"Stop! Stay where you are! How dared you return here?" It was Yerba's voice, on the balcony, low and distinct.
"Shut the window! I shall speak with you what you will not the world to hear.""I prefer to keep where I am, since you have crept into this room like a thief!""A thief! Good!" He broke out in Spanish, and, as if no longer fearful of being overheard, had evidently drawn nearer to the window. "A thief. Ha! muy bueno--but it is not I, you understand--I, Caesar Briones, who am the thief! No! It is that swaggering espadachin--that fanfarron of a Colonel Pendleton--that pattern of an official, Mr. Hathaway--that most beautiful heiress of the Californias, Miss ARGUELLO--that are thieves! Yes--of a NAME--Miss Arguello--of a NAME! The name of Arguello!"Paul rose to his feet.
"Ah, so! You start--you turn pale--you flash your eyes, senora, but you think you have deceived me all these years. You think Idid not see your game at Rosario--yes, even when that foolish Castro muchacha first put that idea in your head. Who furnished you the facts you wanted? I--Mother of God! SUCH FACTS!--I, who knew the Arguello pedigree--I, who know it was as impossible for you to be a daughter of them as--what? let me think--as--as it is impossible for you to be the wife of that baron whom you would deceive with the rest! Ah, yes; it was a high flight for you, Mees--Mees--Dona Fulana--a noble game for you to bring down!"Why did she not speak? What was she doing? If she had but uttered a single word of protest, of angry dismissal, Paul would have flown to her side. It could not be the paralysis of personal fear: the balcony was wide; she could easily pass to the end; she could even see his open window.