It was no more a question of the safety of their lovers, but their own. And the prospect was dark, indeed. Santander had said nothing of the reason for arresting them; nor had they cared to inquire. They divined it; no longer doubting that it was owing to revelations made by the hunchback.
Sure now that this diminutive wretch not only himself knew their secret, but had made it known in higher quarters, there seemed no hope for them; instead, ruin staring them in the face. The indignity to their persons they were already experiencing would be followed by social disgrace, and confiscation of property.
“Oh, Ysabelita! what will they do to us?” was the Doña Luisa’s anxious interrogatory, soon as they had got well inside their room. “Do you think they’ll put us in a prison?”
“Possibly they will. I wish there was nothing worse awaiting us.”
“Worse! Do you mean they’d inflict punishment on us—that is, corporal punishment? Surely they daren’t?”
“Daren’t! Santa Anna dare anything—at least, neither shame nor mercy will restrain him. No more this other man, his minion, whom you know better than I. But it isn’t punishment of that kind I’m thinking of.”
“What then, Ysabel? The loss of our property? It’ll be all taken from us, I suppose.”
“In all likelihood it will,” rejoined the Condesa, with as much unconcern as though her estates, value far more than a million, were not worth a thought.
“Oh! my father! This new misfortune, and all owing to me. ’Twill kill him!”
“No, no, Luisita! Don’t fear that. He will survive it, if aught survives of our country’s liberty. And it will, all of it, be restored again. ’Tis something else I was thinking of.”