Luisa Valverde and Ysabel Almonte were fast friends--so fondly intimate that scarcely a day passed without their seeing one another and exchanging confidences. They lived in the same street; the Condesa having a house of her own, though nominally owned by her grand-aunt and guardian. For, besides being beautiful and possessed of a title--one of the few still found in Mexico, relics of the old _regime_--Ysabel Almonte was immensely rich; had houses in the city, _haciendas_ in the country, property everywhere. She had a will of her own as well, and spent her wealth according to her inclinations, which were all on the side of generosity, even to caprice. By nature a lighthearted, joyous creature, gay and merry, as one of the bright birds of her country, it was a rare thing to see sadness upon her face. And yet Luisa Valverde, looking down from the mirador, saw that now. There was a troubled expression upon it, excitement in her eyes, attitude, and gestures, while her bosom rose and fell in quick pulsations. True, she had run up the _escalera_--a stair of four flights--without pause or rest; and that might account for her laboured breathing. But not for the flush on her cheek, and the sparkle in her eyes. These came from a different cause, though the same one which had carried her up the long stairway without pausing to take breath. She had not enough now left to declare it; but stood panting and speechless. "_Madre de Dios_!" exclaimed her friend in an accent of alarm. "What is it, Ysabel?" "_Madre de Dios_! I say too," gasped the Condesa. "Oh, Luisita! what do you think?" "What?" "They've taken him--they have him in prison!" "He lives then--still lives! Blessed be the Virgin!" Saying which Luisa Valverde crossed her arms over her breast, and with eyes raised devotionally towards heaven, seemed to offer up a mute, but fervent thanksgiving. "Still lives!" echoed the Condesa, with a look of mingled surprise and perplexity. "Of course he does; surely you did not think he was dead!" "Indeed I knew not what to think--so long since I saw or heard of him. Oh, I'm so glad he's here, even though in a prison; for while there's life there's hope." By this the Condesa had recovered breath, though not composure of countenance. Its expression alone was changed from the look of trouble to one of blank astonishment. What could her friend mean? Why glad of his being in a prison? For all the while she was thinking of a _him_. "Hope!" she ejaculated again as an echo, then remaining silent, and looking dazed-like. "Yes, Ysabel; I had almost despaired of him. But are you sure they have him here in prison? I was in fear that he had been killed in battle, or died upon the march, somewhere in those great prairies of Texas--"