Seldom have I met with a keener or more disconcerting glance than that which shot from his full black eyes as I stood before him. It seemed to search out my every thought, and I had the sensation of being before a judge who would show no mercy to one who strove to dissemble in his presence.
But the glance was brief, withal. In a moment he had seized my hand and gripped it painfully. Then he turned to Dom Miguel.
“Let me hear the rest of your story,” said he.
“There is nothing more, General. Izabel has learned my secret, it is true; but she is my daughter. I will vouch for her faith.”
“Then will not I!” returned Fonseca, in his deep, vibrant tones. “Never have I believed the tale of her estrangement from that scoundrel, Leon de Mar. Men are seldom traitors, for they dare not face the consequences. Women have no fear of man or devil. They are daughters of Delilah—each and every one.”
He turned suddenly to me.
“Will you also vouch for Senhora Izabel de Mar?” he asked.
“No,” I answered.
“And quite right, sir,” he returned, with a grim smile. “Never trust a woman in politics. But how about Francisco Paola? Do you vouch for him?”
I hesitated, startled by the question.