Magdalen, who had apparently not heard her words, gazed eagerly after her.
"What a beautiful girl," she said; "I do not think I ever saw such a beautiful girl. Who is she?"
"Elisa Puyrredon; she is sister to Doña Juana de Saenz-Valiente; some men say that the two sisters and my aunt Josefina are the three most beautiful women in Buenos Aires."
"And what do you say?"
"I don't know any woman equal in beauty to Elisa Puyrredon."
"But we were talking about my uncle," said Magdalen. "I am so proud to have such a man for my uncle. I think a man who has spent his life as he has, has done more that he may be proud of than the greatest conqueror that ever lived. He has always been beaten; but even Napoleon, with all the battles he has won, is not near so great a man in my eyes as my uncle Francisco."
As Magdalen spoke her face flushed, her enthusiasm beamed in her large grey eyes, tinging them with a darker colour than was usual to them; and Marcelino, watching her intently, forgot to speak, till meeting his wrapt gaze she bent her head and appeared intent only upon the figures on her fan.
"Then you think that a man who devotes himself to the welfare of his country, even if he fail and be proscribed and banished, has not spent his life in vain?" said Marcelino.
"In vain, no! Good work is never done in vain."