“Caramba! What is this? Juanita? And you, señor, is it the part of a friend? Do you know?”
“Don’t be jealous, Salvador,” said Juanita, quietly to her lover, who had come on the balcony unperceived. “Señor Fortescue is a true friend. He is very good; he releases you from your promise. And he seemed so sorry and spoke so nobly that the least I could do was to let him kiss my hand.”
“You did right, Juanita. I was hasty; I cry peccavi and ask your forgiveness. And you really give up this expedition for my sake, dear friend? Thanks, a thousand thanks.”
“No; I absolve you from your promise. But I shall go, all the same.”
Carmen looked very grave.
“Think better of it, amigo mio,” he said. “When we formed this project we were both in a reckless mood. Much of the country you propose to explore has never been trodden by the white man’s foot. It is a country of impenetrable forests, fordless rivers, and unclimbable mountains. You will have to undergo terrible hardships, you may die of hunger or of thirst, and escape the poisoned arrows of wild Indians only to fall a victim to the malarious fevers which none but natives of the country can resist.”
“When did you learn all this? You talked very differently a few days ago.”
“I did, but I have been making inquiries.”
“And you have fallen in love.”
“True, and that has opened my eyes to many things.”