Carmela tried to smile.
"I shall be sorry to lose you," she said, "though I admit it will be pleasant to occupy my own room again."
Then Iris was genuinely distressed.
"I had not the least notion——" she began, but Carmela nodded and made off, saying as she went:
"What matter—for one night?"
So, at last, she would learn the truth. Salvador was out there, alone. She would soon judge him. If he were innocent, she would know. If he had merely been made the sport of a designing woman, she was ready to forgive. In a more amiable mood than she had displayed at any moment since her arrival at Las FIores, Carmela hastened along a dark corridor, crossed a bare hall, passed through a porch, and searched the shadows of the patèo for the form of her one-time lover.
A voice whispered, in French:
"Come quickly, Senhora, I pray you!"
It startled her to find San Benavides talking French, until it occurred to her that Iris and he must converse in that language or hardly at all. The thought was disquieting. The volcano stirred again.
"Senhora, je vous prie!" again pleaded the man, who was on horseback under the trees.