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 Margaret L. Wfeoefe i}||||
 
 Sons of the Sword
 
 Sons of the Sword 
 
 A Romance of the 
 
 Peninsular 
 
 War 
 
 ¥ 
 
 By 
 
 MARGARET L. WOODS 
 
 New York 
 
 MCCLURE. PHILLIPS ir' CO 
 
 MCMI
 
 COPTBIQHT, 1901, BT 
 
 McCLURE, PHILLIPS & CO.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I. A Soldier of the Empire . 
 
 11. Seraphine ..... 
 
 III. Enter the World's Master 
 
 IV. The Lion Plays 
 V. The Good King 
 
 VI. Your Lover, Mademoiselle ? 
 
 VII. Storm-bound on the Guadarrama 
 
 VIII. A Tale of Brave Men 
 
 IX. Vive L'Empereur ! 
 
 X. The Peasant Cavalcade . 
 
 XI. The Curate of Carcajales 
 
 XII. Two IN A Tower 
 
 XIII. The Dead Soldier 
 
 XIV. The Knight Sans Peur et Sans Re- 
 
 PROCHE ..... 
 XV. Colonel Vidal's Lucky Star 
 
 [V] 
 
 II 
 
 . 24 
 
 • 31 
 
 . 48 
 
 • 55 
 
 • 73 
 
 . 92 
 
 . 102 
 
 . 127 
 
 • 143 
 
 . 163 
 
 . 180 
 
 . 197 
 
 . 220
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 XVI. On the Road to Villa Franca 
 
 XVII. As BoADicEA Before the Emperor 
 
 XVIII. The Gold Side of the Shield 
 XIX. A Duel and a Proposal . 
 
 XX. Carmona's Ambuscade 
 
 XXI. A Church Marriage 
 
 XXII. Seraphine a Widow 
 
 239 
 
 266 
 
 276 
 296 
 
 315 
 335 
 
 367 
 
 [vi]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 A SOLDIER OF THE EMPIRE 
 
 THE young man smiled insolently. 
 " To what, then, do you pretend. Mademoi- 
 selle?" 
 
 Mademoiselle Seraphine, leaning back in a low- 
 chair, with one foot on the brass-work of the brasero, 
 stooped away from him while she picked a thread out 
 of the black-silk fringe of her skirt. She dropped 
 it delicately and deliberately on to the white charcoal 
 before replying: 
 
 " I pretend, Monsieur le Colonel, to nothing in the 
 world except some personal tastes." 
 
 There was a silence in the room ; only the stifif 
 plastron of gold on the soldier's strong chest crackled 
 a little. 
 
 "And I do not suit them?" 
 
 Seraphine shrugged her shoulders slightly and 
 wrapped herself closer in her mantilla. 
 
 Colonel Vidal had been half kneeling, half leaning 
 on a high-backed chair. Now he stood up ; and knew 
 himself the very figure of a dashing soldier, stalwart 
 and straight, bronzed, and a little scarred by war. 
 " And may I ask, fair Seraphine, what is the personal 
 defect which makes me unpleasing to you? Am I 
 ugly?" 
 
 [I]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 She frowned at the point of a charming foot, twitch- 
 ing nervously in its thin sHpper. 
 
 " Am I ugly ? " he asked again, giving an upward 
 stroke to his glossy dark-brown moustache. 
 
 Seraphine turned her head and looked at him with 
 a slow lift of the eyelids. 
 
 " Yes — decidedly, yes," she replied. 
 
 He was still clasping the chair-back, and his knuck- 
 les had whitened. He loosed the chair, kicking it 
 from him, thundered half an imprecation and smoth- 
 ered it in a shout of angry laughter. 
 
 " Then women must love ugliness. Yes, they must 
 adore it passionately. Women! What do I say? 
 Ladies, great ladies, do you hear, have gone mad for 
 the beaux yeux of the man you call — ugly ! Bah ! I 
 do you too much honour. Little stupid ! " 
 
 He had swung round and was tramping the length 
 of the narrow sala, with a clink of spurs on the tiled 
 floor. 
 
 Seraphine sat up and folded her hands in her lap. 
 Her small red mouth had normally an upward in- 
 clination at the corners and now it unmistakably 
 smiled at the indignant back. Her blue eyes laughed 
 adorably between dark fringes and the dimple in her 
 soft young cheek made mirth enchantment. He was 
 drawn down the room again slowly, as by a magnet. 
 
 " Tease ! " he exclaimed, and stroked his moustache 
 down. Then seated himself on the lately kicked chair. 
 
 " Little stupid ! " he repeated, this time very softly, 
 
 "Do you forgive me. Colonel? I ought not to 
 have said it. It was ill-bred, and I am sorry." 
 
 " Little madcap ! It is true you are a silly child, 
 and I perhaps as silly. But listen to me. Mademoiselle 
 
 [2]
 
 A SOLDIER OF THE EMPIRE 
 
 Seraphine," and Vidal held up an admonitory finger. 
 " It is all very well to be witty, but a woman should 
 know where to stop. She should not make fun of 
 everything — of everything, do you hear? Linnet- 
 head — that is what you are." 
 
 " I confess myself a madwoman, a silly child, a 
 linnet-head, and all with the greatest seriousness in 
 the world. And you forgive me. Monsieur?" 
 
 The handsome Hector clapped his hand to the left 
 edge of his glittering plastron. 
 
 " Charming creature ! I could not help pardoning 
 you that, and even worse than that." 
 
 " Really?" She rose to her feet and with an air 
 between that of a woman and a child, but gracefully, 
 sketched a curtsy. 
 
 " Then I thank you, and have the honour to wish 
 you good-bye." 
 
 " Good-bye ? But Mademoiselle — but Seraphine — 
 Good-bye! Why?" 
 
 " Why ? Just because we are friends, Colonel." 
 
 He stood up opposite her, smiling vaguely, with 
 ardent eyes. 
 
 '' Because we are friends? " 
 
 " Yes, certainly. For fear we should quarrel again. 
 Take care! We might do so in three minutes — in 
 two — in one ; and that would be so sad. Good-bye, 
 Monsieur." 
 
 She curtsied once more. Vidal merely laughed, 
 coming two steps nearer. Something in his laugh 
 made her anxious heart beat quicker, but her face did 
 not drop its mask of gaiety. 
 
 " Pilar has foretold me, by all sorts of omens, three 
 quarrels within twenty-four hours. I have had one 
 
 [3]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 with you already ; pray do not let the second be with 
 you also. Good-bye, Colonel. If you will go at once 
 
 I will let you kiss " She had meant to say " my 
 
 hand," but the leap of a flame of eagerness in the 
 bronzed face opposite her, its approach to her own, 
 gave her pause. " I will let you kiss — my fan." 
 
 Immediately a large black fan flew rattling open, 
 not an inch from the end of his nose. Vidal broke 
 again into a short laugh. He beat it down and seized 
 Mademoiselle Seraphine's fragile wrists brutally, with 
 hard hands. 
 
 " Not enough— that ! " 
 
 Seraphine did not struggle. She, went pale, but 
 looked him calmly in the face. 
 
 " Let me go. Monsieur. You are rude, and also 
 you are hurting me." 
 
 The soldier loosed her wrists, slowly, ashamed, he 
 knew not whether of his boldness or of his lack of it. 
 There was something strange about this little actress. 
 
 It is possible that Seraphine's limbs had an inclina- 
 tion to tremble under her. But when she had seated 
 herself in the high-backed chair, with her delicate 
 hands resting on its sculptured arms, she looked as 
 queenly as though they held orb and sceptre. She 
 frowned on Hector Vidal, standing there looking at 
 her, not so much abashed as surprised and meditative. 
 
 " You are devilishly clever," he said. " Yes, there 
 is no doubt you are clever." 
 
 " Do me the pleasure of going away, Monsieur le 
 Colonel." 
 
 But he did not move. At length he spoke again : 
 
 " Let us be serious, Mademoiselle. Tell me who 
 you are." 
 
 [4]
 
 A SOLDIER OF THE EMPIRE 
 
 Her eyes looked momentarily startled. 
 
 " Why do you ask ? You know me to be a singer, 
 an actress — Oh, not a great one! — but protected by 
 Mademoiselle Carmona." 
 
 " If you were only that, your ambition would be 
 more than satisfied by a liaison with a man in my 
 position. But they say you are an eniigree, an aristo- 
 crat, and that's why you give yourself these con- 
 founded airs — why you think you have a right to 
 despise a mere soldier — a brave " 
 
 " Despise a soldier of the Grand Army? A queen 
 dare not do it." 
 
 " Sapristi, but you dare ! Yes, I am a soldier, and 
 more than that; for, believe me, the Marshal's baton 
 already begins to peep out of my knapsack. Twice 
 decorated for gallantry in the field — Bah ! that's noth- 
 ing. All Frenchmen are brave. But at eight-and- 
 twenty to be already attached to the Emperor's staff, 
 to be distinguished by the Emperor, and placed in 
 attendance on his person — Dame! after that one may 
 aspire to anything. Believe me, Mademoiselle, I 
 shall be a duke before I am forty." 
 
 " Monsieur, you have my best wishes." 
 
 " The Emperor will wish to marry me to a Princess. 
 I can assure you I have good reason to believe that 
 there is one already in Germany who — well, she is 
 only a child yet — but she would not be ill-pleased if 
 the choice fell upon her. Great ladies, Seraphine, do 
 not ask who were the ancestors of a French soldier. 
 We are all the sons of Mars, sons of the sword. In 
 Poland I had a countess for my mistress, in Italy " 
 
 " I do not want to hear anything about it." 
 
 "Ah, voUd! She is jealous, the little thing! Yes, 
 
 [5]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 it is true, I have been what people call a man of Good 
 Fortunes. But listen, Seraphine; console thyself. I 
 do not want to marry a Princess. I am a soldier, a 
 Frenchman, a child of the Revolution, and I will obey 
 the generous impulses of my own heart." 
 
 There was a pause. Hector Vidal's chest swelled 
 and he contemplated his own generous heart, while 
 Seraphine was seeking in her thoughts the most con- 
 venient way out of the situation. 
 
 " Listen, Seraphine. Since my love alone does not 
 appear to satisfy you, I ofifer you also my name. I 
 ask you to be my wife. Mademoiselle — I ask you in 
 marriage." 
 
 " It is without doubt, Monsieur, a very great 
 honour." 
 
 " Of all the women I have loved, of all the adorable 
 women who have lavished their favours upon me, 
 there is not one to whom I would have said so much. 
 But you, Seraphine — little dove! Little serpent! I 
 am powerless to resist your enchantments." 
 
 " Alas, Monsieur! " cried Seraphine, nervously tear- 
 ing at her pocket-handkerchief; "I thank you sin- 
 cerely for your ofTer, but if you knew more about me 
 — if you knew " 
 
 "As to your past, I ask no questions. Let us forget 
 it," broke in the Colonel, magnanimously. " There 
 are already duchesses in France who permit no one 
 to remember theirs. For your manners you need have 
 no fear. It is above all, decorum — it is seriousness 
 that you must learn, Seraphine, if you wish the Em- 
 peror to receive you at his Court." 
 
 " But mon Dicu, mon Dieu! it is impossible — you 
 do not know what you are talking of " 
 
 [6]
 
 A SOLDIER OF THE EMPIRE 
 
 " You cannot believe I am serious ? I give you my 
 word of honour, Seraphine." And taking one of her 
 little white hands between his brown ones he pressed 
 it to his heart. 
 
 " No, no, Monsieur ! It is not that. I recognise 
 your generosity ; I am infinitely obliged to you ; but 
 it is impossible for you to marry me. There are cir- 
 cumstances — there is an insurmountable barrier " 
 
 " No barrier is insurmountable to a Frenchman and 
 a soldier." 
 
 " This one is." 
 
 " You have already a husband ? " 
 
 " Good heavens, no ! " 
 
 " Ah ! Then you have entangled yourself with a 
 lover — you love him." Thunder began to roar dis- 
 tantly in his voice. 
 
 "A lover? I!" 
 
 The indignant disclaimer passed unheeded. 
 
 " A mean fellow ! " — glancing round the bare room. 
 " But you are willing, it appears, to sacrifice a fine 
 marriage to him. Good. Tell this coward I counsel 
 him not to meet me — for I should kill him." 
 
 The thunder was roaring quite near now. 
 
 " You cannot, since he does not exist. Believe me, 
 Colonel, I appreciate the generosity of your offer, but 
 I should ill repay it by marrying you when my heart 
 does not respond to your wishes — when, in short, I 
 cannot possibly love you." 
 
 " You refuse, then, an offer of marriage ? An offer 
 of marriage, you understand. Mademoiselle ! " 
 
 " I refuse. Monsieur le Colonel." 
 
 A cold douche had suddenly been poured on the 
 fire of his exaltation. It hissed and fumed. 
 
 [7]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 " Refuse, then ! Refuse ! " 
 
 He brought his fist down on a spindle-legged table, 
 barked his knuckles, knocked it over, and tramped a 
 few steps. 
 
 " So much the worse for you. Mille tonnerres! 
 You must be mad — raving mad." 
 
 " And in twenty-four hours you will bless my mad- 
 ness." 
 
 Hector twisted his moustache, ferocious and superb. 
 
 " It is true," he said ; " you are perfectly right, 
 Mademoiselle. I was mad myself to think of sacri- 
 ficing to you my prospects of a splendid marriage ; 
 I was mad to risk for your sake my favour with the 
 Emperor, who would certainly not be pleased at my 
 marrying a little actress." 
 
 " I am of your opinion. There are also reasons, 
 unknown to you, which would make your marriage 
 with me particularly displeasing to the Emperor." 
 
 Then she thought to herself: "Oh, my tongue! 
 What need to say that? " 
 
 Hector Vidal was hardly listening. He was con- 
 templating Mademoiselle Seraphine through half- 
 closed eyelids. 
 
 " What a folly ! " he broke out. " Here in Madrid, 
 surrounded by beautiful Spanish women, to be play- 
 ing the lover to a girl like that ! A little creature 
 scarcely one of my comrades would even think pretty. 
 If they come here, I can assure you it is to see the 
 Carmona — a superb woman, for example ! As to you, 
 Mademoiselle, Leblanc said only yesterday : ' That 
 little woman is always muffled to the eyes. She pre- 
 tends it is because she is frilcusc, but it is really be- 
 cause she has a thin neck and arms.' " 
 
 [8]
 
 A SOLDIER OF THE EMPIRE 
 
 Seraphine was by no means superfeminine ; and 
 there was a swift small blaze of temper in her eyes 
 and cheeks. 
 
 " Since this is precisely the style in which your 
 Emperor makes love to ladies, I suppose I must not 
 blame his officers for imitating his manners." 
 
 " The Emperor ! Ah ! " He realised what she had 
 said a moment before, remembered several other 
 things, and put his own interpretation upon them. 
 "Always the Emperor! What? Is it possible that 
 you and the Carmona divide his favours ? " 
 
 " I don't understand you." 
 
 "Oh, the ingenue! She does not understand! 
 Sapristi, you have saved me from a terrible error ; but 
 for all your wit, Mademoiselle, you have made a great 
 mistake yourself. You think perhaps because the Em- 
 peror has the singularity to like thin women, because 
 Josephine is out of favour, above all because you are 
 infernally clever — you think you have a chance of 
 playing the great personage at Court and making as 
 big a fortune as the Du Barry. Bah ! You are a 
 fool. The Emperor " 
 
 Seraphine stood up, and her voice shook with anger. 
 
 " I have not the least idea what you are talking 
 about, Monsieur ; but I see well you intend to in- 
 sult me." 
 
 " I say that you are the mistress of the Emperor, or 
 you intend to become so." 
 
 "I, the mistress of your Emperor?" — her voice 
 rang out steady enough now in its passionate scorn. 
 " Your Emperor? I tell you, were that monster to go 
 on his knees before me — were he to implore me to 
 accept the crown of which he is going to rob his un- 
 
 [9]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 happy wife, I would refuse him ; not as I have refused 
 you; no, I would spurn him from me with all the 
 loathing, all the hatred he has so well deserved." 
 
 Vidal stared at her, silent, amazed, petrified by an 
 outburst which he, brave soldier as he was, felt to be 
 absolutely terrifying in its audacity. That there ex- 
 isted people, even in France, even in Paris, who hated 
 the Emperor, everyone knew. Such hatred might 
 sometimes be read in the lines of a lip that spoke his 
 name, guessed through the veil of an obsequiously 
 lowered eyelid ; but it rarely spoke, and never except 
 in whispering and ambiguous accents. 
 
 Before he yet knew what to think or say, Mademoi- 
 selle Seraphine stalked to the door of the inner room, 
 her little head royally high, and paused with her hand 
 on the key. 
 
 " As you refuse to leave me, I leave you. Do not, 
 I beg, continue to revenge yourself on the furniture, 
 since these unoffending tables and chairs belong, not 
 to me, but to Mademoiselle Carmona." 
 
 She was gone, and he heard the lock turn behind 
 her. Slowly, mechanically, he picked up the table he 
 had thrown down, set it on its feet, and meditated 
 sullenly. Afterwards he arranged his hair and mous- 
 tache, and adjusted his stock before a mirror; so re- 
 gained his equanimity, his conquering air. Stepping 
 to the closed door : 
 
 "Comedian!" he shouted, " ba! I do not believe 
 one word of what you say." 
 
 He left the room, and, tramp, tramp, with a clank 
 of the sword and a clink of spurs telling his progress 
 down each step of the stone staircase, went forth into 
 the street and away. 
 
 [lO]
 
 II 
 
 SERAPHINE 
 
 THE little sala was left alone, while the morn- 
 ing sunshine, striking in at the long windows, 
 had time to creep an inch across the floor. 
 Then the bedroom door opened, and Seraphine stole 
 in. She was pale, and her eyes showed traces of tears. 
 But when she had stood still a minute, with clasped 
 hands, looking around her, her lips began to smile. 
 More and more decidedly they smiled, till at length 
 she laughed, a musical laugh, still not far ofT her tears. 
 
 " Oh, dear, oh, dear ! " she cried in English — for, 
 having no one else with whom to converse in her 
 native tongue, she sometimes spoke it alone. " How- 
 ever shall I tell my papa ! Sure I hope wherever it is 
 the floor will be strong, for there'll be dancing done on 
 it that day." 
 
 And she laughed again, seeing a vision of a stout 
 black-whiskered Irishman in middle life waving furi- 
 ous arms, rising on tip-toe and falling again, and 
 executing half-turns, as he poured forth the vials of 
 his family pedigree and his wrath. 
 
