When left alone, the count remained for some time in a thoughtful attitude. “If I could but speak their horrid language,” he said, soliloquizing with himself, “or if she understood mine, I should certainly succeed, for as to this would-be bridegroom, I can easily get rid of him, and of the brother also, if he prove intractable. Let me see! can I trust Gonzalez? From the expression of his eye sometimes, as well as from his never speaking of her, I fear that he knows all about his unhappy sister; and yet I must trust him, or abandon all, for he is the only interpreter we have. There is no help for it; I cannot give up the game so freshly started—but I will be wary and watch him closely.” He slightly touched the bell, “Send Gonzalez to me,” he said to the attendant, who obeyed the summons. A few moments after, a young man of 23 or 24 years of age entered the apartment, and bowing to the count, awaited his commands in silence. From his spare figure, he looked taller than he really was. His hair and moustaches were glossy black, curling in their rich luxuriance. His eye-brows, thick and bushy, formed one continuous arch, and the eye beneath, black and lustrous, was soft and subdued in its ordinary expression, but at times, in a single glance, would convey a startling idea of latent but indomitable energy. His features were almost femininely regular, and his voice musically clear and sweet. The count’s fears were not without foundation; his secretary, for such was the position of Gonzalez, knew his sister’s wrongs, and like a true Spaniard, thirsted for an opportunity to revenge them. His commander scanned him closely where he stood for some minutes, the young man at first returning his gaze with a look neither too humble, nor yet audacious, and then deferentially turned his eyes in another direction.
“What is the matter, Gonzalez? You seem of late unusually taciturn and moody.”
“I think, señor, that my health is suffering from long confinement to the ship. I need recreation on shore.”
“What mean you by long confinement—were you not on shore repeatedly last month in Havana?”
“No, señor! If you will recollect, I applied several times to go, but on each occasion you had important letters or despatches to write.”
“Did you hear from home before we sailed?” and the count’s look became intensely riveted upon him.
The young man slightly colored, “I heard indirectly, señor, that all were well.”
“From whom?”
“From a muleteer who resides in the adjoining village.”
“Did he give you any particulars?”