Sometimes he prattles of a second mistress, but he never breathes her name, and does not mark this woman, as either the mother of his child or the female of his cherished lock.
When ladies come to see him in his cell, he takes a tone of gallantry, yet with an air and distance flattering to their sex.
“I am distressed,” a lady says, “ to see so brave a man as you in such a place.”
“Sefiora,” smirks the brigand, “if I were as brave as you believe me, I should never have been here at all.”
“Well,” sighs his visitor, touching his bandaged fingers, “ I am grieved to think they caught you in the ranch.” He looks into her eyes, and lifting up his wounded hands, exclaims, “Que las bendiciones de Dias sean siempre contigo!” --(may the blessings of God be showered on you for ever more).
His cell is full of gifts-food, clothes, and money; sent by his admiring countrymen and more admiring countrywomen. A purse is being raised for his defence, and every one expects a stormy trial, a timid jury, and a doubtful sentence.
