My lip trembled as I resumed: "And will Don Diego pardon me for inquiring how commenced his knowledge of this ingenuous youth ?" The question was a little beyond the pale of good breeding; perhaps the Spaniard, who was tolerably punctilious in such matters, thought so, for he did not reply.

I was sensible of my error, and apologizing for it, insinuated, nevertheless, the question in a more respectful and covert shape.

Still Don Diego, inhaling the fragrant weed with renewed vehemence, only--like Pion's tomb, recorded by Pausanias--replied to the request of his petitioner _by smoke_.

I did not venture to renew my interrogatories, and there was a long silence.

My eyes fixed their gaze on the door by which Isora had disappeared.