“Are you rich?”
“Poor as ever,” was Robledo’s prompt reply. “But I’m alone in the world, I’m not married—there’s nothing so expensive as a wife—so, for a few months I’ll be able to spend money like a regular American millionaire. I have the money I’ve been earning all this time, I couldn’t spend it in the desert.”
He turned to look about him at the luxurious furnishings of his friend’s home.
“You’re the fellow that’s rich, I see!”
The Marquis’s only reply was an enigmatical smile; but Robledo’s words awakened his worries.
“Tell me about what you have been doing,” the engineer urged. “You never sent me much news of yourself. Some of your letters must have been lost, although wherever I went, up to recently, I always established a good many connections. Yes, I know a little about you. I believe you got married a few years ago.”
Torre Bianca nodded, and said gravely,
“I married a Russian lady, the wife of a high government official of the Czar’s court. I met her in London. We met frequently at balls and country houses ... and finally we married. We make a few pretensions to elegance—but it’s damned expensive!”
He paused for a moment, as though he wanted to learn what impression this summary of his life made upon Robledo. But the latter, eager to learn more, wisely kept silence.
“You, my dear Robledo, leading the simple life of primitive man, are lucky enough not to know what it costs to live in our civilization. I’ve worked like a dog just to keep things going—and even at that! And my poor old mother helps me with whatever she can get out of our family ruins.”