The sun was gilding the tops of the pomegranate trees, where the parroquets were joyously performing their gymnastic exercises; and the breeze which caressed the plants in the garden, wafted into the saloon the perfumes of a thousand flowers. It was a solemn and decisive moment. Gertrudis, happy, yet trembling for the words of love she expected to hear, sat with her face partially concealed behind the folds of her silken _reboso_. In her fingers she still held the scarf she had been embroidering; but, seeing that this betrayed the trembling of her hand, she placed it on a table by her side, lest Don Rafael might observe the emotion of which he was the author. It was the last effort of virgin pride--its last attempt at resistance before avowing itself overcome. "Gertrudis!" said Don Rafael, endeavouring to stifle the pulsations of his heart, "I have spoken to your father. I wish to consecrate these few moments--the last I may ever pass in your presence--to an explanation between us. I implore you, then, to speak, as I intend speaking myself, without reserve--without ambiguity." "I promise you that, Don Rafael," responded Gertrudis; "but what mysterious secret have you been communicating to my father?" added she, in a tone of gentle raillery. "I told him," replied the lover, "that I had come hither with my heart full of _you_; that my father's message summoning me to his presence had been received by me as a voice calling me to bliss: since it gave me this opportunity of once more being near you. I told him how I had hurried over the immense distance that separated us; and how, in order that I might see you an hour sooner, I had disregarded the howling of the jaguars, and the threatening voice of the inundation--" Don Rafael became silent, perhaps from embarrassment, while Gertrudis still remained in a listening attitude. It was a melody to which she could have listened for ever! "And when you told my father," said she, after a pause of silence, "that--that--you loved me--did he exhibit any astonishment at the unexpected revelation?" "No, not any," replied the officer, himself a little surprised at the question thus put to him. "That, then, must have been because I had already told him," said the young beauty, with a smile as sweet as her voice. "But my father--what answer did he give you?" "`My dear Don Rafael,' said he to me, `I would be most happy to see our families united. But this can only be with the consent of Gertrudis, and the free wish of her heart; and I have no reason to think that her heart is yours.' Those were the terrible words that proceeded from the lips of your father. Gertrudis, do your lips confirm them?" The voice of Don Rafael quivered as he spoke; and this trembling of a strong man--who never trembled in the presence of danger--was so delicious to the heart of her who loved him, as to hinder her from hastening to make reply.