 " That's the worst of all," she commented, shaking 
 her pretty head. " Can I ever confess that Miss Dillon 
 thanked, positively thanked a vulgar French soldier 
 for asking her in marriage? No, no. I have often 
 heard of my ancestors turning in their graves, and 
 this would cause a regular commotion in the family 
 sepulchre." 
 
 [II]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 She strayed to a window and looked out. The 
 inner panes were perfect, but in the glass of the reja 
 — the winter covering of the balcony — was to be seen 
 a curious little round hole. Opposite it, in the wall 
 of the room, was a similar hole. The house had 
 escaped further damage, although it stood in the 
 Calle del Turco, outside the barricades which had 
 been erected to oppose the invaders. But the scanty 
 furniture had a volunteer air, as though doing duty 
 for absent regulars ; and although it was January, the 
 tiled floor was without its due covering of rush car- 
 pet. The mistress, Doiia Elisa Carmona, a cantatrke 
 celebrated in Rome and in Paris, as at Madrid, had 
 arrived a few days since, hastening from Bayonne at 
 the express command of the Emperor. It was but 
 a fortnight since he had taken the city, after an attack 
 and a defence both scarcely more than feints. The 
 stream of ordinary life had begun to flow once more 
 immediately afterwards. The shops, the Emperor 
 wrote with satisfaction, were open, the theatres fre- 
 quented. He would have them yet more frequented ; 
 and for that reason had bidden the Carmona to come 
 and bring with her as many as possible of her com- 
 pany. With this company came a certain young per- 
 son whom the irresistible prima donna had forced into 
 it the preceding summer. From a professional point 
 of view it was a scandal, since the girl was evidently 
 an amateur. For such, her musical training had been 
 good, and it had to be admitted that she was 'talented, 
 besides being possessed of a pretty voice, a pretty face, 
 and singular grace of movement, though her stature 
 was small. It was whispered that she was the penni- 
 less daughter, legitimate or illegitimate, of a noble 
 
 [12]
 
 SERAPHINE 
 
 family to wliom the Carmona was under obligations. 
 There was in this report a single grain of truth. Elisa 
 Carmona's father, a fashionable tenor, and improvi- 
 dent, like most of his class, had died at Naples, leaving 
 a widow and children in great poverty. Mr. Dillon, 
 whose firm had a branch in that city as well as at 
 Lisbon, was a musical virtuoso and knew Carmona 
 well. He had come forward in the most generous 
 manner, assisting the eldest son, Fernando, to finish 
 his studies for the law, and paying the expenses of 
 Elisa's musical education. She was then but fifteen, 
 but already gave promise of the beauty and talent 
 which had since won her renown. It was a debt that 
 ten years of triumph might easily have wiped from the 
 prima donna's tablets. But the Carmonas were a loyal 
 family, and when the moment came for repaying it 
 she did not hesitate, although to do so was not merely 
 troublesome, but dangerous. 
 
 Mr. Dillon's daughters by his first marriage had 
 early been sent to England, where they were brought 
 up by their grandfather. Dr. White, in a certain roomy 
 parsonage twenty miles from London. Dr. White 
 was no ordinary country clergyman. He had been 
 for many years chaplain to the British Embassy in 
 Paris. It was for this reason that he became the 
 fortunate occupant of one of those fat livings whose 
 extinct glories still light the lurid eloquence of Prot- 
 estant politicians. This fatness in no way swelled the 
 girth of the ex-chaplain's slim Httle figure ; but it fed 
 the leanness of a group of hapless French emigres, 
 whom the tempest of the Revolution flung upon these 
 alien shores. Often in the low wainscoted parlour of 
 this English rectory, or under the spreading tree on 
 
 [13]
 
 SONS OF XHE SWORD 
 
 its velvet lawn, was strangely gathered a circle which 
 had been used to meet in the salons of Paris, or to 
 play at a country life in the gardens of the Petit 
 Trianon. 
 
 After the Peace of Amiens many members of this 
 circle obtained leave to return to France. Dr. White 
 also joyfully seized the opportunity of revisiting old 
 haunts and old friends in Paris. He took with him 
 his granddaughter, Angela Dillon. These two were 
 still in Paris when the fragile peace was suddenly 
 ruptured. Napoleon seized every British subject on 
 French soil. Nominally he detained only men be- 
 tween eighteen and sixty ; but as men above sixty, 
 women, and children were only allowed to quit the 
 country with passports, which passports were never 
 granted except in response to pressure from some in- 
 fluential quarter, practically all English travellers of 
 both sexes were made prisoners. Even infants were 
 entered on the lists of the detenus. Dr. White's French 
 friends were far from being able to render him as- 
 sistance. They themselves were for the most part on 
 the shady side of Government favour, and ran some 
 risk of incurring absolute disgrace by receiving Eng- 
 lish detenus at their houses. Yet all that could be done 
 to alleviate his misfortune they loyally did, and the 
 four years which he and his granddaughter spent at 
 Fontainebleau were, to her at least, not unhappy. 
 More fortunate than many of their fellow-victims, they 
 received remittances from home which enabled them 
 to live with decency, and the ease with which they 
 adapted themselves to French life and manners made 
 even the authorities almost forget their nationality. 
 Communications with England were smuggled and 
 
 [14]
 
 SERAPHINE 
 
 intermittent. At length one day the Government an- 
 nounced that a regular English mail would run, and 
 that letters for it were to be posted by a certain date. 
 Great was the joy among the exiles ; joy soon to be 
 succeeded by wrath and dismay. For it was but a 
 trick on the part of the Government to ascertain the 
 sentiments of the detenus — whom it could hardly have 
 expected to be overflowing with gratitude towards 
 itself — and the extent of their private means. Dr. 
 White and Angela described in their letters their own 
 comparatively unmolested existence, but also the suf- 
 ferings of many of the .detenus and the tyranny and 
 corruption of the military governors to whom all were 
 subject. Besides this. Dr. White contrasted the iron 
 despotism of Napoleon unfavourably with the liberal 
 government of Louis XVI., under which he had for- 
 merly lived ; while Miss Dillon made fun of the Im- 
 perial Court, which occasionally burst on the green 
 shades of Fontainebleau in all the vulgarity of its 
 brand-new splendour. 
 
 The posting of these unlucky letters, which never 
 travelled further than the Bureau of the Minister of 
 Police, brought the imprudent pair into irretrievable 
 disgrace. They were ordered to remove, at a few 
 hours' notice, to a distant provincial town, where they 
 were without friends. Their supplies from home were 
 cut short, so that they unavoidably fell into debt, and 
 Dr. White was thrown into prison. He died there 
 very soon afterwards ; and, before the news of his 
 death could reach England, his unmarried daughter 
 there was also dead. Thus Angela was left without 
 any near relative in France, or even in England, to 
 intervene in her favour. Mr. Dillon was in Portugal 
 
 [15]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 when last she had heard of him, preparing to make 
 interest with the Imperial Government through his 
 brother, a well-known general in the Spanish service. 
 But before that might be, the famous second of May, 
 1808, had come and gone, and General Dillon and 
 Angela's own brother, Patrick, had thrown in their 
 lot with the Patriotic party. Fernando Carmona was 
 also a Patriot. So it happened that he met once more 
 Patrick Dillon, whom he had known a child, the son 
 of one to whom his family owed much. Hearing of 
 the cruel anxiety which the Dillons were suflfering on 
 Angela's account, he communicated with his sister 
 Elisa, then in Paris. She was an artist, indifferent to 
 politics, awed, even fascinated by the brilliancy and 
 power of France and the Emperor. She had no pa- 
 tience with her brother's conduct in abandoning a 
 successful career to put himself in apparently hopeless 
 opposition to the march of events. Yet with a care- 
 less courage she responded to his appeal, and under- 
 took the rescue of Miss Dillon. In fact^ after her 
 grandfather's death, the task did not at first appear 
 very difficult. Either the local authorities felt some 
 pity for the girl's unprotected situation, or they be- 
 lieved her without any means of escape. At any rate, 
 she obtained leave to spend some months at Fontaine- 
 bleau, and joined Elisa Carmona in Paris, whence she 
 made expeditions to Fontainebleau to sign her name 
 there in the registry of the detenus. By this time Spain 
 was in a simmer of insurrection against King Joseph 
 Bonaparte, and Fernando Carmona was playing a 
 leading part among the Guerrilleros. General Dillon 
 and his nephew were with the Spanish army. It was 
 believed that Mr. Dillon and his family had returned 
 
 [16]
 
 SERAPHINE 
 
 to Lisbon, whence they had been driven by the French 
 occupation ; but it was now a chance if letters from 
 the Peninsula reached Paris, and from them none were 
 received. Yet, whatever the difficulties which might 
 block her way into Spain, Miss Dillon was impatient 
 to be beyond the frontiers of France. Mademoiselle 
 Carmona had intended to terminate her engagement 
 before August and betake herself to Madrid : the more 
 readily because she had been treated with marked 
 favour by King Joseph when he reigned in Naples. 
 She doubted not that the Emperor's brother must hold 
 his throne against all comers, and she looked forward 
 to the honour of her sovereign's patronage. The 
 great reverse of Bailen, and the retreat of Joseph to 
 Burgos, delayed her departure. In August, then, 
 being still in Paris, she was commanded to sing at 
 St. Cloud in the opera called *' The Triumph of Tra- 
 jan," on the occasion of the Emperor's fete. This was 
 far from being her last summons to St. Cloud. She 
 and the company with whom she acted were fre- 
 quently there. Elisa Carmona's moral character was 
 above that of most of her fellows. When she took 
 Miss Dillon under her protection, her irregular union 
 with a French marquis had been ended by his mar- 
 riage ; and of casual amours she was guiltless. When, 
 therefore, she found herself the object of one of the 
 Emperor's insulting little passions, it was mere terror 
 which induced her to submit to it. Vague terror of 
 the immense power of the man, particular terror lest 
 he should use it — since a steam-hammer may be used 
 to crack a nut — to shut her out of the principal opera- 
 houses of Europe. The Imperial commands detained 
 the whole company in Paris through the month of 
 
 [17]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 September ; to the secret fury of the Carmona, the 
 dismay of Miss Dillon, and the delight of everyone 
 else concerned. A fashionable dressmaker and hair- 
 dresser had outwardly transformed the shabby little 
 detenue into the elegant young actress, Mademoiselle 
 Seraphine — a name she had adopted because it had 
 been bestowed upon her long ago in England by her 
 earliest French friends. But the inner woman, the 
 old rector's granddaughter, neither dressmaker nor 
 coiffeur could transform. Her simplicity amounted to 
 denseness, and she continued to be the only person 
 about Court or theatre unaware of the nature of that 
 favour which the Emperor bestowed on the fashion- 
 able prima donna. 
 
 When he left France for the Conference of Erfurth 
 he gave the Carmona a rendezvous at Bayonne ; but 
 his motives were now political rather than personal. 
 Absolutely certain of subduing Madrid before Christ- 
 mas, he desired to make use of her popularity, her 
 wide acquaintance there, for the furtherance of his 
 own designs. 
 
 It was at Bayonne that a letter from Mr. Dillon, 
 dated some six weeks earlier, reached his daughter. 
 It told of the destruction of his business in Lisbon 
 by the French occupation and his own appointment 
 to a post on the commissariat of the British army. 
 From some men's pens such news would have fallen 
 depressingly, but Mr. Dillon contrived to give the his- 
 tory of his private difficulties the air of a patriotic epic, 
 in which he played the hero's part. Seraphine felt 
 proud of her father. He assured her with truth that 
 not a Frenchman was left in Portugal ; prophesied 
 less reliably that in a few months, nay, a few weeks' 
 
 [i8]
 
 SERAPHINE 
 
 time, the yoke of the tyrant would be broken and the 
 armies of the Allies pouring across the Pyrenees. He 
 bade her, as soon as she arrived in Spain, communi- 
 cate with Fernando Carmona or her brother, and with 
 their assistance join him at the British head-quarters. 
 But the war had not followed the lines laid down 
 for it by Mr. Dillon. When his letter was delivered 
 Napoleon was master of the North of Spain and 
 marching on Madrid. The movements of the Brit- 
 ish remained unreported, but it was believed they 
 were retiring on Lisbon, with a view to embarking 
 there. Wherever they were, whatever their position, 
 Miss Dillon burned with impatience to rejoin her 
 countrymen, and to feel herself beyond the reach of 
 that long arm of the Imperial police, which had 
 brought back another escaped dctemie, Mrs. Spencer 
 Smith, all the way from Turin to Verdun. As she 
 looked across the large garden under her windows to 
 the Prado, and saw the glitter of French uniforms 
 passing under the bare trees, she counted the weeks 
 which had passed since she last inscribed her name in 
 the register at Fontainebleau. Eight ! It was true 
 that her friends had promised to write it for her, if 
 an opportunity offered itself. Such things were done, 
 but must not be counted upon. Pilar, Dona Elisa's 
 faithful waiting-maid, came from the neighbourhood 
 of Medina del Campo, whence Fernando drew many 
 of his followers ; and on the journey to Madrid she 
 had found a cousin to take him a letter. But nothing 
 had yet been heard of the guerrillero. Miss Dillon 
 had hopes that the unexplained summons which had 
 taken Elisa from home at an early hour in the morn- 
 ing might be from him. It was therefore both with 
 
 [19]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 pleasure and anxiety that she heard a carriage rattle 
 over the stones of the Calle del Turco and stop at the 
 door. 
 
 The book she had opened fell to the ground as the 
 step of Dofia Elisa, which she noted was quicker than 
 usual, became audible on the stair. The Carmona en- 
 tered, and Seraphine at once perceived that something 
 unusual had happened, for Elisa, so imperturbably 
 amiable and gay, so languidly graceful, was pale, even 
 scowling, and closed the door behind her with much 
 abruptness. She made no reply to her friend's greet- 
 ing, but having opened the door of communication 
 to see that the bedroom was empty, she took hold of 
 the girl by the waist and almost forced her to sit on 
 the stiff little couch beside her. 
 
 " Is there a person in the world you hate, Sera- 
 phine ? " she asked, in a strange voice. 
 
 " Fifty, at least, my dear," replied Miss Dillon, 
 smiling somewhat uncertainly. 
 
 The Carmona made a fine gesture of contempt. 
 
 " Mujer! You do not know what hatred means. 
 You do not hate him — you cannot, you have not the 
 right. But I could bathe in his blood ! " She spoke 
 it close in Seraphine's face, and then was silent. 
 
 The girl turned pale and uttered confused words. 
 
 "Oh, Elisa! Tell me — is it something dreadful? 
 What is it? Who is it? He must be punished. Com- 
 plain to the Emperor — he will punish him." 
 
 " The Emperor, you fool ! " Dofia Elisa laughed 
 harshly. She glanced instinctively round the room, 
 and almost whispered : " But it is he, I tell you — it 
 is the Emperor I hate." 
 
 Miss Dillon was astonished, although Dofia Elisa's 
 
 [20]
 
 SERAPHINE 
 
 sentiments towards the Emperor had been something 
 of an enigma to her. At one time they had certainly 
 been those of enthusiastic admiration and loyalty. 
 But since the prima donna had sunned herself in Im- 
 perial smiles, this admiration, this loyalty had certainly 
 cooled. Indeed, Miss Dillon had sometimes suspected 
 that while rebuking her imprudence in the matter, 
 Doiia EHsa tremblingly enjoyed hearing this free- 
 born young Briton vituperate the tyrant ; which she 
 was wont to do in terms of admirable vigour. 
 
 " I am not sorry to hear it," she replied ; " but I 
 own I am surprised. It seems to me I have much 
 better reason to hate Bonaparte than you can have, 
 for is he not the author of all my misfortunes, even 
 the death of my dear and honoured grandpapa? " 
 
 " But he is not — he is not " Dona Elisa was 
 
 about to say, " He is not your lover," but checked 
 herself in time. 
 
 She continued presently, still speaking as one who 
 feared the very walls had ears : 
 
 " He has not to-day made the cup of insult at last 
 overflow, pressing, ay, commanding you with threats 
 to accept a position in his Cytherean cohort — his in- 
 famous band of female spies. I ! — the Carmona ! " 
 
 "You have refused. And he?" 
 
 " Is there a man in Madrid who dares say no to 
 Napoleon? One refuses him nothing with the lips, 
 everything with the heart. Bring me an azucarilla, 
 Pilar " — for here the waiting-maid entered. 
 
 Then : 
 
 " Let us say no more on a dangerous and disagree- 
 able subject." 
 
 She took a deep draught of eau sucree, sighed, as 
 
 [21]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 though the sickly fluid exercised some magic and 
 soothing influence over her nerves, and, dismissing 
 Pilar with her hand, spoke again — this time calmly : 
 
 " Listen, my child. We are commanded to perform 
 some scenes from ' The Triumph of Trajan ' at El 
 Pardo this evening. The King gives a dinner to the 
 Emperor and the Afranccsados. The Emperor, who 
 remembers every member of the company with sur- 
 prising exactness, mentioned ' my little friend ' as 
 among the ladies to be brought with me. I do not 
 regret it, for I should be very well pleased to present 
 you to the King. Joseph is an excellent man, and 
 might even protect you in case of misfortunes. Ah ! 
 If he were the only one of his family in Spain, I would 
 say that Bonaparte is as good a name as Bourbon, 
 and even better. But there is another one whom we 
 have to reckon with. Well, I renounce the party of 
 the Afranccsados. They are dupes and cowards. 
 
 When you see my brother, tell him — tell him " 
 
 Her black eyes glowed and dilated and, smiling to 
 herself, she hummed beneath her breath: 
 
 " Espana de la guerra, 
 
 Trcmola sii pcndon — " 
 
 Then, as though obeying an irresistible impulse, the 
 great voice burst out in waves of sound, it beat and 
 rung almost like a solid thing against the walls and 
 ceiling of the narrow room : 
 
 " Contra el poder infame, 
 Del vil Napoleon." 
 
