“Beware, then, lest you learn to know me too well. What did you, concealed in yonder closet? Where is the paper you robbed me of? Who admitted you into the house? Do you belong to a secret society? Were you sent as a spy? A dagger was found in the closet: did you come to assassinate me?”
He paused after each question, but Federico answered none of them, save the last, to which he replied by a stern negative. “You had best confess,” resumed Tadeo. “If you are no political offender, if no criminal project led you where I found you, I pledge my word, señor—and I pledge it only to what I can and will perform—you shall at once be released.”
“I can say but this,” replied the prisoner—“it was not my object to overhear you. An accident conducted me where you discovered me, and I heartily regret that a casual noise betrayed my presence.”
“Is that all you will say?”
“All.”
“You know not with whom you deal,” cried the Count. Then, lowering his voice, and with a smile that he strove to render amiable, “It was, perhaps, a love-affair,” he said. “Young man, which of Doña Rosaura’s handmaidens did you seek? Who introduced you into that apartment? Tell me this—satisfy me on a point that concerns myself personally—and not only will I forget all, but remain your debtor.”
Whilst thus he spoke, the Count’s features expressed very different sentiments from those announced by his smooth and placable speech. In their convulsive workings, and in the savage fire of his eyes, jealousy and hatred were plainly to be read; he looked like a tiger about to spring upon its prey.
“Señor,” said Federico, contemptuously, “you waste time. If a lady did introduce me into your house, rest assured I am not base enough to reveal her name. From me you get no further answer. Do with me as you will. In this unhappy land, might is above right.”
“Wretch!” exclaimed the Count, fiercely advancing upon his undaunted captive, “you have betrayed yourself. I will destroy you, knave, like an insect. A lady conceal you! What audacious slander is this?” He struggled with his rage, and, mastering himself, resumed: “It has been proved that you are the spy of a dangerous and treasonable association. Where is the paper you stole?”
“I have no paper,” replied Federico, “and will answer no more questions. I am in your power; do your worst.”