"I'll do more," she promised, and her voice was like honey. "I'll
tell Pancho Cueto to unlock you, even if I risk Esteban's anger by
so doing. You have suffered too much, my good fellow. Indeed you
have. Well, I can help you now and in the future, or--I can make
your life just such a misery as it has been to-day. Will you be my
friend? Will you tell me something?" She was close to the window;
her black eyes were gleaming; her face was ablaze with greed.
"What can I tell you?"
"Oh, you know very well! I've asked it often enough, but you have
lied, just as my husband has lied to me. He is a miser; he has no
heart; he cares for nobody, as you can see. You must hate him now,
even as I hate him." There was a silence during which Dona Isabel
tried to read the expression on that tortured face in the
sunlight. "Do you?"
"Perhaps."
"Then tell me--is there really a treasure, or--?" The woman
gasped; she choked; she could scarcely force the question for fear
of disappointment. "Tell me there is, Sebastian." She clutched the
bars and shook them. "I've heard so many lies that I begin to
doubt."
The old man nodded. "Oh yes, there is a treasure," said he.
"God! You have seen it?" Isabel was trembling as if with an ague.
"What is it like? How much is there? Good Sebastian, I'll give you
water; I'll have you set free if you tell me.
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