 She had risen to her feet in such an attitude as 
 would have made a masterpiece of a Phaedra or a 
 
 [22]
 
 SERAPHINE 
 
 Medea. Her little friend sprung lightly on the couch 
 behind, and, using a gentle violence, endeavoured to 
 gag her with soft hands and arms, meantime laughing 
 and crying out between triumph and terror : " Brava, 
 brava, la Carmona! Silence, Mademoiselle! Who is 
 now imprudent ? Who is now wanting in respect for 
 the government ? " 
 
 [23]
 
 Ill 
 
 ENTER THE WORLD'S MASTER 
 
 THE audience was thronging, thick as bees, 
 into the little theatre of the Pardo Palace. 
 The light of wax candles, reflected from the 
 myriad facets of immense crystal chandeliers, played 
 over the jewels and waving plumes, the dark eyes 
 and bare shoulders of women, the gilded uniforms 
 and steel scabbards of men. There was a ceaseless 
 rustle of silken skirts, a scraping of benches pushed 
 this way and that, a hum of laughter and talk, sub- 
 dued by the imminence of royal presences, as yet only 
 intimated by two gilt chairs, alone and untenanted in 
 the box which filled the back of the theatre. From 
 behind the curtain proceeded also sounds and signs 
 of life; the dragging of a carpet, the hurry of feet 
 over loose boards, a hand pulling the folds an inch 
 aside, a glimpse of eyes, a flicker of feminine laughter. 
 It was a full house. Every bench was packed tight 
 with ladies and elderly functionaries, while bronzed 
 soldiers, a thought garish and stifif in their gala uni- 
 forms, leaned against the walls and thronged every 
 available corner. A military band in the corridor 
 : crashed into Vcillons an Saint dc FEmpirc; and a hush 
 fell on both sides of the curtain. Lacqueys flung open 
 the doors at the back of the royal box, and immedi- 
 ately all this glittering mass of humanity rose up, and 
 turning that way together bowed like a bed of 
 
 [24]
 
 ENTER THE WORLD'S MASTER 
 
 feathery reeds the wind sweeps over, in deep and 
 simultaneous obeisance. The Emperor and the King 
 entered side by side ; yet the entrance was all Napo- 
 leon's, the homage was all for him. Such a divinity 
 did hedge him. For there are gods of earthquake and 
 fire, as well as of the life-giving sun and the directing 
 stars. He moved slowly to his seat, his shoulders 
 somewhat bowed, as it were with the weight of em- 
 pire, and a cloud of deep rumination on lip and brow. 
 Not till he had been seated for a minute or more did 
 the whole assembly, with a rustle of silk and a wav- 
 ing of plumes, sink down into its former position, and 
 the pulse of social life began to beat again. Even then 
 it beat but faintly. Eyes might turn curiously towards 
 the group of glittering officers and officials grouped 
 on either side of the royal chairs ; whispering ques- 
 tions pass, "Who is this? Who the other?" But 
 the twitter of gossip and flirtation, the fire of half- 
 malicious little jokes shot through the waving of fans, 
 was silenced. Even the conscious flash of dark eyes 
 and the conquering glances of officers seemed veiled 
 and subdued. Yet one fine young officer, standing 
 immediately behind the Emperor's chair, stared round 
 at the ladies — he could see little except their backs — 
 half mechanically, twisting his moustache with an ac- 
 customed gesture. A lady, whose handsome shoul- 
 ders and engaging profile had momentarily fixed his 
 gaze, turned round and responded to it with a pair 
 of languishing black eyes. Here was a conquest, a 
 Good Fortune in view. What, then, had happened to 
 Hector Vidal that he should meet the languorous 
 flashes of those superb eyes without the least flutter 
 of interest? He was amazed, he was even annoyed 
 
 [25]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 at his own indifference to such charms. His mood 
 of nervous irritability and depression was quite new 
 to him, and had he been a Spaniard instead of a 
 Frenchman he might have beheved himself bewitched. 
 The brief overture seemed long. When the curtain 
 went up he looked eagerly towards the stage, and 
 knew not whether to be relieved or disappointed when 
 he saw no one on it except the Carmona, a first tenor, 
 and a bass. In the second scene the small stage was 
 more than furnished with nymphs in pseudo-Roman 
 draperies. Among them a little Roman attired in 
 shell-pink crape, its warm tone reflected on to the 
 transparent white of her skin. Her hair was becom- 
 ingly if absurdly dressed, with narrow pink ribbons 
 running through its clustering curls and ending in a 
 large rosette near the left temple. He observed that 
 Labourdonnaye, who, being in attendance on the 
 King, stood close by, was also looking at this young 
 person. Major Labourdonnaye wore an eyeglass, 
 which gave a certain fixity to an otherwise harmless 
 contemplation. The Carmona now took the front of 
 the stage, but Vidal observed that the Emperor re- 
 mained sunk in his chair as before, his eyes unillumined 
 by the least outward interest; turned, as it were, in- 
 wards on immense harassments and world-embracing 
 schemes. 
 
 " She is as pretty as a sugar-plum, that little person 
 in pink," observed Labourdonnaye, while the orches- 
 tra played its loudest. 
 
 " It is not you who will eat her," returned Vidal, 
 shortly. 
 
 Labourdonnaye laughed, quite unrufHed, as he 
 dropped his eye-glass. 
 
 [26]
 
 ENTER THE WORLD'S MASTER 
 
 " Then it is perhaps you, my dear fellow." 
 
 " Not I," returned Vidal, defiantly, " I do not find 
 her in the least pretty." 
 
 Perhaps the Emperor had come to the end of his 
 reflections, or his quick ear was caught by the low 
 dialogue behind his chair. He adjusted an opera- 
 glass — unnecessary, since the theatre was but a mini- 
 ature — yet he adjusted an opera-glass and examined 
 the young lady in question attentively. Throwing his 
 head back towards the young men, he said: 
 
 " Labourdonnaye is right. That little person is 
 extremely pretty. Yet she has rather charm than 
 beauty, properly speaking." 
 
 And the world's master looked at Mademoiselle 
 Seraphine again. 
 
 Such a spasm of mingled anger and terror shook 
 Hector Vidal's hard frame that his fingers became 
 cold, and the blood rushing to his heart made it ham- 
 mer against his ribs as though it would burst. The 
 anger was no part of himself; it seemed like the pos- 
 session of some devil. The terror was his own, at 
 seeing himself thus angry with his Fortune, his Divin- 
 ity, his Emperor. He had not yet been long enough 
 in personal contact with Napoleon to have lost that 
 passionate worship which he inspired in the rank and 
 file of the soldiers he led to victory. Hector had 
 scarcely released his lip, which would have trembled 
 but for the angry pressure of his teeth, when it fell 
 to the part of Seraphine to sing a few bars of recitative. 
 Her voice was clear and true, her action graceful and 
 expressive. 
 
 " Mademoiselle Seraphine has profited by the les- 
 sons of Mademoiselle Carmona," the Emperor threw 
 
 [27]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 back to Labourdonnaye. " We will congratulate her 
 after the performance." 
 
 Mademoiselle Seraphine ! The Emperor remem- 
 bered her name and everything else about her. The 
 demon, returning with fresh force, now possessed the 
 tongue of Hector Vidal, and made it say in an audible 
 whisper : 
 
 " I should advise His Majesty not to make love to 
 that girl. I have heard her say with my own ears 
 that were his Majesty to kneel at her feet to implore 
 her favour she would spurn him from her with hatred 
 and contempt. Yes, and she is capable of doing it, the 
 little wretch." 
 
 Labourdonnaye, embarrassed and amazed at this 
 extraordinary indiscretion on the part of Vidal, feigned 
 deafness or interest in the " Triumph of Trajan." The 
 top of the Imperial head remained quite inexpressive ; 
 yet Vidal, ready to kill himself for this outburst of 
 madness, was certain the Emperor had overheard his 
 words. The minor Majesty close by indeed might 
 be trusted to hear nothing. He had the score of the 
 music upon his knee and was always absorbed in a 
 conscientious search for the right place in it, which he 
 never found. 
 
 The curtain finally descended amid applause, which 
 Joseph frantically led, when the Emperor had given 
 him permission to do so. 
 
 " Your Majesty is too much preoccupied to do jus- 
 tice to Mademoiselle Carmona this evening," said the 
 King. " Yet she has surpassed herself, both as a 
 cantatricc and as an actress." 
 
 " I am but a poor judge of music," replied Napo- 
 leon, " and therefore will pronounce no opinion on it. 
 
 [28]
 
 ENTER THE WORLD'S MASTER 
 
 But as an actress she is much inferior to Mademoiselle 
 Georges." 
 
 " I cannot admit it, brother. Her talent is almost 
 as great, her means very superior. Her beauty, for 
 example, is perfectly classical." 
 
 " Perfectly wearisome, you mean, brother. But 
 sovereigns should always treat artists with respect, 
 and therefore I hope you will arrange to give these 
 people supper in the Palace." 
 
 " I have done so, brother. And as you expressed a 
 desire to dismiss our other guests early, I even ar- 
 ranged that Mademoiselle Carmona should sup with 
 ourselves." 
 
 " The idea is excellent. I wish every civiHty paid 
 to so celebrated a cantatrice. But, with your Majesty's 
 permission, I will leave you to entertain her alone, as 
 there are several persons with whom I wish to con- 
 verse in private, and despatches have followed us even 
 here. Come, let us receive the farewells of these 
 Spaniards — whom I do not trust, Joseph, I do not 
 trust." 
 
 The band once more struck up, and the royalties 
 left the theatre with the same ceremony as they had 
 entered it. The ordinary noise of social life broke 
 out behind them as suddenly as it had ceased on the 
 first presage of their entrance, only more loudly. 
 For the crowd, which had accumulated gradually, 
 went squeezing out of the door in a solid mass, so 
 hastily that in a very few minutes the theatre was 
 empty of all except the disordered benches and in- 
 numerable candles, which seemed to be left commun- 
 ing together on the transitoriness of things. The 
 crowd had appeared large in the miniature theatre, 
 
 [29]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 but as it scattered itself through a labyrinth of gilded 
 and tapestried salons, in pursuit of the royalties, it be- 
 came no crowd at all. Even so, a considerable pro- 
 portion of the men at least were French ; and of the 
 Spaniards, few belonged to families of the first im- 
 portance. The Emperor had desired to see, before 
 he left for the conquest of Lisbon and the South of 
 Spain, what were the social forces which could be 
 mustered about the new monarchy in Madrid. And 
 the result was disappointing. 
 
 [30]
 
 IV 
 
 THE LION PLAYS 
 
 THE Carmona had not left the theatre when a 
 Court official, a Spaniard of the most accom- 
 plished courtesy, came to bid her to the royal 
 supper-table ; to the King's, that was to be under- 
 stood, since the Emperor supped alone. How admi- 
 rable an arrangement ! She had not conceived it 
 possible that her pride should be thus gratified, her 
 self-respect unwounded. She thanked the envoy with 
 an enslaving warmth, and found her way up-stairs to 
 the attic which served her and Seraphine as a tem- 
 porary dressing-room. She found Seraphine already 
 divested of her classical draperies and standing be- 
 fore a pier-glass in her muslin petticoat and silk 
 stockings. She was arranging her curls, with that ex- 
 pression of anxious and concentrated attention which 
 is customary to young women under the circum- 
 stances. She congratulated Dona Elisa, as the lady 
 appeared to expect it, but only fully took in the situa- 
 tion when the battle of the curls had been fought and 
 won. She then perceived that the consequence of this 
 royal invitation to the Carmona would be that she 
 herself must attend the general supper unprotected. 
 The prospect was not altogether pleasant, but until 
 her interview with Vidal that morning she had man- 
 aged to protect herself from impertinence, and she 
 hoped that he had taught her the necessity for yet 
 greater discretion. At any rate she concealed her 
 
 [31]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 timidity, perhaps forgot it, as she contemplated in the 
 mirror a very attractive Httle person being fastened 
 into a frock of the same pink crape as the classical 
 draperies, but unmistakably Parisian. Elisa, whose 
 supper was not till later, sat by watching the toilette 
 and trying bracelets on her fine arms. 
 
 " That dress becomes you to a marvel," she ob- 
 served. " I trust these gentlemen will not find the 
 effect too seductive. What will Mr. Dillon, what will 
 Mr. Patrick say to me, if I do not protect you from 
 the boldness of these French ofificers? If possible, I 
 will summon you to join me immediately after sup- 
 per and present you to King Joseph. Even if he can 
 do you no good, he would never do you an injury — 
 and that is something." 
 
 " I shall be glad to leave the supper-table early." 
 
 " Then, if I cannot present you to the King, I will 
 see that there is a place kept for you in the first car- 
 riage returning to Madrid." 
 
 Pilar clasped a string of pearls round Seraphine's 
 slender throat, put a fan in her hand, and confided 
 her to a servant of the Palace for safe conduct through 
 its mazes to the ante-room where the actors and 
 actresses were assembled in the noisy company of a 
 number of oi^cers. Some of the ladies had, like her- 
 self, exchanged their stage costume for evening dress ; 
 others retained the pseudo-classical draperies, as giv- 
 ing opportunity for more daring displays of figure. 
 The actresses, French and Italian — for the Carmona 
 was the only Spaniard among them — were of course 
 divided by amazing quarrels. Yet they all stood 
 within an occult circle into which Seraphine could 
 not penetrate, even if she desired to do so. They 
 
 [32]
 
 THE LION PLAYS 
 
 were perfectly united in a vague dislike and suspicion 
 of this amateur foisted upon them. A creature out 
 of another world, ill at ease in theirs, and, as they 
 divined, not without a certain haughtiness of soul in 
 reserve behind her amiable politeness. 
 
 Thus, when Seraphine entered the room where 
 these ladies were, so to speak, in possession, there 
 was no one to whom she could attach herself. She 
 sat down on a small gilded settee and was left to 
 peruse her fan. In a minute she perceived — with an 
 agitation of which she was ashamed — Colonel Vidal's 
 back turned to her as he listened to the bad French of 
 an Italian woman in classical deshabille. He appeared 
 to be all agreeable attention, but in fact he was acutely 
 conscious of nothing except the little figure in pink 
 sitting solitary behind him. It was as though a screw 
 were being put into his back by an invisible hand, 
 and turned there. And twenty-four hours ago Made- 
 moiselle Seraphine had been to him but a pleasantly 
 desired toy ; charming largely because of her unlike- 
 ness to his other flames, who, to tell the truth, had 
 not usually been of such high degree as in a moment 
 of excitement he had asserted. He had believed him- 
 self to be engaging in a brief amourette, from which 
 he would presently tear himself with a sigh or a 
 smile, to woo with a genuine passion his fierce mis- 
 tress, War. Who would have believed if it had been 
 prophesied when he rose from his bed that morning 
 that before he went to it again he would insanely 
 ofifer marriage to Mademoiselle Seraphine? Not he, 
 at any rate. Nor had this been the end of his insanity. 
 He had done worse, far worse. He had been guilty 
 of insolence to the Emperor in her name. And there 
 
 [33]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 she sat behind him, and he felt her presence with an 
 intensity which was half rage, half passion. Presently 
 Labourdonnaye came in. He disliked actresses ; but 
 this being a weakness unworthy of an officer, he was 
 obliged to conceal it. He immediately perceived 
 Mademoiselle Seraphine sitting neglected, and, as 
 much from good-nature as from inclination, began to 
 converse with her. They had not exchanged many 
 remarks when lacqueys, in liveries of the gaudiness 
 dear to Bonaparte taste, announced supper. At the 
 same time the opening of folding-doors revealed to 
 not inappreciative eyes, a long table rich with the hues 
 of roast and boiled, gay with the pink and white of 
 creams and the gold of jellies and the gilt of cham- 
 pagne bottles. Every gentleman ofifered a lady his 
 arm, not without a few hilarious mock disputes. La- 
 bourdonnaye ofifered his to Seraphine. 
 
 Camille Labourdonnaye was a young officer, placed 
 in temporary attendance on the King by Napoleon, 
 in whose wake Joseph had hastened, almost unat- 
 tended, to Madrid, little welcomed by his brother, 
 It was, in fact, only within the last few days that Na- 
 poleon, who desired to set the crown of Spain on his 
 own head, had decided to leave it on Joseph's. La- 
 bourdonnaye, having been drawn somewhat later for 
 the conscription than many of his compatriots, had 
 received a better education than blood-stained camps 
 and conquered towns can bestow. His conversation 
 pleased Seraphine. Hector Vidal, some way down 
 the table on the other side, could see her looking 
 prettier, more sparkling than ever. In vain he as- 
 sured himself that the whitewashed rather than pow- 
 dered nymph who sprawled over the table at his 
 
 [34]
 
 THE LION PLAYS 
 
 side was an incomparably handsomer person. In 
 vain, while the food lay untouched on his plate, he 
 applied himself to the champagne. Neither wine nor 
 woman could restore his good-humour. There was a 
 mirror on the wall to Seraphine's left, and from time 
 to time she looked into it, amused with the effect of 
 the long crowded table reflected in steep perspective. 
 On one of these occasions she caught a glimpse of a 
 dark-moustached face, frowning fiercely, not at her, 
 but at her partner. 
 
 " Well, of all the odious wretches — ! " she thought. 
 
 The supper which she had dreaded did not, after all, 
 seem long. It was not yet over when Vidal saw a 
 man-servant, whom he recognised as the Emperor's 
 confidential valet, convey a message to Mademoiselle 
 Seraphine. She at once rose. Labourdonnaye gave 
 her his arm to the door of the ante-room and went 
 his own way. 
 
 This apparition of the Emperor's valet did not 
 pass unobserved ; although of those who observed it, 
 everyone except Vidal connected it merely with the 
 well-known relations between Mademoiselle Carmona 
 and his Majesty. 
 
 The servant led the way and Seraphine shortly 
 found herself shivering in the night air as they crossed 
 a court-yard, where by dim lantern-light, orderlies 
 were standing in groups, and coaches wearily expected 
 belated masters. At the foot of a stone staircase a 
 sentry stood impassive. They passed him and went 
 up it unchallenged. Not far from the top was a door 
 leading into one of those gilded and tapestried sa- 
 loons of which the Palace of the Pardo is a very 
 labyrinth. Towards one corner of it stood a table at 
 
 [35]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 which several persons appeared to have been supping, 
 though the disordered chairs were now untenanted. 
 In the adjoining saloon she expected to find Doiia 
 Elisa and King Joseph, but that also was unoccupied. 
 Here the servant paused. 
 
