“No, sir.”

“To Obejo, perhaps?”

“No. We’re going to the Store.”

“To the Store!” exclaimed El Mojoso, overcome with astonishment. “Whom are you looking for in my house?”

“We’re looking for the Marquesito.”

“The Marquesito? What Marquesito?”

“Don’t you know him?”

“Upon my word I do not! I hope to die if I’m not telling you the truth.”

“Well, it seems that your daughter knows him very well,” replied the soldier meaningly.

El Mojoso’s face darkened, not that it had ever been exactly light, and looking back at the sergeant, he murmured in a dull voice: