“Absurd!” Dolores’ anger rose and overflowed at the word.  “Do you dare to use such a word to me to-night?”

“My dear Dolores, why do you lose your temper about such a thing?” asked the Princess, in a conciliatory tone.  “Of course if it had all ended as we expected it would, I never should use such a word—­if Don John had died—­”

“What do you mean?” Dolores held her by the wrist in an instant and the maddest excitement was in her voice.

“What I mean?  Why—­” the Princess stopped short, realizing that Dolores might not know the truth after all.  “What did I say?” she asked, to gain time.  “Why do you hold my hand like that?”

“You called the murder of Don John an absurd affair, and then you said, ’if Don John had died’—­as if he were not lying there dead in his room, twenty paces from where you stand!  Are you mad?  Are you playing some heartless comedy with me?  What does it all mean?”

The Princess was very worldly wise, and she saw at a glance that she must tell Dolores the truth.  If she did not, the girl would soon learn it from some one else, but if she did, Dolores would always remember who had told her the good news.

“My dear,” she said very gently, “let my wrist go and let me take your arm.  We do not understand each other, or you would not be so angry with me.  Something has happened of which you do not know—­”

“Oh, no!  I know the whole truth!” Dolores interrupted her, and resisted being led along in a slow walk.  “Let me go to him!” she cried.  “I only wish to see him once more—­”

“But, dearest child, listen to me—­if I do not tell you everything at once, it is because the shock might hurt you.  There is some hope that he may not die—­”

“Hope!  Oh no, no, no!  I saw him lying dead—­”

“He had fainted, dear.  He was not dead—­”

“Not dead?” Dolores’ voice broke.  “Tell me—­tell me quickly.”  She pressed her hand to her side.

“No.  He came to himself after you had left him—­he is alive.  No—­listen to me—­yes, dear, he is alive and not much hurt.  The wound was a scratch, and he was only stunned—­he is well—­to-morrow he will be as well as ever—­ah, dear, I told you so!”

Dolores had borne grief, shame, torment of mind that night, as bravely as ever a woman bore all three, but the joy of the truth that he lived almost ended her life then and there.  She fell back upon the Princess’s arm and threw out her hands wildly, as if she were fighting for breath, and the lids of her eyes quivered violently and then were quite still, and she uttered a short, unnatural sound that was more like a groan of pain than a cry of happiness.

The Princess was very strong, and held her, steadying herself against the wall, thinking anything better than to let her slip to the floor and lie swooning on the stone pavement.  But the girl was not unconscious, and in a moment her own strength returned.