 " These are the apartments of his Majesty," he said, 
 waving his hand in the direction of an open door. 
 " Mademoiselle can await him where she pleases." 
 And with a smile under drooping eyelids, which was 
 somehow offensive, the servant disappeared. The 
 room in which Seraphine found herself was very long. 
 It had and seemed to require little furniture, except 
 the tapestry on the walls. But near the end at which 
 she had entered was a table. Upon it stood despatch- 
 boxes, an open desk, a high pile of papers, with a 
 silver lion standing upon them as a paper-weight, 
 and two very large silver candlesticks. The candles 
 in these, almost as large as church tapers, gave all 
 the light there was in the room. For some time 
 Seraphine amused herself by studying the tapestries 
 as well as this dim light allowed her. She then 
 strolled into a further and much smaller room, similar 
 in character, but lighted by a large crystal candel- 
 abrum. Still no one came ; and, impelled as much 
 by ennui as by curiosity, she pushed wide the half- 
 open door of yet another apartment, and paused on 
 the threshold. The gilding, the tapestries, the painted 
 ceiling were as elsewhere. But an immense, yet deli- 
 cate, girandole of rock crystal hung from the ceiling, 
 winking in the light of its own wax candles. Antique 
 silver mirrors on the tapestried walls reflected their 
 flames in endless succession. Another mirror, in a 
 frame of beautifully chased gold, stood on an inlaid 
 
 [36]
 
 THE LION PLAYS 
 
 table, and in a corner stood a four-post bed with em- 
 broidered silken hangings. Feeling that she had com- 
 mitted an indiscretion in penetrating to the royal bed- 
 room, Seraphine hastened back to the long dim room 
 into which she had originally been shown. Drawing a 
 gilt chair up to the brasero, which stood at the oppo- 
 site end of the room to the writing-table, she awaited 
 in vain the arrival of the King, of Dofia Elisa — of any- 
 one to assure her that her existence was not forgotten. 
 Once or twice she heard the roll of a coach under 
 the archway of the courtyard and over the draw- 
 bridge. The soft crushing sound of its wheels was 
 soon lost, as it sped away along the sandy road, ac- 
 companied by the trot of a military escort. She 
 guessed this might mean that the Emperor did not 
 remain at El Pardo, but was returning late to Cha- 
 martin — neither he nor Joseph occupied the Palace 
 at Madrid — and in some way this might explain the 
 prolonged absence of the King and Dona Elisa. But 
 again there was silence ; time passed and no one 
 came. Midnight had long struck. Seraphine began 
 to be annoyed at the obliviousness of her friend. She 
 determined to go in search of someone ; yet the pros- 
 pect did not please her, for she had observed that the 
 Palace had scarcely any passages, communication 
 being from room to room. Thus progress through 
 it, for a stranger, meant a series of adventures in the 
 opening of shut doors. The first door she opened 
 very softly was the one by which she had entered. 
 Two steps, and she brushed against a sentry. He 
 was a fresh-faced boy, and while mechanically drop- 
 ping his musket across her path, with an abruptness 
 which caused her to start back several inches, he said
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 nothing, but stared at her with round, amazed eyes. 
 She stared in return. Looking at their countenances, 
 it would have been difficult to say which was the most 
 alarmed. After a minute of this silent mutual con- 
 templation, Seraphine precipitately retired, though 
 without fully closing the door behind her, and more 
 slowly returned to the brasero. Just as she had de- 
 cided that this was foolishness, and that she had better 
 explain matters to the sentry, she heard steps and 
 voices without. Someone spoke authoritatively, spurs 
 and swords rang descending the stone staircase. Then 
 there was silence ; but a heavy step was coming slowly 
 across the outer saloon, and the sentry presented 
 arms. This must be the King, Why was he alone? 
 Had he and Dofia Elisa forgotten her presence there? 
 She stood up by the gilt chair, feeling very nervous. 
 The door opened and a man came slowly in, shutting 
 it behind him. Then he stood still, his arms folded, 
 his head sunk on his breast. That figure, that atti- 
 tude, that massive head, the lock of hair flat on the 
 broad, deep-browed forehead — this was not the King. 
 Terror and surprise struck her speechless and motion- 
 less. The Emperor also remained speechless and 
 motionless. At length, appearing to contemplate the 
 silver Hon upon the writing-table, his lips relaxed into 
 a grim smile, and seizing it, he exclaimed, in a low 
 voice : 
 
 " Lion of Spain, I have tamed thee ! " 
 
 Then he took a few quick steps away, looked at 
 his hands, rubbed them, and spoke again : 
 
 " Poor and cowardly ! One must be a fool not to 
 be able to govern them." 
 
 He turned abruptly, and so walked up and down 
 
 [38]
 
 THE LION PLAYS 
 
 the end of the room, rubbing his knuckles to- 
 gether. 
 
 " That is just what he is, this Joseph.. He is good. 
 Good ! Bah— the imbecile ! " 
 
 Again he stopped, with a jerk, and folded his arms. 
 He frowned, and the veins of his forehead swelled. 
 
 " What shall I do with them ? " he asked himself, 
 after a pause. " Shall I drive them into the sea? No. 
 I will have my revenge. They must not escape — I 
 will catch them — I will massacre them by thousands." 
 
 This time he spoke in a ferocious whisper; and 
 seating himself at the table, stared with a smile of sin- 
 ister exultation straight in front of him, as though he 
 saw something a long way off. So, looking between 
 the two tall candles, he came to be aware of a small 
 white face just opposite him, at the far end of the 
 room. The white face, the pink figure, were so small, 
 the light there was so dim, that they might almost 
 have seemed a part of the bright-coloured tapestry 
 against which they stood, had it not been for the 
 vitality of the eyes fixed on him, wide and brilliant 
 with fear. They remained thus for a minute facing 
 each other in silence, she paralyzed by terror and em- 
 barrassment, he eying her frowningly from under his 
 brows. Then : 
 
 " Why are you here, Mademoiselle ? " he asked, 
 harshly. 
 
 " Sire — your Majesty — I do not know. It must 
 have been an error. I was brought here — I was left 
 — I cannot tell how it happened. I had not the least 
 idea I was in your Majesty's apartments." 
 
 The Emperor was silent a moment, then shrugged 
 his shoulders. 
 
 [39]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 " It is of no consequence. What was I talking 
 about? Only these English, whom I intend to pun- 
 ish. They are good sailors, but on land they are 
 cowards. I know it." 
 
 These words had a singular effect on Mademoiselle 
 Seraphine. What! Should a free-born Briton, even 
 though the weakest of such, allow herself to be fright- 
 ened out of her senses by the frown of the Corsican 
 usurper? No, a thousand times no! 
 
 She walked up the room with a little flush on her 
 cheeks and her head held high. 
 
 " Allow me, Sire," she said, in a clear voice, " to 
 offer you my sincere excuses, to ask your Majesty's 
 pardon for my presence here — quite involuntary, for 
 the rest. The lacquey who brought me to this room 
 must explain the cause of the mistake — myself, I can- 
 not even guess it. I have the honour to wish your 
 Majesty good-night." And she dropped a low curtsey. 
 
 While she was speaking, Napoleon rubbed his hand 
 slowly over his head, as though seeking for some lost 
 thread of association. 
 
 When, having curtsied, she made a movement 
 towards the door, he threw up his hand. 
 
 " Stop ! " he said, authoritatively. 
 
 She stopped. Then : 
 
 " It was not a mistake. The servant did right. I 
 had forgotten for the moment, but in effect I have 
 something to say to you. I shall be occupied with 
 affairs of importance for a few minutes yet — you can 
 wait." He pointed with a pen to the chair she had 
 lately left and seizing a sheet of paper began to write 
 rapidly. She seated herself ; and for a while nothing 
 was heard except the scratching of the impetuous pen. 
 
 [40]
 
 THE LION PLAYS 
 
 Seraphine did not beat her brains for the motive 
 of the Emperor's sudden and disagreeable interest in 
 her. She felt sure that his police agents, who kept 
 him informed of the least as well as the greatest events, 
 had reported to him her escape from Fontainebleau 
 and her present whereabouts. She would be sent back 
 again to be a prisoner in France, for how many soli- 
 tary years God only knew. She could have burst 
 into tears of despair but that she would not yield the 
 tyrant a triumph, paltry indeed, but not too paltry, she 
 believed, for him to enjoy. 
 
 After the Emperor's pen had moved almost un- 
 ceasingly for ten minutes — which appeared to her as 
 many hours — he read through what he had written, 
 sealed, addressed it, and laid it on his desk. Then 
 pushing his chair from the table, he beckoned to the 
 young girl and said, with a cruel smile: 
 
 " Approach, Mademoiselle." 
 
 Seraphine rose and came slowly towards him. 
 
 " When a man has worked fourteen hours out of 
 the twenty-four he has the right to a little amuse- 
 ment. Hcin, Mademoiselle ? " 
 
 " Possibly, Sire." 
 
 "Do you know you are charming, little one? It 
 amuses me very much to know you do not like me." 
 
 " Of what am I accused. Sire? " 
 
 " ' Of what am I accused ' ? One would suppose 
 this little pink butterfly was before a court-martial, 
 and resolved to die like a brave soldier. Do not be 
 afraid, my child. It would be a pity to blow a pretty 
 insect like that into a thousand pieces." 
 
 " I see. Sire, you have something against me. I 
 beg of you again to tell me what it is." 
 
 [41]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 " Guess. Reflect on everything you have ever 
 whispered in the intimacy of friendship, in the ecstasy 
 of love. Remember any word you have spoken which 
 was capable of offending me, and be sure that that 
 word has reached my ears." 
 
 She breathed more freely. The situation might be 
 bad, but apparently it was not so bad as she had sup- 
 posed. She had often laughed at Dofia Elisa for her 
 terror of the ubiquitous spy ; but evidently the terror 
 was justified. Yet the relief in implying herself to 
 be still undiscovered was great. 
 
 " Sire," she said, with a brilliant smile, " I will 
 plead guilty without wasting time on reflection. The 
 tongue is at once the danger and the privilege of 
 woman. Mine is too weak to injure anyone but my- 
 self. It cannot be worthy of a really terrible ven- 
 geance." 
 
 The Emperor rose and walked about, rubbing his 
 hands in glee. 
 
 " Do not fear. Mademoiselle. It will not be a really 
 terrible vengeance. 
 
 " But your Majesty has not yet told me for what 
 fault I am to be punished. How can I feel all the 
 penitence I so ardently desire to feel, when I do not 
 know of what to repent ? " 
 
 He had walked almost to the brasero she had just 
 left, before he turned. When he did so, the sardonic 
 amusement had vanished from his face, and again he 
 eyed her sternly, from under deep brows. 
 
 " Did you not say to an officer — an officer of my 
 own staff — that you hated me? That you would not 
 take me for a lover, though I implored you on my 
 bended knees? That you would spurn me — me, the 
 
 [42]
 
 THE LION PLAYS 
 
 Emperor? Did you or did you not say this, Made- 
 moiselle? " 
 
 " Sire," stammered Seraphine, leaning against the 
 
 table — " Sire " And clenching her little fist, cried 
 
 to herself : " It is Vidal who has done it ! " 
 
 The Emperor watched with a malicious enjoyment 
 her confusion, her changing colour. 
 
 " An actress should lie more easily," he observed. 
 
 " I have been ill-interpreted, Sire," she replied, re- 
 covering herself. " What I meant to say was that I 
 would not take a lover, no, not though he were the 
 Emperor himself." 
 
 He laughed, thrusting her explanation aside, as it 
 were, with his hand. 
 
 " You must take me for a sub-lieutenant of twenty 
 who believes in the virtue of little actresses. No, 
 Mademoiselle, I see well that you are guiUy and I 
 pronounce your sentence. You will take me, the 
 Emperor, for your lover to-night, and to-morrow you 
 will yourself inform Vidal of the fact. You will also 
 tell him that I do not kneel to my mistresses — but 
 that I pay them richly." 
 
 The meaning of his words was in a manner unmis- 
 takable ; yet the mind of the young girl, till very lately 
 protected from the knowledge of evil, refused to grasp 
 it. She stared at him in wild and piteous bewilder- 
 ment. 
 
 " Come, then ! " he cried, roughly. " Let us have 
 no nonsense. It is only your pride that will suffer. 
 
 " Sire," gasped Seraphine, almost inaudibly, " listen 
 to me, I implore you. I am not what you think. I 
 am a young girl, well brought up, virtuous. No — no ! 
 I cannot — I would rather die." 
 
 [43]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 The Emperor's face grew purple with rage. 
 
 " And I tell you you cannot deceive me. Come- 
 dian ! " 
 
 He stepped across the threshold of the further room, 
 and, beckoning to her, cried : 
 
 " Follow me, at once. I tell you it is too much 
 honour for you to sleep in the bed of a Queen of 
 Spain." 
 
 Seraphine had instinctively started to the furthest 
 possible point from the Emperor, and so found her- 
 self close to the door by which she had entered. 
 While he stood fiercely beckoning to her from the 
 further doorway, she put her hand behind her, and 
 noiselessly opening the door, slipped through and 
 vanished from his sight as silently and almost as sud- 
 denly as a ghost. Many a race had Angela Dillon run 
 in her grandfather's garden, but never had she thought 
 it possible to run so fast as she did now. Light as a 
 leaf before the wind, her feet, in their little sandal 
 shoes seeming to skim rather than tread the floor, 
 she fled across the outer room and the sentry had 
 scarcely time to look up from his occupation before 
 the last flutter of a pink petticoat disappeared round 
 the door-post. For the sentry had, very fortunately 
 for her, found an occupation. The supper-table had 
 by some oversight been left uncleared. He was young, 
 he was exceedingly hungry and believed himself free 
 from all danger of interruption. He had eaten the 
 remains of the dessert and not being a connoisseur in 
 wines, had collected several more or less empty bot- 
 tles from the floor and table and drained them all into 
 a large silver loving-cup. This he had just lifted with 
 two hands and was in act to pour the last drop of 
 
 [44]
 
 THE LION PLAYS 
 
 the mixture it contained down his throat, when he 
 became aware of a slight rustle, a movement in the 
 room, and then of the aforesaid flutter of pink. He 
 threw down the cup, and seizing his musket, stood at 
 attention in the centre of the room, hesitating between 
 duty and discretion, like Lancelot Gobbo between 
 the fiend and his conscience. He had but three sec- 
 onds in which to hesitate. Then the door of com- 
 munication was thrown noisily open and the Em- 
 peror strode into the room, his countenance swollen 
 and convulsed, his eyes bloodshot and foam upon 
 his lips. He strode as far as the outer door, stopped 
 abruptly, looked out into the passage, which was dark, 
 and after standing there a second or two, turned and 
 closed the door with violence. Up to this moment 
 the alarmed sentry had not been sure whether the 
 Emperor was terribly enraged or about to fall in a 
 fit. But now that lowering and bloodshot gaze was 
 transferred to himself, he no longer doubted its im- 
 port. He was as gallant a youth as any in all the 
 gallant Army of France ; yet his hands went cold, his 
 teeth chattered, and he stood white, silent, motionless 
 as Lot's wife turning to the pillar of salt. 
 
 "Well, soldier?" said the Emperor, at length, his 
 expression more normal, though still terrifying. 
 
 " Sire — " stammered the sentry, " your Majesty — 
 I did not know what to do." 
 
 " Yet it did not admit of doubt. You are on guard 
 here, and you permit a cat to come into my room. 
 A cat ! A detestable animal, whose mere presence 
 suffices to give me an illness." 
 
 " A cat, Sire ? I have seen no cat." 
 
 " No, imbecile, because you are of those who do 
 
 [45]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 not see what it is their duty to see ; although doubt- 
 less you see well enough the things you ought not to. 
 I tell you there was a detestable cat miauling in my 
 apartments; I, the Emperor, myself was obliged to 
 chase it. You did not see it? You did not hear it? 
 No ! And I will show you why." 
 
 He pointed to certain denunciatory crumbs of cake 
 and pink sugar clinging to the sentry's uniform, and to 
 the silver cup, which hastily flung on the table, had 
 even while they were conversing rolled to the ground. 
 
 " Tempted by greediness, by drunkenness, you have 
 deserted your post, your sacred post. You have de- 
 served to be put into irons immediately and to be 
 shot to-morrow." 
 
 The young man struck his forehead and groaned 
 in agony. 
 
 " Sire ! Sire ! I confess my crime, I implore your 
 pardon — only hear me ! I was famishing. We had 
 marched from the Escorial and I had eaten nothing 
 since the morning. I could not resist the temptation 
 to eat — I believed it would make no difference, that 
 no one — nothing, I mean, could pass me without my 
 seeing it. Sire! I fought at Epinosa, at Burgos. 
 Ask Marshal Lannes — he knows me well, he will tell 
 you I am not a bad soldier. My Emperor, do not 
 shoot me like a coward. Let me expiate my shame 
 and die on the field of battle." 
 
 " Ah ! Lannes knows you. He only knows the 
 brave. And you are of the Seventeenth Grenadiers 
 of the Line. They are heroes ; almost as heroic as 
 my Grumblers themselves. Alas ! It cannot give me 
 pleasure to deprive myself of a brave soldier." 
 
 " My Emperor, I would die for you with joy — only 
 
 [46]
 
 THE LION PLAYS 
 
 let it be on the field of battle." And tears overflowed 
 the young man's eyes. 
 
 The Emperor's face softened. 
 
 " Come, come," he said, with a charming, a mag- 
 netic smile. " You are still very young. It is true 
 you have conducted yourself like an idiot, and even 
 worse ; but you shall not find me severe. I will say 
 absolutely nothing about this afifair ; but remember " 
 — and here he again became momentarily stern — " I 
 expect that you, also, will observe a complete silence 
 with regard to everything which concerns it. It is 
 on this condition alone that I pardon you the very 
 grave offence of which you confess yourself to have 
 been guilty." 
 
 The sentry fell upon his knees, and repeatedly kiss- 
 ing the Emperor's hand, confounded himself in thanks 
 and expressions of devotion. ^The Emperor was smil- 
 ing good-naturedly. 
 
 " Get up, imbecile ! " he said, pinching the young 
 man's ear. " You have learned your drill very badly 
 if you believe that this is the posture in which to 
 mount guard. Do you know it is to-morrow morn- 
 ing? Your Emperor wishes to sleep: see that he is 
 not again disturbed. Good-night, soldier." 
 
 " Good-night, Sire." 
 
 A few minutes afterwards the young man, his blood 
 still tingling with the excitement of the interview, was 
 startled by hearing a heavy crash, a clink as of break- 
 ing glass, proceed from the royal apartments. He 
 listened. There was no further sound. The next 
 morning the great crystal candelabrum in the small 
 saloon was found lying on the ground, broken to in- 
 numerable fragments. 
 
