There was a fascination in the thought of thus rushing upon ruin! Perhaps it was the knowledge, that my heart could not be reduced to a greater desolation than it already knew.
For the first time in four weeks I entered the Calle del Obispo.
Francisco was before me. I had correctly divined his intent. He had forsaken the smiles of Fortune to bask in those of Mercedes!
We took different sides of the street; he going silently along the façade of the Casa Villa-Señor; I skulking, thief-like, under the portal of the opposite house.
We were not kept waiting for as much as an instant. Scarce had we taken our respective stands, when the blind was drawn back, and a woman appeared in the window. Of course it was Mercedes.
“You are late, Francisco!” said she, in an undertone, and with the slightest accent of reproach. “The cathedral has tolled ten minutes ago! It is very cruel. You know how I am watched, and that every moment is so precious!”
Francisco stammered out some excuse, which appeared to satisfy her. I could see she was not exacting—by the easy grace with which she forgave him. Even this increased my anguish.
“Do you know, dearest, papa is more suspicious than ever! Even now I am afraid he will be coming this way. He has not yet retired to his bed; and never does till both sister and I have gone to ours.”
“Why don’t you give him a sleeping draught? Put poppy-seed in his chocolate. Do that, niña, and we might have a better chance of a little conversation at this hour. I never see you now, or only for a moment. It’s very tiresome to be kept apart in this fashion. I hope it is the same to you?”