As she spoke these words—her eyes moist with tears, yet shining with their own sweet lustre—the poor girl approached, and, by a sudden impulse, threw herself upon her father’s shoulder to hide her rising blushes.
“I knew then that I loved him only,” she murmured.
“But of whom do you speak?”
“Of Tiburcio Arellanos—of the Count Fabian de Mediana—they are one and the same person.”
“Of the Count Mediana?” repeated Don Augustin.
“Yes,” cried Rosarita, passionately; “I still love in him Tiburcio Arellanos, however noble, powerful, and rich may be at this hour Count Fabian de Mediana.”
Noble, powerful, and rich, are words that sound well in the ear of an ambitious father, when applied to a young man whom he loves and esteems, but whom he believes to be poor. Tiburcio Arellanos would have met with a refusal from Don Augustin—softened, it is true, by affectionate words—but had not Fabian de Mediana a better chance of success?
“Will you tell me how Tiburcio Arellanos can be Fabian de Mediana?” asked Don Augustin, with more curiosity than anger. “Who gave you this information?”
“You were not present at the close of the stranger’s narrative,” replied Doña Rosarita, “or you would have heard that the young companion of the two brave hunters whose dangers he nobly shared, was no other than Tiburcio Arellanos, now become the Count Fabian de Mediana. To this day I am ignorant of how, alone and wounded, he quitted the hacienda, and by what circumstances he found these unexpected protectors—or what relationship exists between Tiburcio and the Duke de Armada. But this man, who knows, will tell you.”
“Let him be instantly sought,” said Don Augustin, quickly; and he called an attendant to whom he gave the order.