“You mean the little mestizo, who was with you at New Orleans?”
“The same. She’s all that; and, besides, devoted to me.”
Don Ignacio’s daughter had reason to know this, from experience in the Casa de Calvo, in which Pepita had played a part.
“She’ll do,” said the Countess; “the very individual, from what I’ve seen of her. Get me pen, ink, and paper—quick! At the same time summon Pepita!”
The Countess was now all action; and, responding to her roused energies, the other rushed towards the bell-pull, and gave it two or three vigorous jerks.
As it chanced, there were writing materials in the room; and, while waiting for the bell to be answered, the Countess made use of them, hastily scribbling some words on a sheet of paper, which she folded without putting into an envelope; instead, twisted it between her finger, as if dissatisfied with what she had written, and designed cancelling it. Far from this her intention, as was soon made manifest.
“Muchacha!” she said to Pepita, who, being lady’s maid, had answered the bell herself. “Your mistress tells me you can be trusted on a matter which calls not only for confidence, but cleverness. Is that so?”
“I can’t promise the cleverness, your ladyship; but for the other, I think the Doña Luisa knows she can rely on me.”
“You’d be good at delivering a letter, without letting all the world into the secret, I suppose?”
“I’ll do my best, your ladyship, if Duena command it.”