“Yes, this very minute.”

“She’s in the sewing-room.”

They went to the door.

“Tell her not to marry Juan de Dios.”

“Don’t you like him?”

“No. I hate him. He’s vulgar.”

Quentin went in, glided along the gallery, and knocked upon the door of the sewing-room.

“Come in!” said some one.

Rafaela and the old woman servant were sewing. As Quentin appeared a slight flush spread over the girl’s cheeks.

“What a long time it is since you have been here!” said Rafaela. “Won’t you sit down?”