slightly awkward bow.
“My heart, the picture!” faltered Senora Canelo, pointing to a full-length portrait of her husband, hanging against the wall.
Luisa instantly checked the smile that lurked around her rosy mouth, called forth by the outre demeanor of the stranger, and she too uttered an exclamation as she glanced from the face to the picture.
“I crave your pardon, ladies, if I appear rude, but I have seen so little of society, that for a moment I was dazzled,” he apologized, in a soft, musical tone. “Am I right in thinking I address Senora Canelo?”
“That is my name, senor; and yours?”
“Alas, lady, once I would not have hesitated in replying Felipe Barana; but now, if this packet does not give me a name, I know not that I have one,” replied the youth, in a mournful tone, as he advanced and placed a small parcel, securely tied and sealed, in the trembling hand of the senora.
“Felipe—he said Felipe, and then that face,” murmured she, as she sunk heavily into the chair she had just quitted, and with trembling fingers began to untie the package.