The bracelets, chains, necklets, and brooches would be theirs, too; as also the rings and other bijouterie, which the dwarf had found time to do up in paper.
“Stolen them?” continued the cochero interrogatively, as he ran his eyes over the varied assortment.
“How could he? The watches he might, but the other things? Why bless me, here are two pairs of ear-rings—and these grand pendants—I’m sure I saw them in the ears of the Condesa this very day. He couldn’t have taken them without her knowing it. Santo Dios! How ever has he come by them?”
As he thus questioned and reflected, a feeling of apprehension began to creep over him. A little before leaving the house to go after his horses he had observed his young mistress and the Condesa going into the ornamental grounds. And they went alone; Don Ignacio having repaired to a private apartment, where he was accustomed to shut himself up for the examination of State papers, what if the ladies were still in the grounds, in some secluded spot, lying dead, where all these adornments had been stripped from their persons!
This horrible tableau did the faithful servant in imagination conjure up. He could not help it. Nor was the thing so very improbable. He had some earlier acquaintance with the desperate character of the dwarf, which later experience confirmed. Besides, there was the state of the country—thieves and robbers all round—men who made light of murder!
With a heaviness of heart—a painful fear that there had been murder—he stayed not to further examine the trinkets; but gathering all up again, and thrusting them back into his pocket, hurried on home.
And when home he went not to his own quarters in the coachyard, but straight into the patio—the private court of the house. There he encountered Pepita; soon as he set eyes on her, asking—
“Where are the Señoritas?”
“What’s that to you?” saucily retorted the maid.
“Nothing, if I only knew they were safe.”