With nervous eager hands she sought to hurry Jacinto Quesada from the carriage. But he did not think to resist her, so glad was he to turn from talk to action. Then, as he dashed impetuously away, she said in a half-whisper, her voice breaking with sobs:
"If God has intended that I should live on as the wife of a criminal, I will suffer my fate in silence and patience, knowing that I, in my waywardness, am alone to blame. But my father shall not be robbed of his buena ventura—he shall not end his days in want and misery. Seguramente, no! Dios de mialma, no!
"I have dishonored Don Jaime—and Don Jaime most certainly will kill me if ever he sets eyes on me again—but no lo quiera Dios! that I should suffer this obscene crime against him to be committed! There is blood and pride in me yet—I am yet a Torreblanca y Moncada!"
Half-way to the muster of people, Jacinto Quesada halted to throw back to her a heartening look and to call:
"Despacio! Softly!—gently! And watch, my Felicidad, how easy it is to rob the robber!"
CHAPTER VIII
High overhead a bustard sailed on slow, lazy pinions, but below, across the flat, tawny Manchegan plain, not a gust of desert dust whirled, not a buck-rabbit bounded, not a cow or bullock lumbered. Hot and large, empty and silent was the slow-crawling afternoon.
Jacinto Quesada faced the herded people. He had been gone five minutes; now, in visible trepidation, they awaited the upshot of his return. Their eyes adhered stickily to his; they were utterly without voice. Suddenly, he called, "Bring up and search the Frenchman again!"
Dios hombre! but the thing was swiftly done. The Frenchman's protests went for nothing; he was mauled about, roughed and ruffed, fine-combed and intimately worked over. Jacinto Quesada himself was lead-hound in the second search. He it was who drew forth the small, mahogany-colored leather purse from its nook of concealment in the fellow's armpit.