 [47]
 
 V 
 
 THE GOOD KING 
 
 WHEN Seraphine had effected her escape, she 
 was afraid to spring down the staircase by 
 which she had come to the royal apart- 
 ments, for she remembered there was a sentry at its 
 foot. But this staircase went up as well as down, and 
 up it she flew. There was no lamp upon it, yet it 
 was not so perfectly dark but that she could distin- 
 guish, when she reached the top, a wall and a door 
 stopping her way. In desperation she felt for the 
 'handle, turned it very softly, and opened the door a 
 little way. The close air of a crowded bedroom met 
 her lungs, more than one deep masculine snore her 
 ears, and in the darkness she could hear someone 
 start up in bed and ask drowsily in French who was 
 there. She closed the door and crouched in a cor- 
 ner of the landing, panting with fear, momentarily 
 expecting to hear the Emperor, or at least the sentry, 
 bounding up the stairs, while unknown foes rushed 
 out on her from the bedroom behind. The bang of 
 the door which the Emperor closed had to her por- 
 tended pursuit. But after it, all was silence, all was 
 darkness. She knew not what to do. She could not 
 remain where she was until morning and be found 
 there by the soldiers or lacqueys who occupied the 
 neighbouring bedroom. At length, shivering with 
 cold as well as with fear, she crept down the stairs 
 and reconnoitred. The lamp in the passage was out, 
 
 [48]
 
 THE GOOD KING 
 
 but a faint light glimmered up from the lower stair- 
 case. She perceived with relief that the door leading 
 into the Emperor's apartments was closed. Just be- 
 yond it was another large saloon, and straight in front 
 of her a door, presumably leading into an ante-cham- 
 ber. She opened it with precaution and found the 
 ante-chamber occupied by a man in livery, asleep 
 upon a chair. 
 
 The most reasonable course would have been to 
 wake him, but, in such near neighbourhood to the 
 Emperor Seraphine could not be reasonable. To 
 escape, to fly as far and as unseen as some wearer of 
 winged sandals and a cap of darkness, was the obses- 
 sion of her mind. Therefore hastily retreating, she 
 turned into the saloon, where, if certain wax candles 
 had guttered out, enough yet remained to illuminate 
 its emptiness. The room beyond was empty and quite 
 dark. Out of this yet another room opened. Her 
 feeling hands assured her that it was a bedroom ; 
 but, contrary to her expectations, she could find no 
 door leading further. She returned to the middle 
 room, and roaming round it, unresolved what she 
 should do, was suddenly aware of a man's voice 
 speaking a few words in the outer saloon. A large 
 mirror hung immediately by the door of communica- 
 tion. In this she saw the reflection of a man pausing, 
 as it were, in act to enter the room where she was. 
 He was earnestly perusing a document which he held 
 in his hand. For an instant the apparition of this 
 figure, the court dress covered with orders, the bent 
 head and shoulders, brought her heart into her mouth. 
 But no — it was not the Emperor. It was a taller, 
 thinner man. with a longer face. It must be the King. 
 
 [49]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 He beckoned, spoke, and a man in uniform, carrying 
 a tall candle, stepped up behind him, leaned over the 
 paper, following the lines with his finger and making 
 some remark. The King lifted his head to reply and 
 he, too, saw a reflection. He saw a patch of white, 
 of pink, amid the shadows of the unlighted room ; 
 dim enough, yet its outline unmistakably that of a 
 woman's figure. Eyes met his. He gazed, startled. 
 Then the shape in the depths of the mirror sunk upon 
 its knees and stretched towards him supplicating 
 hands. The ofificer's eyes and fingers were still fol- 
 lowing the lines of the paper, which he was beginning 
 to elucidate, when, looking in the mirror, the King 
 said in a clear voice: 
 
 " Rise, Madame. Leave that room and come here." 
 
 At these words the offtcer fell back, and Seraphine 
 entered slowly, wringing her hands in nervous appre- 
 hension. The King hastily presumed her to be the 
 wife or daughter of some Spaniard excepted from the 
 amnesty, who thought by personal intercession to 
 obtain pardon for him, as the daughter of the Duke 
 of St. Simon had obtained his pardon from the Em- 
 peror. 
 
 " Who are you, Madame ? " he asked, as she stood 
 silent before him. " What excuse can you offer for 
 this extraordinary indiscretion ? " 
 
 " Sire," cried Seraphine, in a trembling voice, " I 
 ask pardon — I implore your Majesty's protection." 
 
 " I ask you once more, Madame, who you are and 
 why you are here? " 
 
 " I am called Mademoiselle Seraphine," she replied 
 — and caught sight of a face she knew staring at her 
 in stupefaction over the candle the attendant officer 
 
 [50]
 
 THE GOOD KING 
 
 held. " I am a friend, a protegee of Mademoiselle 
 Carmona, whom your Majesty honoured with an in- 
 vitation to supper. Major Labourdonnaye knows me." 
 
 " It is true, Sire," replied the young officer, " I have 
 the pleasure of Mademoiselle's acquaintance." 
 
 The King's attitude stiffened. 
 
 " Do you know. Mademoiselle, that your indiscre- 
 tion is enormous? What do you seek in my apart- 
 ments at one o'clock in the morning?" 
 
 " Sire," replied Seraphine, hardly able to utter, 
 " Mademoiselle Carmona desired if possible to present 
 me to your Majesty. While I was at supper a lacquey 
 came to fetch me — I believed he came from your 
 Majesty. He showed me into a room — I thought 
 Mademoiselle Carmona would come — I waited a long 
 time " 
 
 " You mean that the lacquey showed you into these 
 rooms? " 
 
 " No, no, it was not here. I tried to go away, but 
 I was afraid of the sentry on the stairs. If your 
 Majesty will have the great kindness to send me back 
 
 to Mademoiselle Carmona " And pressing her 
 
 pocket-handkerchief over her face with both hands, 
 she burst into tears. 
 
 " I have been so frightened," she sobbed, " so 
 frightened ! " 
 
 " Calm yourself, my child," said the King, mild 
 but perplexed. " There is no need for so much emo- 
 tion. This is a piece of gross stupidity, or even of 
 impertinence on the part of some lacquey. It shall 
 be enquired into." 
 
 " No, no, Sire ! " cried Seraphine, energetically, 
 through her sobs. " For Heaven's sake do nothing 
 
 [51I
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 of the kind. Let the matter never be mentioned — 
 only let me leave the Palace at once." 
 
 The King stared, suspicion mingling with his per- 
 plexity. 
 
 " Pardon me, Sire," said Labourdonnaye, in a low 
 voice ; " I was next Mademoiselle at supper, and 
 heard the message she believed to be from your 
 Majesty delivered to her. The person who brought 
 
 it was not a lacquey: it was " and he whispered 
 
 a name in the King's ear. 
 
 " Ah ! " said the King. 
 
 He stood for a moment in thought, then turned to 
 Seraphine, who was endeavouring to stifie her sobs 
 and to mop up her tears with a lace handkerchief. 
 
 " It shall be as you wish. Mademoiselle. It is now 
 too late to send you back to Madrid, but I will myself 
 place you in the hands of a lady who will see that 
 you have a resting-place for the night and return 
 home to-morrow. Follow me." 
 
 Seraphine, regaining her composure, expressed her 
 thanks. 
 
 The King led the way and followed by Seraphine 
 and Labourdonnaye, descended the stone staircase, 
 which debouched on the arch of a gateway. Scarcely 
 had their feet touched the level pavement when the 
 silence of the night was broken by the rush of a car- 
 riage, driven at headlong speed to the gate of the 
 palace and suddenly pulled up at the gate. The chal- 
 lenge of the sentry was almost immediately drowned 
 by the voice of a woman — a voice naturally powerful, 
 and raised to that extraordinary pitch to which the 
 voices of women of Latin race are raised in moments 
 of anger or agitation. The King listened attentively, 
 and had turned perceptiblv paler ; for neither his 
 
 [52]
 
 THE GOOD KING 
 
 brother nor his philosophy could protect him from 
 the uneasiness of one who divines the ground to be 
 mined beneath his feet. The lady without was evi- 
 dently treating the sentry's demand for the pass-word 
 as a frivolous excuse invented by him to obstruct her 
 passage. Even through the gates she could be heard 
 to clamour the name of the King and the words " the 
 affair is urgent." 
 
 " Who can this be? " asked the King. 
 
 " It is — Oh, I believe it is the voice of Mademoiselle 
 Carmona ! " cried Seraphine, joyfully. 
 
 " We will return to our apartments, Labourdon- 
 naye," said the King. " You can then bid the porter 
 open the gate and see what the business of this per- 
 son may be. If it is not Mademoiselle Carmona, the 
 carriage may at any rate be of use in enabling this 
 young girl to return to Madrid. Follow me, Madem- 
 oiselle." 
 
 Seraphine obeyed him, Labourdonnaye, after a 
 short parley through a wicket, admitted the still 
 clamorous lady, and in a few more moments Dofia 
 Elisa Carmona, flying up the stairs, forgetful of cere- 
 mony, threw herself at the feet of the King and in 
 the arms of her friend. 
 
 Now when the Carmona had left the supper-table 
 of King Joseph — to whom she had had no opportu- 
 nity of presenting Mademoiselle Seraphine — she had, 
 after some inquiry, been informed that the young 
 lady in question had left El Pardo with the other 
 ladies of the company. Pilar, who occupied the car- 
 riage alone with her, could have told her better. For 
 Pilar had been talking to a coachman in the court- 
 yard of the palace when the Emperor's servant had 
 passed with Mademoiselle Seraphine. In her capacity 
 
 [53]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 of waiting-maid to the Carmona she had a humble 
 acquaintance with this exalted personage, and accost- 
 ing him on his return learned as much as was neces- 
 sary. 
 
 Now Pilar, in the depth of her heart, hated the 
 French ; yet she supposed that her mistress, who 
 not long since had been so fervent an admirer of the 
 Emperor, would suffer the pangs of jealousy if she 
 knew that her young friend had rivalled, perhaps 
 superseded her in the Emperor's favour. But at 
 length the annoyance Dona Elisa continuously ex- 
 pressed as Seraphine's having returned home without 
 communicating with her, and the knowledge that they 
 would not find the girl in the Calle del Turco, induced 
 Pilar to invent a legend concerning her. Its obvious 
 absurdity roused Dofia Elisa's suspicions and she 
 finally extracted the truth in its stead. When it had 
 come out, she appeared to lose her senses. Loudly 
 shrieking, she had flung herself out of the carriage 
 window, and at length succeeding in catching the 
 skirt of the coachman's coat, commanded him peremp- 
 torily to turn and drive back to the palace at top of 
 his horses' speed. The military escort, under orders 
 to ride with the lady to Madrid, refused to turn back, 
 and the sergeant in charge pointed out to her the risk 
 she ran in dispensing with their society on so lonely 
 a road. But back to El Pardo must the Carmona 
 go, her carriage rocking with its speed as it dashed 
 along mile after mile of the broad white road through 
 the dim ilex shades. And thus it was that if she 
 did not arrive in time to rescue her protegee from the 
 hands of the Emperor, she did arrive in time to take 
 her off the hands of the King. 
 
 [54]
 
 VI 
 
 YOUR LOVER, MADEMOISELLE? 
 
 THE next morning rose cold but sparkling 
 with sunshine and hoar frost. French soldiers 
 in gay uniforms strolled warming themselves 
 in the sun where the street of Alcala sweeps broad- 
 ening down to the Salon del Prado and up again to 
 the triumphal arch of Charles IIL, which now indeed 
 saw triumph, but neither for Spaniard nor for Bour- 
 bon. Life in Madrid was dull for the triumphant ones, 
 in spite of the glory of it. Comparatively few Spanish 
 houses were open socially to Frenchmen, and few 
 Frenchwomen had followed the rapid march of the 
 conquerors. Therefore they crowded to meet the 
 Carmona as she came across the Alcala. But the 
 Carmona was repairing to her devotions. She was 
 primed with vows to Virgin and saints, if they would 
 only relieve her of the onerous charge of Miss Dillon 
 and facilitate the departure of the Emperor from 
 Madrid before he had demanded of her a definite 
 answer concerning the intrigue he had desired her to 
 initiate. On the steps of the church she paused to 
 dismiss her band of admirers and to drop two reals 
 into the apron of an old beggar-woman who sat there 
 daily expectant of her alms. But the woman, al- 
 though the coin was given, persistently held up her 
 apron. Finally taking a letter out of it she pressed 
 it with exceedingly dirty fingers into those of the 
 lady. Dofia Elisa opened and seemed to read it, 
 
 [55]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 while the Frenchmen stood below, looking at her 
 with bold admiration. What a pose of the head, what 
 an opulent figure, half concealed by her mantilla ! 
 Brilliant as the sunshine that bathed her, the glossy 
 hair, the clear olive cheeks just touched with rouge, 
 the black-fringed eyes, the white teeth shown in a 
 flashing smile as she stood holding up the letter be- 
 fore her, as though all the world were as free to read 
 it as she. 
 
 " Caramba, what a rigmarole of love ! Here is a 
 silly fellow indeed ! " 
 
 " An impudent fool, you mean. Mademoiselle ! " 
 cried a boy dragoon. " Since he has soiled his love 
 with the dirty fingers of a hag, he does not merit 
 that yours should touch it." 
 
 Leaping up, he snatched the letter from her hand 
 and made as though he would cut it in pieces. An 
 officer passing by caught it from him. 
 
 " Enough, cousin ! " he said. " You do not know 
 where to stop." 
 
 And balancing the letter on the scabbard of his 
 sword, he presented it with a bow to the Carmona. 
 
 "What will you give me for it, Mademoiselle?" 
 he asked, with conventional gallantry. 
 
 It was Vidal. In silence, with shaking fingers and 
 a mechanical smile upon her lips, Dona Elisa took 
 back her letter. 
 
 " She does not speak ; she will give you nothing, 
 Hector ! " laughed the impertinent boy. " But what 
 will the little Seraphine give him, Mademoiselle?" 
 
 This time the answer leapt back quickly enough, 
 and the smile had an angry meaning: 
 
 " She will give him a mass for his soul — ay, that 
 with pleasure I " 
 
 [56]
 
 YOUR LOVER, MADEMOISELLE? 
 
 In an instant the heavy swing-door of the church 
 fell to behind the vanishing shape of the Carmona. 
 After crossing herself on brow and breast with mov- 
 ing lips, and kissing her thumb fervently, she sought 
 the most solitary corner of the church and smoothed 
 out the letter, convulsively clasped and crumpled in 
 her hand. It was long and contained no word of love, 
 but fairly exact information as to the movements of 
 the British army under Sir John Moore — movements 
 of which the French were still completely ignorant. 
 They believed the British to be in full retreat upon 
 Lisbon ; but Don Fernando, whose letter was but a 
 few days old, spoke of them as having their head- 
 quarters at Toro and advancing with all speed on 
 Burgos. The French, he said, had evacuated Vallado- 
 lid and the neighbourhood. He mentioned a family 
 in that town, or Pilar's cousins in Medina del Campo, 
 as persons to whom Miss Dillon might safely be 
 confided, and urged that she should be sent to one 
 or the other with all speed. If she came without de- 
 lay, Mr. Dillon, now at Toro with General Moore, 
 would in all probability be able to meet her; if not, 
 Fernando himself would see that the young lady was 
 conveyed to her father. 
 
 Thus, apparently, one of Doiia Elisa's prayers was 
 answered before it was breathed. Yet it might be 
 but a mockery of some busy devil. For how was Miss 
 Dillon to leave Madrid? A week ago it was still 
 possible, but now the preparations for the Emperor's 
 march on Lisbon and the South were far advanced, 
 and every available horse and mule in the city and 
 surrounding country was requisitioned. 
 
 Her orisons ended, Dofia Elisa hastened back to the 
 
 [57]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 Calle del Turco to lay the letter before the young 
 lady it concerned. Seraphine the frileiise was still in 
 bed, delaying the moment when she must put a foot 
 out into the cold of the tiled and fireless room. In her 
 white wrapper, with her prett}' hair loose on her shoul- 
 ders, she looked more than young — she looked infan- 
 tine. Pilar stood at the bedside, holding a platter with 
 a cup of chocolate upon it and admiring the sefiorita, 
 who now almost halved the devotion which the elderly 
 black-browed serving-maid had long dedicated to her 
 mistress. Dona Elisa read out the letter to Seraphine 
 while she drank her chocolate. It was scarcely done 
 when the young lady sprang out of bed, and, for- 
 getting to shiver when her bare feet touched the floor, 
 waved her handkerchief over her head, giving at the 
 same time three good British cheers. In the course 
 of argument she then stated that if there were no 
 other means of reaching the British army, she would 
 go on foot. But neither Doiia Elisa nor Pilar, whose 
 escort was essential, would consent to this manner of 
 travelling. As soon as she was dressed she hastened 
 out, and in company now with Doha Elisa, now with 
 Pilar, beat the whole city of Madrid in search of a 
 conveyance. Carriages were certainly to be had, but 
 not a four-legged creature to draw them. No one 
 was allowed to pass the gates without a permit ; and 
 on the following day, having obtained one, she set 
 out with Pilar to visit a farm at Vicalvaro, where she 
 had some hopes of obtaining a pair of mules. Already 
 in the Calle del Turco they had heard the blare of 
 martial music, perpetually bursting on the ear and 
 again dying away, and the dry mechanical rhythm of 
 hundreds of marching feet, as regiment followed regi- 
 
 [58]
 
 YOUR LOVER, MADEMOISELLE? 
 
 ment along the Prado. When Miss Dillon and Pilar 
 came out on the Salon del Prado they found an end- 
 less column of infantry in the blue uniform and white 
 gaiters of the Line regiments, here and there an eagle 
 tossed on the stream of them, filling the central 
 avenue and pouring out at the Alcala gate. 
 
 "What is it?" asked Pilar of two or three men 
 wrapped in brown cloaks, who stood smoking cigars, 
 with their backs turned to the march of the troops. 
 " Are they going to Lisbon ? " 
 
 The men shrugged their shoulders, and one replied : 
 
 " They are going to show themselves to each other. 
 No one else will look at them." 
 
 In fact there was a notable absence of spectators 
 along the line of march. It was perhaps this absence 
 of awe-struck and admiring gazers, more than the 
 fear of assassination, prevented Napoleon from mak- 
 ing any public entry into Madrid. 
 
