“Señora Patrocinio!” he cried.
“Who is it?” came from above.
“A man who comes to ask for something.”
“Well, we give nothing here.”
“I am Quentin.”
“Ah! It’s you? Come in and wait for me.”
“What beautiful confidence!” said Quentin, seating himself in the vestibule, which was nearly in darkness.
Just then he heard footsteps upon the stairs, and a woman veiled in a black mantilla descended with Señora Patrocinio.
The veiled lady looked at Quentin as she passed; he returned the look with curiosity, and would have gone to the door to see her better, had not Señora Patrocinio seized him by the arm.
“Come,” said the old woman, “what’s the matter?”