"Most certainly," said the latter, with an air of drollery, "I am disposed to do justice to the good qualities of the Senora Arroyo; they are truly admirable. When a man is wounded, she volunteers to sprinkle red pepper over his wounds. Nothing can be more touching than the way she intercedes for the prisoners we condemn to death--that is, that they may be put to death as slowly as may be--I mean as gently as possible." "Ah, that is not selfishness on her part," interrupted the husband. "She does so to please me rather than herself--poor thing." "True, she is greatly devoted to you--a worthy woman, indeed! Still, camarado," continued Bocardo with a hesitation that told he had finished speaking the praises of Madame Arroyo; "you will acknowledge she is neither young nor very pretty." "Well--say she is old and ugly," answered Arroyo, "she suits my purpose for all that." "That's strange enough." "It's less strange than you think for. I have my reasons. She shares with me the execration of the public; and if I were a widower--" "You would have to bear it all on your own shoulders. Bah! they are broad enough for that!" "True," replied Arroyo, flattered at the compliment, "but you, _amigo_, have also a share of that load. It isn't often that the name of Arroyo is cursed, without that of Bocardo being mixed up in the malediction." "Ah, there are too many lying tongues in this world!" "Besides," continued the brigand, returning to the subject of Madame Arroyo, "I have another good reason for wishing that no harm should come to my wife. She is in possession of a scapulary, blessed by the Pope of Rome; which has the wonderful power of causing the husband of whatever woman may carry it to die at the same time that his wife does." "Oh!" rejoined Bocardo in a tone of repudiation, "I did not mean that you should kill the Senora Arroyo--nothing of the kind. My idea is that she should be sent to a convent of penitents, where she might occupy her time in praying for the salvation of her soul, as well as that of her husband. Then replace her by a pretty young damsel, with eyes and hair as black as night, lips as red as the flowers of the grenadine, and skin as white as the _floripondio_. Now you can tell what for the last half-hour I have been killing myself to make you comprehend." "And do you know of such a pretty young damsel?" inquired Arroyo after an interval of silence, which proved that the arguments of his associate were not lost upon him. "Of course I do, and so do you as well--one that you could lay your hands on at any moment." "Where?" "Where? At the hacienda of San Carlos. Where else should she be?" "You mean the Dona Marianita de Silva?" "Precisely so." "_Mil demonios, camarado_! Do you intend us to save every hacienda in the country? Of course it is for the sake of pillaging the house, that you wish me to possess myself of its mistress?"