“I can understand now, amiga mia, why you spoke of Don Florencio. The Tejano prisoners have arrived, and you are thinking he’s amongst them? That’s so, is it not?”
“Not thinking, but hoping it, Ysabel.”
“Have you taken any steps to ascertain?”
“I have.”
“In what way?”
“I’ve sent a messenger to Tacubaya, where I’m told they’ve been taken.”
“Not all. Some of them have been sent elsewhere. One party, I believe, is shut up in the Acordada.”
“What! in that fearful place? among those horrid wretches—the worst criminals we have! The Tejans are soldiers—prisoners of war. Surely they do not deserve such treatment?”
“Deserve it or not, some of them are receiving it. That grand gentleman, Colonel Carlos Santander—your friend by the way—told me so.”
The mention of Santander’s name, but more a connection with the subject spoken of, produced a visible effect on Luisa Valverde. Her cheek seemed to pale and suddenly flashed red again. Well she remembered, and vividly recalled, the old enmity between him and Don Florencio. Too well, and a circumstance of most sinister recollection as matters stood now. She had thought of it before; was thinking of it all the time, and therefore the words of the Condesa started no new train of reflection. They but intensified the fear she had already felt, for a time holding her speechless.