“Rather say, who is there who don’t know it, Señor? Doña Gertrudis was in love with a young officer; and so fondly, that it is said she cut off the whole of her beautiful hair, as a sacrifice to the Holy Virgin, for saving his life on an occasion when he was in danger! And yet for all this, he who was thus loved proved faithless, and deserted her!”
“Well?” mechanically interposed Don Rafael.
“Well,” continued the servant, “the poor young lady is dying on account of being so deserted—dying by inches; but surely—why, Señor, you are certainly ill? I feel your heart beating against my hand as if it would leap out of your bosom!”
“It is true,” answered Don Rafael, in a husky voice. “I am subject to severe palpitations; but presently—” The Colonel, for support, fell back against the domestic, his herculean strength having yielded to the powerful emotions which were passing within him. “Presently,” he continued, “I shall get over it. I feel better already. Go on with your history. This man—this officer—did he ever tell Doña Gertrudis that he no longer loved her? Does he love any other?”
“I do not know,” was the response of the domestic.
“Could she not have sent him word—say by some means agreed upon—which should bring him back to her from the farthest corner of the earth? Perhaps then—”
Don Rafael could not finish what he intended to have said. A bright hope, long time suppressed, began to spring up within his heart, and with such force, that he feared to know the truth—lest it should be crushed on the instant.
“Señor, you ask me more than I am able to answer,” rejoined the domestic. “I have told you all I know of this sad story!”
Heaving a deep sigh, the Colonel remained for some moments silent. After a while, he resumed the conversation, by putting a question, the answer to which might terminate his doubts.
“Have you ever heard the name of this young officer?”