 Miss Dillon and Pilar presented their permit and 
 passed the Alcala gate. Turning into the gardens of 
 the Retiro they freed themselves for a while from the 
 mass of soldiery. Leaving these, they came out on a 
 wide and empty country, broken only by a few isolated 
 cottages and an occasional patch of stunted trees. 
 This waste and level ground before the very gates of 
 Madrid had appeared to Napoleon to ofifer the fairest 
 opportunity for exhibiting to the dazzled eyes of its 
 inhabitants the power and the splendour of the Grand 
 Army. 
 
 When they reached the Chamartin road they saw 
 along the table-land to their left the dark-blue masses 
 of infantry and artillery gathering, spreading over the 
 earth under the lowering heavens like some terrestrial 
 
 [59]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 storm-cloud. Already, as far as the eye could reach, 
 long ranks of cavalry stood motionless except for the 
 impatient tossing of their horses' heads and the blow- 
 ing of their plumes — black, red, white — in the winter 
 wind. Every moment a fresh body rode into the field 
 and was marshalled in its appointed place, while 
 officers flew along the ranks shouting words of 
 command, and aides-de-camp and orderlies galloped 
 hither and thither at break-neck speed over the rough 
 ground still hard with frost. The distant Sierras were 
 shrouded in impenetrable cloud. But from time to 
 time the wind which blew across them swept over the 
 country a pale gleam of sunshine, and then out of 
 the wide sombreness of the assembled army broke the 
 bright colours of a hundred varied and fanciful uni- 
 forms. The hussars, in dolman and pelisse, green and 
 scarlet, grey and blue, crimson and sky-blue ; the 
 green dragoons with their tiger-skins ; the lancers, 
 the chasseurs, green and orange, red, blue, and yellow, 
 and above all the metallic sheen of helmets and the 
 waving of plumes. The travelling ray, visiting next 
 the dull blue masses of the infantry, lit them with a 
 stormy flash of steel, then passed away and left behind 
 once more that heavy cloud of War, sullen and ter- 
 rible for all its pomp and majesty. 
 
 It was a spectacle that might well have tempted a 
 million eyes. But the Spaniards, conquered in arms, 
 yet unconquerable in their pride, refused to look on 
 it. A few Government officials with their ladies, 
 shivering in carriages, a few ragged children from 
 outlying cottages, were the only spectators. On the 
 right-hand side of the road was a long row of stores 
 and ammunition-waggons. Seraphine saw in the dis- 
 
 [60]
 
 YOUR LOVER, MADEMOISELLES 
 
 tance, but scarcely marked, a small group of officers 
 passing- along it, one of whom, dressed in a plain green 
 coat with a red collar, mounted on the wheel of each 
 waggon in succession and examined the contents, 
 apparently addressing words of approval or of censure 
 to the men in charge. It was only when she was 
 passing close by this group that she perceived the 
 plain-coated officer to be the Emperor. But she did 
 not start or hurry her step. Instinctively she felt as 
 secure from his eyes as though she walked invisible. 
 Their lightnings were concentrated on the fierce- 
 moustached, blue-coated soldiers beside the waggons. 
 It was for them to tremble. 
 
 When she returned from her vain and weary quest 
 the red sun was peering gloomily through a long rent 
 in the clouds, before it sunk into darkness. Across 
 the table-land, towards Madrid, infantry and artillery, 
 dragoons, lancers, hussars were trooping homewards, 
 all blurred by distance and gathering shades of even- 
 ing to one sombre hue, out of which flashed now and 
 again the glitter of burnished breastplate and helmet, 
 steel or copper or gold. But nearer, small groups of 
 men, marshals, generals, stafif-officers, were still stand- 
 ing or slowly pacing their horses together — silhouettes 
 in the deepening twilight, their dark cloaks falHng 
 about them in heavy folds. As Seraphine, clinging to 
 Pilar's arm for warmth rather than support, passed 
 one of these mounted groups, she looked up and saw 
 immediately above her the face* of the Emperor, gaz- 
 ing after the dim masses of his army with set lips and 
 stern, exultant eyes. She looked at him fixedly and 
 fearlessly, certain that he would not observe her. 
 Never before had she seen this man about the busi- 
 
 [61]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 ness of war and now for the first time, she recognised 
 that his beauty was something more than a mere fic- 
 tion of obsequious courtiers. While her charming 
 face, framed in a straw-hat tied under her chin with 
 green ribbons, was thus contemplatively raised to his, 
 the Emperor's gaze fell and rested upon it for the frac- 
 tion of a second. She did not believe he had really 
 seen her ; yet clutching Pilar's arm convulsively, she 
 hurried her on at a quick English walking pace. They 
 had not gone very far when an aide-de-camp rode up 
 from behind. He drew rein and saluted : 
 
 " Have the goodness to tell me your address, Mad- 
 emoiselle." 
 
 " My address. Monsieur? " 
 
 " Yes, Mademoiselle, your address. His Majesty, 
 the Emperor, desires it." 
 
 Reluctant, but compelled, she complied with the 
 order. When they had turned the corner of the 
 Retiro gardens, in the direction of Madrid, the con- 
 gestion of troops prevented them for a time from pro- 
 ceeding further. The gardens were now shut, but a 
 closed carriage drove up to a gate near which they 
 were standing, and, the gate having been unlocked, 
 drove in. In the occupant of the carriage Seraphine 
 believed that she recognised the Emperor. 
 
 When she reached the Calle del Turco she found 
 Dofia Elisa not at home, the sola empty and dark. 
 Pilar had stayed below to make some purchases, and, 
 too weary and discouraged to light a candle, she 
 loosened her shawl and sank into a chair. She knew 
 not how long she had sat there in gloomy meditation, 
 when she heard a carriage rattle along the street and 
 stop at the door. Dofia Elisa, she supposed. No — 
 
 [62]
 
 YOUR LOVER, MADEMOISELLES 
 
 a male voice, a male step on the stone. There was no 
 knock. The door opened and a man walked decisively 
 in. Through the dusk she could just perceive him, 
 wrapped in a military cloak with a high collar and 
 wearing a plain cocked hat. But she needed not to 
 see him: even while his foot was on the stair she 
 knew it was he. 
 
 " A light ! " he said, imperatively, closing the door 
 behind him. 
 
 In silence she fumbled, feminine fashion, with flint 
 and steel. He gave an exclamation of impatience, 
 drew something out of his pocket, and striking a 
 light instantly, Hghted a candle. Then took it, strode 
 hastily round the sala locking the doors of communi- 
 cation, and finally replaced the candlestick on the 
 table. 
 
 It is said that men who have often shivered at a 
 ghost-story feel no fear when they actually behold an 
 apparition. So, with a strange calmness and courage, 
 Angela Dillon stood face to face with Napoleon — he 
 in the majesty of greatness, she in the dignity of 
 womanhood. 
 
 " In a house like this," he said, as he replaced the 
 candle, " it is necessary to take precautions against 
 the assassin's knife." 
 
 " Sire, if you believe that, you must have made a 
 mistake in the house." 
 
 " I never make a mistake. This is the house of a 
 Spaniard and of a Chouan. Do you deny it, Madem- 
 oiselle de Kerhautant?" He looked steadily in her 
 face, dwelling on this name. " Do you deny that you 
 regard me as a usurper?" 
 
 " No, Sire. I do not deny it." 
 
 [63]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 "How! Insolent? You dare " 
 
 " Yes, Sire, I dare to afifirm that you usurp power 
 in a kingdom where you have no imperial rights." 
 
 The thunder of Jove was ready to burst upon her. 
 
 " Miserable girl ! You presume too much on your 
 insignificance. Not a man in France — no, nor in 
 Spain — would dare thus to insult his sovereign." 
 
 " But it is not of France or of Spain that I speak, 
 Sire. It is of the Kingdom of Woman, where she 
 alone is sovereign. Believe me. Sire, in that king- 
 dom even an Emperor who seeks to make us obey 
 him is a usurper. I cannot call him anything else." 
 
 " I see you desire to be witty. It is not in that way 
 you will make yourself pardoned. Governments and 
 kings, whose power is bestowed on them by God, are 
 not fit subjects for jests." 
 
 " I am only endeavouring. Sire, to show you that 
 it is not the Emperor, but the man alone, whom I 
 have offended." 
 
 " I am not here to amuse myself with riddles. 
 Your conduct, your language with regard to me, have 
 been of an extreme insolence. I despise the weakness 
 of sovereigns who permit insignificant persons to in- 
 sult them with impunity. Such manners, such opin- 
 ions are infectious — they spread like the plague. I 
 know not how long you have been corrupting my 
 officers, but I will protect them and myself." 
 
 He seated himself heavily on a couch and threw 
 his hat down beside him. 
 
 " First, I insist upon knowing who is your lover." 
 
 " I have told you, Sire, that I have none." 
 
 " I forbid you to repeat that absurd lie. A little 
 actress, who plays small parts and wears pretty toilettes 
 
 [64]
 
 YOUR LOVER, MADEMOISELLE"? 
 
 — and has no lover ! Ah, bah ! You have a lover — 
 a lover to whom you are not only faithful, which is 
 surprising enough, but whom you have caused to 
 adore you with such fanaticism that he permits you 
 to insult your Emperor. Tell me who this young 
 madman is. It is perhaps someone near my own 
 person over whom you exercise this pernicious in- 
 fluence." 
 
 " Sire, I cannot denounce to you " 
 
 " Denounce ! Do you think I shall punish him ? 
 No ; for to free him from the power of a woman 
 such as you — impudent, disloyal, without feminine 
 modesty — to separate him from you, I say, is to do 
 him a service. He will thank me for it in a very short 
 time. I know the passions of young men : they are 
 violent, but without importance. Listen to me, Mad- 
 emoiselle. If you do not immediately confess to me 
 the name of this unfortunate man, I will have you put 
 in prison this very evening." 
 
 " Of what crime can your Majesty accuse me?" 
 " Of insult, of disobedience to the sovereign. Who 
 knows? — perhaps of conspiring with the Spanish ad- 
 herents of the Bourbons. I know well you are a 
 daughter, legitimate or illegitimate, of a family of 
 emigres, enemies of their country. But come. Mad- 
 emoiselle — do not make me angry. You have only 
 to name to me your lover and your punishment will 
 be trifling." 
 
 "Sire! How can I ?" 
 
 " I tell you you have my word of honour that he 
 shall not be punished for this afifair. That is, if you 
 will consent never again to see him. Speak, and let 
 us waste no more time." 
 
 [65]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 To be sent to prison ! To be cut off from all hope 
 of seeing again her family and her country, and this 
 for refusing to name a person who had never existed ! 
 It was surely a horrible nightmare, from which she 
 would presently awake. She flung herself down in the 
 carved elbow-chair with a cry of impatient despair. 
 And even as she did so, burying her face in her hands, 
 something — doubtless a most diabolic devil — whis- 
 pered to her in that electric language which is a 
 million times swifter than speech, the name of Hector 
 Vidal. After all, if his punishment were to be limited 
 to renouncing her society, his loss would not be great. 
 And if the Emperor should give him as disagreeable 
 a quarter of an hour as she, Seraphine, was having, 
 why, it was no more than Vidal deserved. 
 
 " You will forgive him. Sire ? " she murmured, 
 feeling a wild inclination to laugh, and holding her 
 handkerchief to her lips. 
 
 " I have told you! " impatiently. "You have only 
 to give me your word never to see him again. For 
 the rest, I will see to that myself." 
 
 " I give you my word of honour never to see him 
 again." 
 
 " Name him — and quick. I am in a hurry." 
 
 " It is— it is Colonel Vidal." 
 
 The Emperor sprang to his feet with a violent oath. 
 
 " Traitor ! It is he ! I guessed right — it appeared 
 incredible. He dared — he dared then — O the villain ! " 
 
 " Sire, Sire ! Remember your promise. You will 
 not injure this unfortunate man ? " 
 
 He remained silent a minute before answering in 
 a cold and measured tone : 
 
 " I will keep my promise, Mademoiselle, precisely 
 
 [66]
 
 YOUR LOVER, MADEMOISELLE? 
 
 as long as you keep yours. Colonel Vidal was an 
 excellent young man before you corrupted him." 
 The Emperor put on his hat, rose, and slowly gath- 
 ered the folds of his cloak about him as he spoke: 
 " Prepare yourself to leave Madrid to-morrow morn- 
 ing for Valladolid." 
 
 " For— Valla— do— lid? " 
 
 " Yes, Mademoiselle. Has the loss of your lover 
 turned your brain, that you look at me like that ? " 
 
 " But how, Sire ? All the animals are requisi- 
 tioned." 
 
 " That excuse will not serve. I am sending to 
 France certain works of art. You will accompany 
 them as far as Bordeaux, where my Minister of Police 
 will have orders to transport you to Valengay." 
 
 " Is that a prison?" 
 
 " No, it is merely the country-house of Monsieur 
 de Talleyrand, where the Prince of the Asturias is 
 for the present detained. Monsieur de Talleyrand has 
 been instructed to provide him with a theatre, but 
 these ladies of Paris will not stay in the country. 
 Royalist as you are, it will doubtless be a pleasure to 
 you to amuse a Bourbon, although he is ugly and as 
 silly as a sheep. At any rate you will remain at 
 Valengay until you receive permission to leave it." 
 
 " Will there be an escort, Sire ? The Spanish peas- 
 antry are so ferocious." 
 
 " You need not be afraid. Mademoiselle. Three of 
 my soldiers will be more than enough to defend the 
 carriage. At Valladolid there will be other objects 
 of art to be collected, and the Governor will have 
 instructions to forward them and you to Bordeaux 
 without fail. But I certainly counsel you not to stray
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 from the soldiers, for if you escape from them it will 
 be to fall into the hands of the Spaniards, who are 
 monsters of cruelty." 
 
 Seraphine rose and curtsied, with delight, even 
 amusement, sparkling under the down-dropped lashes 
 of her eyes. For was not Medina del Campo on the 
 road to Valladolid? 
 
 " You will permit me to take a femme de chambre, 
 Sire?" 
 
 " Naturally. The carriage will be here at ten 
 o'clock. Be ready." 
 
 The Emperor left the room as abruptly as he had 
 entered it. 
 
 The sala was once more empty when Dona Elisa 
 returned from a prolonged rehearsal, still in great un- 
 easiness of mind. Everyone was agreed as to the 
 impossibility of her procuring her friend a conveyance 
 and an escort to Valladolid. The best news reported 
 was that the Emperor would certainly march on Lis- 
 bon within a few days. With any other man it might 
 have been assumed that under such circumstances his 
 attention would be far too completely occupied for 
 him to remember an insect that had stung him. But 
 Napoleon was not as other men. He would not, in- 
 deed, pause in his stride along the path of glory to 
 exterminate the insect ; but neither would he forget 
 to plant his foot upon it if it lay in his road. 
 
 Doiia Elisa dropped down almost as disconsolately 
 as Miss Dillon had done beside the brasero, still 
 wrapped in the rich French pelisse, lined with fur, 
 for which the weather had at length persuaded her 
 to exchange her mantilla. And presently in came 
 Seraphine quickly, she, too, wrapped in a warm cloak, 
 and followed by Pilar. 
 
 [68]
 
 YOUR LOVER, MADEMOISELLE? 
 
 " Alas, my dear child ! " exclaimed Doiia Elisa, 
 shrugging her shoulders, " why do you tire yourself 
 running about like a madwoman and exposing your- 
 self to this horrible temperature? Where have you 
 been to now ? Wherever it is, I am only too convinced 
 your efforts can have had no result." 
 
 Seraphine was handing her cloak and hat to 
 Pilar. 
 
 " I have been committing a letter to the post — that 
 is, to old Juana, the beggar-woman. Whether we had 
 trouble to find her, I leave you to guess." 
 
 " You have written to say our friends must not 
 expect you? " 
 
 " On the contrary, my dear." 
 
 "You have told them you will come? Mujer! 
 Are you then mad ? " 
 
 " In effect, I have told them that I shall start to- 
 morrow morning in a carriage with two, perhaps four, 
 horses and accompanied by an escort of soldiers, suf- 
 ficient but not too large. It must be confessed that 
 nothing could exceed the complaisance, the consid- 
 eration with which I am being treated." 
 
 " You jest. For me, I have no heart." 
 
 " Not at all. I am telling you the truth." 
 
 " But who, in Heaven's name, is going to arrange 
 this for you ? " 
 
 "Guess, guess, Mademoiselle Carmona!" 
 
 " It can only be the King." 
 
 Seraphine shook her head. 
 
 "Who, then?" 
 
 Seraphine took her skirt on each side between fin- 
 ger and thumb, whirled completely round, and sank 
 down in an exceedingly deep court curtsy. 
 
 [69]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 " The Emperor, Mademoiselle ! " She broke into 
 a peal of merry laughter. " Yes ! The Emperor him- 
 self." 
 
 " Sorceress ! What can you have done to cajole 
 him thus ? Yet beware ! The Emperor does not 
 bestow such a favour as this without exacting pay- 
 ment for it." 
 
 " But it is not a favour — it is a punishment. He 
 believes he is sending me back to France." 
 
 He has discovered, then " 
 
 " Calm yourself, my love. He has discovered noth- 
 ing. He imagines me someone else — an cmigrcc — I 
 know not whom. And the punishment, my Elisa, the 
 punishment is " — her voice again rippled into laugh- 
 ter — " that I am never again to see Colonel Vidal. 
 Yes, Elisa, I am to be parted for all eternity from my 
 adored Hector." 
 
 " So there is Hector Vidal caught at last ! Depend 
 upon it, my dear, he has been boasting of you as one 
 of his Good Fortunes. Well ! I congratulate him on 
 the consequences — for him, at least, they will not be 
 agreeable." 
 
 " It was not Monsieur Vidal who said — it was I 
 
 who " Seraphine became grave. She blushed 
 
 and hung her head. 
 
 " I told a lie. I know it is very wrong to tell 
 lies." 
 
 Dofia Elisa shrugged her shoulders — 
 
 " A la guerre comme a la guerre! " 
 
 " I know it. But what could I do ? And then for 
 a young girl to pretend she had a lover — Oh, I see 
 very well now, it was horrible ! But at the moment 
 I thought of nothing but how to avoid being put in 
 
 [70]
 
 YOUR LOVER, MADEMOISELLE? 
 
 prison. The Emperor refused to believe I had no 
 lover. He said he would have me shut up if I would 
 not tell his name. I was perfectly desperate, when 
 suddenly I thought of naming Vidal. He deserves to 
 be punished for his meanness in repeating to the Em- 
 peror what I said — but, indeed, the Emperor prom- 
 ised not to punish him." 
 
