"I cannot force her wishes. She is my only child, the sole treasure of an old man's heart. If you cannot win her love, you must submit to her refusal of your hand."
Augustus Horton retired with many expressions of gratitude and affection, but once outside the chamber his brow darkened and he clinched his fist as he muttered with an oath:
"This Spaniard is like some foolish old woman. He cannot force his daughter's wishes, forsooth; and the double fortune of Don Juan Moraquitos and Don Tomaso Crivelli may go to any handsome adventurer upon whom Donna Camillia chooses to bestow her affection."
As these thoughts were busy in his brain, he crossed the spacious hall on his way to Camillia's apartments.
In the corridor leading to the young girl's boudoir he met Pauline Corsi.
He did not stop to speak to her, but passed her with a careless bow—such a salute as a man only bestows upon one whom he thinks far beneath him.
It did not escape the keen observation of the Frenchwoman. "So," she murmured, as she glanced back at the American, "I am a governess—a dependent—unworthy of your notice. Mr. Horton, the day may come when you will find me no weak enemy!"
She broke into the merry chorus of a gay French song, as she finished speaking, and tripped away, warbling like some joyous bird.
None could have dreamed the dark thoughts that lurked beneath that joyous exterior.
Augustus Horton entered the boudoir, and lifting a rose-colored silken curtain which shrouded the doorway, gazed in silence upon the occupant of the chamber.