"All is lost, except a little life."--Byron
Nearly a fortnight passed away before a tiny lace kerchief, fluttering
at nightfall through the jealous grating of one of the few windows of
Don Manuel's house that looked towards the street, told Juan that he was
at liberty to seek admission the next day. He was permitted to enter;
but he explored the patio and all the adjacent corridors and rooms
without seeing the face of which he was in search. He did not, indeed,
meet any one, not even a domestic; for it was the eve of the Feast of
the Ascension, and nearly all the household had gone to see the great
tabernacle carried in state to the Cathedral and set up there, in
preparation for the solemnities of the following day.
He thought this a good opportunity for satisfying his longing to visit
the apartment his brother had been wont to occupy. In spite of what his
uncle had said to the contrary, and indeed of the dictates of his own
reason, he could not relinquish the hope that something which belonged
to him--perhaps even some word or line traced by his hand--might reward
his careful search.
He ascended the stairs; not stealthily, or as if ashamed of his errand,
for no one had the right to forbid him. He reached the turret without
meeting any one, but had hardly placed his foot upon the stair that led
to its upper apartment, when a voice called out, not very loudly,--
"Chien va?"