The Vicomtesse closed the door, and without a glance at him went quickly to the table and began to write.  She had no thought of consulting the man again, of asking his permission.  Although she wrote rapidly, five minutes must have gone by before the note was finished and folded and sealed.  She held it out to him.

“Take this to his Excellency,” she said, “and bring me his answer.”  The Alcalde bowed, murmured her title, and went lamely out of the house.  He was plainly in an agony of uncertainty as to his duty, but he glanced at the Vicomtesse—­and went, flipping the note nervously with his finger nail.  He paused for a few low-spoken words with the tawdry constable, who sat down on the banquette after his chief had gone, still clinging to the bridle.  The Vicomtesse went to the doorway, looked at him, and closed the battened doors.  The constable did not protest.  The day was fading without, and the room was almost in darkness as she crossed over to the little mantel and stood with her head laid upon her arm.

I did not disturb her.  The minutes passed, the light waned until I could see her no longer, and yet I knew that she had not moved.  The strange sympathy between us kept me silent until I heard her voice calling my name.

“Yes,” I answered.

“The candle!”

I drew out my tinder-box and lighted the wick.  She had turned, and was facing me even as she had faced me the night before.  The night before!  The greatest part of my life seemed to have passed since then.  I remember wondering that she did not look tired.  Her face was sad, her voice was sad, and it had an ineffable, sweet quality at such times that was all its own.

“The Alcalde should be coming back,” she said.

“Yes,” I answered.

These were our words, yet we scarce heeded their meaning.  Between us was drawn a subtler communion than speech, and we dared—­neither of us—­to risk speech.  She searched my face, but her lips were closed.  She did not take my hand again as in the afternoon.  She turned away.  I knew what she would have said.

There was a knock at the door.  We went together to open it, and the Alcalde stood on the step.  He held in his hand a long letter on which the red seal caught the light, and he gave the letter to the Vicomtesse, with a bow.

“From his Excellency, Madame la Vicomtesse.”

She broke the seal, went to the table, and read.  Then she looked up at me.

“It is the Governor’s permit for Mr. Temple to remain in this house.  Thank you,” she said to the Alcalde; “you may go.”

“With my respectful wishes for the continued good health of Madame la Vicomtesse,” said the Alcalde.

CHAPTER XI

“In the midst of life”

The Alcalde had stopped on the step with an exclamation at something in the darkness outside, and he backed, bowing, into the room again to make way for some one.  A lady, slim, gowned and veiled in black and followed by a negress, swept past him.  The lady lifted her veil and stood before us.