“Who are you?” asked the poor shoemaker, who felt himself dying from the cold contact of that arm.
“I am he whom thou seekest.”
“Who?—I?—I seek nobody,” replied Tito, endeavoring to disengage himself.
“Then why didst thou call me?” replied the other, grasping his arm with more force.
“Ah! Leave me!”
“Calm thyself, Tito. I mean thee no harm,” added the mysterious being. “Come! Thou tremblest with hunger and cold! Yonder is an open tavern in which I have something to do to-night. Let us enter and refresh ourselves.”
“Well! but who are you?” asked Tito anew, his curiosity commencing to overcome his other feelings.
“I told thee when we met. We are friends—and observe that thou art the only one upon this earth to whom I give this name. Remorse binds me to thee. I have been the cause of all thy misfortunes.”
“But I do not know you,” replied the shoemaker.
“Nevertheless I have entered thy house many times. Through me thou wert left motherless the day of thy birth. I was the cause of the apoplexy that killed Juan Gil; I hurled thee from the palace of Rionuevo; removed thy housekeeper, and finally put this bottle of vitriol within thy reach.”