Without moving
a muscle, without change of countenance, or uttering a syllable of
rejoinder, Don Ferdinand listened to Garcia's recital, fixing his
large piercing eye on his face, with a gaze that none but one so
hardened in hypocrisy could have withstood. Once only Morales's
features contracted for a single instant, as convulsed by some spasm.
It was the recollection of Marie's passionate tears, the night of the
festival; and yet she had shed them on _his_ bosom. How could she be
guilty? And the spasm passed.
"I have heard you, Don Luis," he said, so calmly, as Garcia ceased,
that the latter started. "If there be truth in this strange tale, I
thank you for imparting it: if it be false--if you have dared pollute
my ears with one word that has no foundation, cross not my path
again, lest I be tempted to turn and crush you as I would a loathsome
reptile, who in very wantonness has stung me."
He turned from him rapidly, traversed the brief space, and disappeared
within his house. Don Luis looked after him with a low, fiendish
laugh, and plunged once more into the gardens.
"Is the Senora within?" Inquired Don Ferdinand, encountering his
wife's favorite attendant at the entrance of Marie's private suit of
rooms; and though his cheek was somewhat pale, his voice was firm as
usual.
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