 " Did he promise to continue to push the fortunes 
 of this young man whom you prefer? — who has al- 
 lowed himself to repeat your flattering observation 
 with regard to his Majesty? You are very simple if 
 you believe that, my dear." 
 
 " I certainly believed the Emperor's assurance. 
 Yet, indeed, I know I have not behaved very well. If 
 I had been told such a story about another I should 
 have judged her severely. I should have said she 
 ought undoubtedly to have gone to prison, even for 
 her entire life, rather than tell so shocking an untruth. 
 But, alas, my Elisa! no one knows how one will be- 
 have under temptation until one has experienced it. 
 It comes upon one suddenly, and one acts on the im- 
 pulse of the moment, instead of pausing to consider 
 the principles of honour and virtue. How often did 
 my dear grandpapa warn me against this habit of 
 irreflection." 
 
 " The deuce is in it if I can understand with what 
 you are reproaching yourself. I am perfectly aston- 
 ished at the wit you have shown. If I were in your 
 place I should be exceedingly proud to think I had 
 got the better of Bonaparte — and highly delighted to 
 have revenged myself on the person whose wicked 
 spite had caused me so much danger and annoy- 
 
 ance." 
 
 [71]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 " I think," said Seraphine, sighing and letting her- 
 self down from the high stool of repentance — " I think 
 it is impossible to treat like a Christian a man who 
 considers himself handsome, when you are not of his 
 opinion." 
 
 [72]
 
 VII 
 
 STORM-BOUND ON THE GUADARRAMA 
 
 THE Sierra de Guadarrama had disappeared in 
 a purplish bank of cloud, and as the lumbering 
 carriage moved slowly over the barren table- 
 land between Madrid and the Escorial, from time to 
 time a flutter of snow passed the steamy windows to 
 join the thin and ragged coating which already lay 
 on the ground. Inside were some small cabinet pict- 
 ures and other valuables, wrapped in sacking, Miss 
 Dillon and her maid. Outside a roof-load of pack- 
 ages ; a driver and a Sergeant of Chasseurs of the 
 Guard on the box, and behind a private of the Line 
 and a Grenadier, also of the Guards. The Sergeant 
 alone made a speck of bright colour on the dark car- 
 riage, the dark sky, and the dreary landscape. He 
 wore a scarlet pelisse, edged with seasonable fur, a 
 green dolman and a Kolbach with a tall red and green 
 plume. His face had been weathered a rich reddish- 
 brown and was, as it were, cut in half by a foam-white 
 moustache, surmounted by a sharp nose and a pair 
 of small bright-grey eyes. Thus gaily coloured as a 
 parrot, he chattered yet more gaily. When his com- 
 rades, torpid with cold, made no reply, he addressed 
 himself to the weather, meeting the snow with per- 
 siflage and taunting the wind that caught his plume 
 with the inefifectuality of its efforts. When they 
 fussed a Venta he offered the ladies a glass of hot 
 wine, which they did not refuse ; and at length, find- 
 
 [7Z]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 ing the weather or the company of his fellow-soldiers 
 too chilling, asked permission to creep in among the 
 pictures and parcels within the carriage. 
 
 Seraphine, her little nose and bright eyes peeping 
 out of a mountain of furs and wraps, like those of a 
 mouse out of its hole, threw a mute but agreeable 
 challenge to the man of cheerful colours to be as gay 
 as his uniform. In truth she was eager to be dis- 
 tracted from a useless impatience, a worse than useless 
 prevision of perils and chances. The paternal white- 
 ness of the sergeant's moustache inspired her with a 
 confidence which he would have found less compli- 
 mentary if he had perfectly understood its grounds. 
 At any rate their acquaintanceship was of the kind 
 that springs up as rapidly as Jonah's gourd, and proved 
 as useful and refreshing. But Seraphine, whose gal- 
 loping imagination had carried her over the Guadar- 
 rama in twenty-four hours, was greatly chagrined to 
 find that their first stage took them no further than 
 the Escorial. For, it appeared that certain pieces of 
 gold and silver plate were to be collected from the 
 church and palace to be forwarded to Paris. 
 
 It was in the afternoon of December 22d that they 
 left the Escorial for the Puerto de Guadarrama. 
 Heavy snow had fallen during the night, and there 
 was more in the sky. Even in the plain, on the fine 
 road which runs along the foot of the mountains to 
 the Pass, the wind was strong, and the laden carriage 
 sometimes moved with difficulty through the drifted 
 snow. When they reached the village at the foot of 
 the Pass they learned that a large body of French 
 troops had passed through there on the preceding 
 afternoon, but to whose army corps they belonged 
 
 [74]
 
 ON THE GUADARRAMA 
 
 and what their destination, was not to be ascer- 
 tained. 
 
 The road over the Puerto de Guadarrama is as 
 magnificently engineered as any highway of modem 
 Switzerland and they moved up its lov/er curves 
 slowly indeed, yet without serious difficulty. But 
 when they had climbed higher the mountain wind 
 beat down upon them with relentless fury, as though 
 to dash the intruders upon its frozen fastnesses. The 
 snow lay in deepening drifts, through which the horses 
 strained and struggled, while from time to time the 
 men put their shoulders to the wheels. Above and 
 below them was nothing but a dense white cloud, 
 through which the thick-falling snow-flakes whirled in 
 ghostly dance, and the shades of night were gathering 
 in the blind heart of the storm when they reached 
 the small convent on the summit of the Pass. They 
 had intended to push on that evening to Villacastin, 
 or at least to Espinar. But even the Sergeant, who 
 was eager to rejoin his regiment before it marched 
 on Lisbon, even Seraphine, who was eager to reach 
 her rendezvous with her rescuers, were compelled to 
 acknowledge that here they must halt. The energies 
 both of men and horses were exhausted, and if they 
 weathered the storm, they might fall an easy prey to 
 the ever-watchful peasantry. 
 
 The monks who held this dreary outpost of piety 
 and hospitality gave no hearty welcome to their visi- 
 tors. Not only were they Spaniards, but tonsured 
 sons of the Church, bound to be the uncompromising 
 foes of an Emperor who thought by a stroke of the 
 pen to abolish her dominion, time-rooted in the rocks 
 of Spain. The Sergeant, however, was accustomed to 
 
 [75]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 get what he wanted out of hosts who did not want 
 him. So before long the large, though rough, guest- 
 room of the convent had a sufficient meal laid in it 
 and — much more extraordinary — a roaring fire in the 
 wide chimney. For in this frozen region the usual 
 brasero was plainly inadequate, while the pine-forests 
 of the mountain provided the brethren plentifully 
 with fuel. A torch flaring in an iron socket in the 
 wall gave their only other light. The meal over, the 
 whole party drew their wooden stools into the chim- 
 ney corner or before the blaze. Without, there was 
 now a darkness which even the snow rendered scarcely 
 less black. The wind, which seemed continually to 
 increase in violence, rushed over the Pass, driving 
 before it a swirling torrent of cloud and snow ; and, 
 bufifeting the solid rocks of the Sierra and the rude 
 walls of the convent with outbursts of fury, howled 
 round them, now loud, now low, with wild and sin- 
 ister voices, which sometimes appeared just about to 
 become articulate, when they dropped away into 
 silence or rose to a mere shrill and rushing whistle. 
 In spite of the logs piled generously on the blaze by 
 the soldiers, the room was incurably cold. Perhaps 
 it was physical discomfort which awoke in Miss Dillon 
 a keen sense of her loneliness in the world, together 
 with reflections on her imprudence in thus running 
 into unknown dangers instead of remaining at Fon- 
 tainebleau, where at least she had friends. She drew 
 over her head a fold of a silk gauze scarf which she 
 had wrapped round her neck — bare, according to the 
 inhuman fashion of the day — and shed a few tears in 
 its decent shadow. 
 
 Pilar, whose peasant breeding had provided her 
 
 [76]
 
 <( 
 
 ON THE GUADARRAMA 
 
 with no inconvenient standard of comfort, was staring 
 at the lire with her hands crossed on her waist, en- 
 tirely content to be doing and thinking of nothing. 
 The soldiers, even the youngest of them — a fair- 
 haired conscript — had all passed many a night com- 
 pared to which this was indeed luxurious. The Ser- 
 geant, seated on his low stool, was half asleep, half 
 smoking. 
 
 You are cold, Mademoiselle," he said, suddenly. 
 What else could I be. Sergeant, unless I were 
 positively red hot, like that piece of wood — and I 
 daresay the black side of that is already half frozen." 
 
 " I am cold also. A fire is cheerful, but it does 
 not warm. One should move about, one should 
 dance." 
 
 A minuet ? " suggested Seraphine, doubtfully. 
 A minuet! No, Mademoiselle. It is the dance 
 of slaves, it recalls the vices of Capet and the aristos. 
 Besides, I do not know how to dance it. But there 
 is the glorious dance of the sons of the Revolution — 
 there is the Carmagnole. Ah, Mademoiselle, when I 
 was young we used to dance it till the sweat ran down ! 
 Let us try now. How many are we ? Six is too few ; 
 but we might sketch it sufficiently for you to imagine 
 what it is like when it is danced by scores, by hun- 
 dreds of persons together. Come ! " 
 
 He stretched his hand to Seraphine, who shrank 
 back with a shudder. Fortunately, he had not time 
 to observe her behaviour, because the conscript — who 
 came from French Flanders — broke in with a ques- 
 tion: 
 
 " What is that, the Carmagnole f It is not danced in 
 my country." 
 
 [77] 
 
 <(
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 The Sergeant was everything except dumb with 
 horror and stupefaction. 
 
 "What!" he cried. " Sacre Norn de Dieu! Is it 
 possible? May the devil carry thee away, idiot, if 
 thou art not ignorant of the very cause for which thou 
 art become a soldier. Dost thou know nothing of the 
 sacred principles for which all we Frenchmen are 
 ready to fight and die ? " 
 
 " Certainly I do, Sergeant," replied the Fleming, 
 offended. " I am as well educated as you, and per- 
 haps better. The cause — well, the cause of my joining 
 the army is that the conscription of 1809 was called 
 out already this year — which, indeed, we were far 
 from expecting. As to the sacred principles, why the 
 person of the Emperor is sacred — and the eagles, they 
 also are sacred." 
 
 The Sergeant let off a volley of exclamations. 
 
 " And you say you have education, because you 
 know how to write ! " — an accomplishment his own 
 lack of which he very cunningly contrived to conceal 
 from his superior officers. " I tell you there is not a 
 child on the pavement of Paris who is not better edu- 
 cated. They learn to read on the words Liberty, 
 Equality, Fraternity — and it is for these sacred words 
 that the citizen soldier of France sheds his blood. 
 But you have never even heard of them ! Ah, my 
 little conscript," — and he wagged at the Fleming the 
 finger of scorn — " it is such as you who make possible 
 a Capitulation of Bailen, that eternal disgrace to the 
 French arms." 
 
 " You are mistaken, Sergeant," replied the Fleming, 
 stuffing his pipe ; " I was not at Bailen." 
 
 " It is perfectly indifferent to me where you were," 
 
 [78]
 
 ON THE GUADARRAMA 
 
 — the Sergeant twisted his moustache fiercely. " I 
 say thou art ignorant of the sacred principles for 
 which thou fightest. But I will instruct thee. Know, 
 soldier, we Frenchmen — conscripts and veterans — are 
 all alike sons of the Revolution, and we fight to lib- 
 erate the nations from the tyranny of kings, of priests, 
 and of aristocrats. It is fifteen years only since we, 
 your elder brothers, naked, starving, unarmed, but 
 inspired by the sacred words Liberty, Equality, Fra- 
 ternity, rushed on the hordes of the tyrants and hurled 
 them back from our frontiers — and these words, you 
 already forget them ! That is why the Spaniards do 
 not love us ardently as other nations do. There are 
 too many of such conscripts in Spain." 
 
 A grave young grenadier smiled ironically. 
 
 "You think the other nations love us. Sergeant?" 
 
 " Certainly they do. See how they crowd to our 
 standards. The Spaniards also will love us when we 
 have known how to kindle on their altars the sacred 
 fire of Liberty." 
 
 " Meantime," said Seraphine, smiling too, " if they 
 catch us between here and the frontier, they will kin- 
 dle a fire for themselves and put us on it, like so many 
 logs." 
 
 The Sergeant did not observe these smiles. He 
 took the dogmas of his religion seriously, after the 
 fashion of many other persons whose daily habits and 
 activities are as strangely at odds with their creed. 
 
 " Do not fear, Mademoiselle ! " he exclaimed. " A 
 chasseur and a grenadier of the guard are a match 
 for two armies of Spaniards. Even this little con- 
 script is a Frenchman, and therefore cannot be a 
 coward." 
 
 [79]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 The conscript rose to his feet. 
 
 " Look for me at this Sergeant, Mademoiselle, who 
 calls me little. Dame! He himself comes no higher 
 than my chin." 
 
 " Yes, my little man ; but every victory in which a 
 soldier takes part adds an inch to his stature. So that 
 I am in reality at least seven feet high, while you are 
 scarcely bigger than a child." 
 
 In truth, the Sergeant, with every muscle tempered 
 like steel in the fires of many a victorious campaign, 
 with brain, eye, every nerve of his body trained to 
 an unimaginable swiftness and precision in the busi- 
 ness of battle, looked, as he was, a far more formid- 
 able portion of the dreadful machine of war than the 
 loose-limbed youth of eighteen. 
 
 The conscript, growing warm, was meditating his 
 reply, when Seraphine intervened: 
 
 " The decoration which the Emperor himself has 
 given you, Sergeant, shows you to be among the 
 bravest of the brave. But do not be severe on this 
 young man, who is brave also ; for at his age, you 
 perhaps had even less experience of war." 
 
 " You are right. Mademoiselle," returned the Ser- 
 geant, easily distracted. " At his age I knew not even 
 how to handle a sword. I was a baker's boy ; I baked 
 batches of bread for aristos. Fichtre! — we gave them 
 other bakings afterwards." 
 
 Seraphine broke in : 
 
 " And after all you are not dancing. Sergeant. 
 Can you dance nothing except the Carmagnole ? " 
 
 " On the contrary, wherever I am quartered I learn 
 the dance of the country. Having been so long in 
 Germany, I know how to waltz like a. German. Do 
 you waltz. Mademoiselle ? " 
 
 [80]
 
 ON THE GUADARRAMA 
 
 She disclaimed the daring accompHshment. 
 
 "You have not even seen the waltz? No? Then 
 I will show it you, though it is not so well danced 
 without a lady. Ah, these blond German women! 
 What good hearts ! They are heavy, it is true, but 
 you should see them spin like tops in the waltz. They 
 love us Frenchmen, the good Germans ; they give 
 us plenty to eat. They are not like these assassins 
 of Spaniards, who wish to make us all perish of hun- 
 ger. Come, I will show you the waltz. It is " 
 
 Throwing off his green dolman and rounding his 
 right arm to enfold an imaginary partner, while he 
 planted his left hand on his hip, the Sergeant gyrated 
 with amazing velocity, bobbing up and down as he 
 went, like a cork on troubled water. 
 
 " But it is astonishing! It is like that they dance? 
 Do not fatigue yourself too much," commented Sera- 
 phine, until the Sergeant sat down, somewhat heavily, 
 on the floor. 
 
 He picked himself up with a good-natured oath 
 or two. 
 
 " This comes of having no partner to lean upon ! 
 But there is another dance I will show you. I learnt 
 it from those droll people, the Italians." 
 
 He ran forward down the room, in a stooping 
 posture, and, having performed a few unusual capers, 
 ran back again. 
 
 " But it is the tarantella you mean ! " exclaimed 
 Seraphine, after a few minutes of bewildered contem- 
 plation. " I used to dance it at Naples when I was 
 a little girl. For that, also, you want a lady." 
 
 "You can dance it. Mademoiselle? That will be 
 famous ! " 
 
 [8i]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 " But I forget it — and there is no music." 
 
 " I have my violin here, Mademoiselle," said the 
 grenadier ; " and although I have never been to 
 Naples, I can play a tarantella." 
 
 The Sergeant was voluble in persuasion, and Sera- 
 phine could not avoid liking and wishing to please 
 him, in spite of her very sincere abhorrence of his 
 political principles. She had, moreover, in her veins 
 young blood which danced perhaps too easily to any 
 pleasant piping. So after some reluctance, a little 
 real, a little feigned, she disembarrassed herself of her 
 fur pelisse and stood up to dance in her black frock 
 and bright scarf of cherry-crimson gauze. 
 
 It was a strange and merry dance the white-haired 
 Sergeant and the young girl danced together in the 
 bare convent room. And as neither of them very well 
 knew what they were dancing, Seraphine for her part 
 having confused recollections of a tarantella and a 
 shawl-dance, there were many pauses, much laughter, 
 and some argument mingled with their footing it. 
 The dim pine torch flared or sank ; sometimes the 
 hollow fire would fall and a golden flame leaping, 
 illuminate the whitewashed walls marbled with age, 
 the black-raftered roof, the vivid scarlet of the caper- 
 ing Sergeant, the airy shape of the maiden and her 
 fluttering gauze. Sometimes a red dusk would settle 
 over all, so that the black dress of Seraphine would 
 merge in the deepest of the shadow, while her face 
 and neck showed so whitely amid the wavings of her 
 scarf, that almost it seemed as though an angel, of 
 that quaint bodiless kind they call a cherub, were 
 hovering in the room on wings of crimson plumage. 
 But whether painted with the warm brightness of the 
 
 [82]
 
 ON THE GUADARRAMA 
 
 blaze, or floating in a mystery of shadow, never did 
 mist-wreath in morning sun, or fairy at midsummer 
 revel, move with a more flowing grace, a more ethereal 
 lightness than this merely mortal Seraphine. The 
 grenadier, leaning against the wall beside the wide 
 chimney, fiddled gaily ; Pilar, roused from somno- 
 lence, sat up and opened black eyes ; the blond Flem- 
 ing, crouched on his stool, his head in his hands, 
 seemed also listening ; only the soldier-driver, rolled 
 in his cloak, snored indifference. 
 
 In a moment of twilight, Seraphine became aware 
 that an air colder even than before was blowing 
 through the room and waving her scarf. As the flame 
 of the torch once more rose she shot her gaze beyond 
 the scarlet figure of her partner and saw that the door 
 of the room was open and a group of men stood on 
 the threshold. They wore long military cloaks fall- 
 ing to their spurred heels, and the snow lay white on 
 their shoulders and glistened in their hair. From 
 behind them peered a pale young monk, with set lips 
 and sullen eyes. At first she recognised these men 
 but in an abstract way, as cavalry soldiers. Yet their 
 advent was enough to penetrate her with a sudden 
 sense of shame. She perceived her conduct to be want- 
 ing in dignity, and more worthy of the little actress 
 whose part she had assumed, than the virtuous young 
 gentlewoman she really was. She paused suddenly, 
 and stood with downcast eyes, slowly winding the 
 gauze scarf round her throat and bust. The men 
 came towards the fire. 
 
