Just as they entered the apartment, the surgeon had loosened the dress of the sufferer at the throat, and there fell out into sight the insignia of the golden fleece and cross of St. Sebastian, in a scroll of diamonds that heralded the royal arms of Spain, and which none but those in whose veins coursed royal blood could wear!  The surgeon started back in amazement, while Don Gonzales uncovered out of respect to the emblem.  Springing to the side of the couch, General Bezan turned the half averted face towards him, while he seized the hand of the sufferer, and then exclaimed: 

“Is this a miracle-is this a dream-or is this really the Countess Moranza?”

“It is the Countess Moranza,” replied the suffering creature, while her eyes were bent on Lorenzo Bezan with an expression of most ineffable tenderness.

All this while Isabella stood aghast, quite in the rear of them all; but that look was not lost upon her; she shuddered, and a cold perspiration stood upon her brow.  Had she lived to see such a sight-lived to see another preferred to herself?  Alas, what knew she of the scene before her? was it not a shameless one?  Had Lorenzo Bezan deceived this high-born and noble lady, and leaving her to follow him, came hither, once more to strive for her love?  Her brain was in a whirlwind of excitement, the room grew dark, she reeled, and would have fallen but for the assistance of Ruez, who helped her to her room, and left her there, himself as much amazed at what he had seen as his sister could possibly be.

“Has she gone?” asked the sufferer.

“Who, lady?” said the soldier, tenderly.

“Isabella Gonzales.”

“Yes,” replied the father.  “Do you desire to see her?”

“O yes, I must see her, and quickly; tell her I must see her.”

The father retired; while Lorenzo Bezan said, as he bent over the person of the countess: 

“Alas, I cannot ask thee now what all this means; you are too ill to talk; what may I, what can I do for thee?”

“Nothing, Lorenzo Bezan.  Draw nearer-I have loved thee dearly, passionately loved thee, loved thee as a woman can love; it was not designed that I should win thy heart-it was already another’s; but it was designed, the virgin be thanked, that though I might not wed thee, I might die for thee!”

“O, countess, countess, your words are like daggers to my heart.  I have been a thoughtless, guilty wretch, but, Heaven bear me witness, I did not sin knowingly!”

“Nay, speak not one word.  I am dying even now; leave me for a while.  I would be alone with this lady; see, she comes, trembling and bathed in tears!”