They had the place all to themselves; no one to take counsel with, none to comfort them; Don Ignacio, at an early hour, having been called off to his duties in the city. But they were not destined to spend the whole of that day without seeing a visitor. As the clocks of San Augustin were striking 8 p.m. one presented himself at the gate in the guise of an officer of Hussars, Don Carlos Santander. Nor was he alone, but with an escort accompanying. They were seated in the verandah of the inner court, but saw him through the saguan, the door of which was open, saw him enter at the outer gate, and without dismounting come on towards them, several files of his men following. He had been accustomed to visit them there, and they to receive his visits, however reluctantly, reasons of many kinds compelling them. But never had he presented himself as now. It was an act of ill-manners his entering unannounced, another riding into the enclosure with soldiers behind him; but the rudeness was complete when he came on into the patio still in the saddle, his men too, and pulled up directly in front of them, without waiting for word of invitation. The stiff, formal bow, the expression upon his swarthy features, severe, but with ill-concealed exultation in it, proclaimed his visit of no complimentary kind.
By this both were on their feet, looking offended, even angry, at the same time alarmed. And yet little surprised, for it was only confirmation of the fear that had been all day oppressing them—its very fulfilment. But that they believed it this they would have shown their resentment by retiring and leaving him there. As it was, they knew that would be idle, and so stayed to hear what he had to say. It was—
“Señoritas, I see you’re wondering at my thus presenting myself. Not strange you should. Nor could any one more regret the disagreeable errand I’ve come upon than I. It grieves me sorely, I assure you.”
“What is it, Colonel Santander?” demanded the Countess, with sang-froid partially restored.
“I hate to declare it, Condesa,” he rejoined, “still more to execute it. But, compelled by the rigorous necessities of a soldier’s duty, I must.”
“Well, sir; must what?”
“Make you a prisoner; and, I am sorry to add, also the Doña Luisa.”
“Oh, that’s it!” exclaimed the Countess, with a scornful inclination of the head. “Well, sir, I don’t wonder at your disliking the duty, as you say you do. It seems more that of a policeman than a soldier.”
The retort struck home, still further humiliating him in the eyes of the woman he loved, Luisa Valverde. But he now knew she loved not him, and had made up his mind to humble her in a way hitherto untried. Stung by the innuendo, and dropping his clumsy pretence at politeness, he spitefully rejoined—
“Thank you, Condesa Almonté for your amiable observation. It does something to compensate me for having to do policeman’s duty. And now let it be done. Please to consider yourself under arrest; and you also, Señorita Valverde.”