 " Brava, brava. Mademoiselle ! " they cried, and, 
 loosening their cloaks, shook the snow off on the bare 
 floor. An outflash of gold from epaulettes and 
 
 [83]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 plastrons revealed two officers, the others manifesting 
 themselves as orderlies. The sergeant, loud in wel- 
 come to the new-comers, brought a blaze on to the 
 hearth as if by magic ; at the same moment a lay 
 brother who accompanied the monk lighted a fresh 
 torch. In the flare of it, a suspicion which had caught 
 at Seraphine's breath when first a pair of dark eyes 
 had met her own from the shadow of the doorway, 
 was instantly changed into sickening certainty. The 
 foremost of the two officers was Hector Vidal. She 
 hardly knew whether it was an aggravation of this 
 horror or the reverse that the second should be Major 
 Labourdonnaye. 
 
 " You give us a most agreeable surprise. Mademoi- 
 selle," said the Major. " Who would expect to find a 
 ballet on the top of the Guadarrama? I venture to 
 remind you. Father " — turning to the monk and 
 speaking in Spanish — " that we are exceedingly hun- 
 
 gry." 
 
 The monk, his eyes downcast, his Hps pinched, 
 motioned to the lay brother to replace a table which 
 the Sergeant had pushed on one side. 
 
 " Supper shall be served as soon as it is ready, gen- 
 tlemen," he replied. " But do not expect here the 
 luxuries to which you are doubtless accustomed." 
 
 Vidal, kicking the fire with a spurred heel, showed 
 his white teeth in a laugh. 
 
 '' Luxuries, did he say, Labourdonnaye ? Tell him 
 we soldiers would think ourselves devilish lucky if we 
 could get our meals as regularly as his parcel of lazy 
 priests." 
 
 Labourdonnaye made some reply to his enforced 
 host of a more courteous tenor. The monk was 
 
 [84]
 
 ON THE GUADARRAMA 
 
 leaving the room, when Seraphine hastened after him, 
 and, in her anxiety, laid her hand upon his sleeve. 
 With averted face he dashed it from him, like an un- 
 clean thing. Miss Dillon controlled a movement of 
 haughty surprise, and said, with all the politeness of 
 which she was for the moment mistress : 
 
 " I am tired, Father, and should like to be shown 
 my room." 
 
 " That is impossible, Senorita. The Prior is in the 
 chapel ; no orders have yet been given." 
 
 " Is there no other room, to which I can retire with 
 my maid? " 
 
 " Certainly there is not. You forget this is no 
 Fonda. It is a religious house, and is not arranged 
 to receive women. The Prior will doubtless see that 
 a room is provided for you, but at present nothing is 
 arranged." 
 
 He spoke austerely, with a priestly drooping of the 
 eyelids more offensive than the boldest stare. 
 
 " What have we done, Mademoiselle, that you 
 should avoid us like the plague ? " asked Labourdon- 
 naye. " You reduce us to hoping that you do not 
 remember us. This is Colonel Vidal and I am Major 
 Labourdonnaye, very much at your service, Madem- 
 oiselle." 
 
 " Excuse me, gentlemen — the light is bad — and how 
 could I expect to meet you here ? " 
 
 " It is we who have the right to say that, Mademoi- 
 selle. An aide-de-camp is an apparition that may be 
 expected at any moment anywhere within a hundred 
 leagues of a marshal. But to meet a charming young 
 lady from the Madrid theatre in a monastery on the 
 Guadarrama, and in such weather as this — that is 
 what one may call a piece of luck ! " 
 
 [85]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 " I am obliged to return to France, and am trav- 
 elling under the escort of the Sergeant here, who has 
 certain objects of value to remit to Paris." 
 
 " Paris, did you say, Mademoiselle? No, no, God 
 be thanked, Valladolid is the end of my tether! Fig- 
 ure to yourself. Major, my impatience when this 
 confounded snow-storm delays me and my deuce of a 
 carriage less than a day's march from Madrid — and 
 in four days my battalion marches for Lisbon ! There 
 is a town from the storming of which it is a sacred 
 duty not to be absent. A good comrade of mine gave 
 me when he was dying — a ball took off his thigh at 
 Espinosa — a rough map he had from a man that was 
 in Junot's army. It has the jewellers' shops and other 
 places worth knowing marked in it. Poor devil ! He 
 gave it me with tears, and I promised him, if I were 
 fortunate, not to forget his wife and little ones." 
 
 " Console yourself, Sergeant," said Vidal. " We 
 bring news that is likely to postpone the storming 
 of Lisbon for three weeks or even more. I, also, 
 should like to send this snow to the devil, for without 
 it I could tell the Emperor something that would 
 please him before the screno calls midnight." 
 
 " Is it allowed to ask you what news you bring? " 
 asked the Sergeant, eagerly ; and even the conscript, 
 who, yawning and half asleep, had been obliged to 
 push his stool away from the fire, looked up with 
 interest. 
 
 " I will tell you. I left Madrid three days ago with 
 despatches for the Duke of Dalmatia, and at Torde- 
 sillas all but ran my head into — guess ! " 
 
 " A parcel of these nasty brigands of Spaniards, I 
 suppose," said the Sergeant. 
 
 [86]
 
 ON THE GUADARRAMA 
 
 " Not at all, my friend. English cavalry ! English- 
 men ! What do you say to that?" 
 
 There was a sensation. 
 
 " I turned back as fast as I could, and presently met 
 Labourdonnaye here, bound for Valladolid — where 
 he would hardly have found Franceschi, even if he had 
 got there. Then, at Villacastin, we met Ney with 
 some of his army corps. He came from Madrid, but 
 knew nothing — thought it was Romana who was 
 threatening our communications." 
 
 " Do you mean that the whole English army is ad- 
 vancing?" asked the Sergeant, with sparkling eyes. 
 
 " But, sapristi, that is what I mean. General Moore 
 was at Toro two days ago. Will he be pleased, our 
 good Emperor! " 
 
 " Aha, I should think so ! " exulted the Sergeant. 
 " Here has he been pursuing these English across the 
 world. He went to Egypt after them, he went to 
 Boulogne, and the cowards never do anything but 
 hide in their ships. And now — now ! " — he slapped 
 his thigh rapturously. " But it's magnificent, I tell 
 you. It's as though the walnut had the obligingness 
 to place itself between the jaws of the nutcracker. He 
 is quite right, our good Emperor, they must have 
 generals to laugh at, these English. He promised us 
 we should sweep them into the sea, but it will be bet- 
 ter than that. We shall exterminate them." 
 
 Seraphine threw a fold of her crimson gauze over 
 her head and held it as though to shield her com- 
 plexion from the fire. She feared her face might be- 
 tray her agitation, both on her own account and on 
 that of her countrymen. 
 
 " I cannot understand it," remarked Labourdon- 
 
 [87]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 naye, pondering. " The English general has hitherto 
 displayed a rather cowardly prudence. His army 
 would need to be twice as large as we know it can 
 be to allow of his playing this game with any chance 
 of success. It is not strategy, it is madness." 
 
 Vidal pushed back a log with the point of his boot 
 and stared meditatively into the glow. Seraphine, 
 glancing almost involuntarily at his face, scarcely 
 recognised it. The sensual and fatuous expression of 
 the man a bonnes fortunes, so repulsive to the young 
 Englishwoman, had dropped from it like a mask. 
 There was power and intelligence in the forehead, al- 
 ready deeply indented between the brows, in the 
 clenched mouth, with the lower lip a little thrust 
 forward. 
 
 "And yet," he said, slowly, " this General Moore 
 has been favourably judged by men whose opinion is 
 worth something. Let us look how things are, La- 
 bourdonnaye. What has happened? On the third of 
 November the Emperor crosses the frontier, on the 
 second of December he is absolute master of Madrid. 
 Lisbon and the South lie undefended before him — 
 for who could have been prepared for blows so amaz- 
 ingly rapid ? Is it not possible that this Moore is 
 playing the part of the torero in a bull-fight, who runs 
 forward and draws the bull away from a fallen com- 
 rade by trailing a scarlet mantle before it? Thus he 
 gives the other one time to get up and resume the 
 combat. Perhaps the Englishman intends to draw 
 the Emperor in his pursuit, and then to jump over 
 the barrier: that is, to retire to his ships." 
 
 " Diable! " chuckled the Sergeant. " If that is his 
 game, he will find he has made a pretty mistake. He 
 
 [88]
 
 ON THE GUADARRAMA 
 
 must be a demon and not a man who can outstrip the 
 Httle Corporal with a French army behind him in a 
 race of that kind. Good, good! The Emperor will 
 catch him as easily as I should catch a flea." 
 
 " You are right, Sergeant — you are right a thou- 
 sand times," responded both officers. 
 
 " But look at me with this deuce of a carriage ! 
 Sacre Noni dc Dieu, what am I to do with the cursed 
 thing?" The Sergeant frowned desperately and 
 clutched his hair. " My instructions were clear 
 enough — yet surely the Emperor did not intend me 
 to run into the jaws of the enemy, or to wait up here 
 while my regiment is on a campaign. Ah, bah ! Let 
 the snow be as deep as it likes, to-morrow we will 
 return to Madrid. Probably in three days — perhaps 
 even in two, for I promise you the Emperor will 
 hurry himself — we shall be marching against the 
 English. Vive la guerre! Vive VEmpereur! " 
 
 The cry was taken up from mouth to mouth. 
 
 " We shall return to Madrid ? " ejaculated Sera- 
 phine, and clasped her hands tight in the folds of the 
 crimson gauze. 
 
 " Certainly that is the best thing you can do," as- 
 sented Labourdonnaye, cheerfully. 
 
 Seraphine spoke again, concealing her anxiety as 
 best she might : 
 
 " But if the Emperor marches against the English 
 it will be in this direction. Why should we not go 
 on as far as we can with safety ? Thus, Sergeant, you 
 would save yourself two days of marching, which, 
 after such a downfall of snow, will be more than toil- 
 
 some." 
 
 " Aha, my little lady ! " laughed the Sergeant, shak- 
 
 [89]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 ing his finger at her, " we are in a great hurry to get 
 back to France, it seems. Who can the lucky fellow 
 be over there ? " 
 
 Seraphine drew herself up, forgetting that such a 
 mythical being might serve very well to explain the 
 impatience to push forward she had all along mani- 
 fested. 
 
 " But he may be whom he likes," continued the 
 Sergeant. " It is not to amuse him or even you. 
 Mademoiselle, that I will risk being taken prisoner. 
 Ah, bah! You don't know what it is Hke, but I do, 
 and I would rather die a thousand deaths than ex- 
 perience it again. Besides, when I am killed let it be 
 in a real battle, not in a miserable skirmish with 
 scarcely a dozen men engaged." 
 
 The child" in Seraphine could have run to the Ser- 
 geant and coaxed him, as she had been used to coax 
 her grandfather, to do what she wished. The reason- 
 able creature knew she had neither the power nor the 
 right to persuade him to do what would bring on him 
 probable, even certain, ruin or death. She bowed her 
 head and remained silent, with a leaden weight on 
 her heart and the burning pain of unshed tears in her 
 brain. The blow was so heavy that she even forgot 
 the disagreeable company of Hector Vidal. Yet the 
 recollection of the falsehood she had told about him 
 was profoundly humiliating. Should it ever come to 
 his knowledge, he would be amply revenged for the 
 rebuff she had administered to him. And what if the 
 Emperor learnt of their presence together at the mon- 
 astery? Fortunately, that was unlikely. 
 
 The next sound of which she was conscious was the 
 voice of Labourdonnaye, saying pleasantly : 
 
 [90J
 
 ON THE GUADARRAMA 
 
 " In your own case, as well as that of St. Croix, 
 he has certainly shown he knows how to distinguish 
 men of ability. Without doubt he has in reserve for 
 both, marshals' batons and ducal coronets." 
 Vidal gave a short laugh. 
 
 " Mademoiselle there does not believe it. She treats 
 me as a braggart when I say the Emperor has prom- 
 ised me a fine career." 
 
 " It is true," returned Labourdonnaye, drily, " that 
 if everyone were in possession of all that the Emperor 
 
 has promised " He paused and shrugged his 
 
 shoulders. " Yet, Mademoiselle, you may believe me 
 when I tell you Colonel Vidal is a man the Emperor 
 will not forget." 
 
 Seraphine dared not reply lest she should let the 
 vials of her wrath and despair overflow on Vidal and 
 his Emperor together. 
 
 By this time the lay brother had set the table, and 
 the scanty fare disappeared rapidly enough before 
 three out of the four new-comers. The fourth. Hector 
 Vidal, found himself, to his surprise, without appetite. 
 It would have taken a greater philosopher than him- 
 self to analyse his feelings towards Seraphine ; suffice 
 it that her presence agitated him in a manner com- 
 pletely unpleasant. He would have liked to subjugate 
 the little minx; failing that, never again to set eyes 
 on her. 
 
 The Sergeant joined them at the table. Round the 
 fire there was silence. Pilar and the conscript were 
 asleep ; Seraphine pretended to be so. She dared 
 not begin to weep lest she should fall into a passion 
 of sobs. There was not, in her judgment, so unfortu- 
 nate a creature breathing in the world on this night 
 of terror and tempest as Angela Dillon. 
 
 [91]
 
 VIII 
 
 A TALE OF BRAVE MEN 
 
 WHEN supper was over the men lit their 
 cigars, and piling more wood upon the fire, 
 gathered about it. The storm had in no 
 way abated its violence. Within, every door and 
 shutter banged and rattled; without, the wind flap- 
 ping its snow-laden wings round the convent walls 
 and among the rocks and pines of the Sierra, con- 
 tinued to sound like the flight and pursuit of lost 
 spirits and capturing demons. The dreariness of the 
 outer world seemed once more to have penetrated to 
 the circle round the fire. 
 
 Labourdonnaye, accustomed to see Vidal gallant in 
 the extreme with ladies, observed with surprise his 
 coldness, his taciturnity in the company of so attrac- 
 tive a creature as Mademoiselle Seraphine. Recalling 
 the rash and singular irritability he had exhibited 
 with regard to her when in attendance on the Em- 
 peror, Labourdonnaye concluded that there had been 
 a liaison between them, interrupted or ended by some 
 quarrel of unusual bitterness. 
 
 " This is a real camp-fire," he observed, at length, 
 drawing his cloak around him. " I could almost 
 imagine we had the stars for all our roof. Surely it 
 is the right moment for someone to tell us a story. 
 There are two decorated soldiers here — one of them 
 twice decorated. That means we have here two men 
 who have performed prodigies ; for to be simply brave 
 
 [92]
 
 A TALE OF BRAVE MEN 
 
 is in our days no distinction. Come, Sergeant, you, 
 who are the oldest of the three, tell us how you won 
 your decoration." 
 
 " With pleasure, Major," replied the Sergeant, re- 
 moving his cigar from his mouth and swelling his 
 chest. " Yet, my faith ! the story is but a little mat- 
 ter. I have done braver things before and since with- 
 out receiving so much as a commendation. But it so 
 happened that this trifling afifair took place under the 
 eyes of the Emperor, and thus I received from his 
 hands the Cross of the Legion of Honour." 
 
 " You are too modest, Sergeant." 
 
 " Alas, Major ! it is a complaint from which I 
 have always suffered. Were it not for that I might 
 be a marshal by this time. Look at Mortier — a stupid 
 fellow " 
 
 " But your story — your feat of arms ! " interrupted 
 Labourdonnaye. 
 
 " I have been noted for half a dozen feats of arms 
 and not noted for half a hundred better ones. Ah, 
 voild! Life is like that, my friends." 
 
 " But, yes, what will you ? Life is hard," sighed 
 one. " It is necessary to resign one's self," another; 
 and each having contributed his share to this little 
 litany, from which the Sergeant appeared to derive 
 real consolation, he continued : 
 
 " When the First Consul instituted the Legion of 
 Honour I was among the first to be sent up for the 
 Cross. It was just two years after Marengo, but he 
 had noted my name then on account of the little affair 
 I am going to tell you about. Marengo was not alto- 
 gether like other battles. For example — it is a thing 
 I do not much care to talk of — but it is the truth, I 
 
 [93]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 saw there a whole battaHon of Frenchmen made 
 prisoners for a short time by Austrians. What a dis- 
 grace ! We had a hot time ourselves, what with the 
 weather and the enemy's fire — which they seemed to 
 be pouring out of volcanoes rather than ordinary 
 guns. Among other inconveniences, it set fire to the 
 wheat all about us, which was as dry in June as it 
 would be with us in August. We made two charges, 
 one after the other, without being able to get at the 
 prisoners. Our major was already killed, and our 
 colonel was just forming us up for a third charge, 
 with a little trouble, since there was an abundance of 
 empty saddles, when a shell exploded precisely under 
 his horse ; after which, as you can imagine, we did 
 not see much of him. A splinter of the shell happened 
 to pass between our captain's bridle-hand and his 
 breast, and I saw with my own eyes this coward go 
 white as a woman's pocket-handkerchief. He gave 
 the word to retire — yes, to retire, while the Austrians 
 were marching ofif a battalion of Frenchmen, pris- 
 oners, under our very noses. There was a movement, 
 a growl — I heard it, the blood rushed to my head, I 
 flew from the ranks, I dealt this traitor such a swing- 
 ing blow with the flat of my sabre that he dropped 
 head downwards and hung senseless from his saddle. 
 * En avant! ' I yelled, brandishing my sabre like a 
 madman; 'A has Ics traitrcs! En avant! Vive la 
 France! ' The whole regiment burst into a shout be- 
 hind me^ ' En avant! En avant! Vive la France! ' 
 and at the same time launching their horses into a 
 furious, an irresistible gallop, hurled themselves on 
 the enemy's ranks. Oh, but I promise you our cap- 
 tain accompanied us ! His horse, braver than him- 
 
 [94]
 
 A TALE OF BRAVE MEN 
 
 self, dragged him, senseless, into battle in front of his 
 men ; but I did not allow him the honour of getting 
 there first — no, not I ! I got there first myself. Ran- 
 ran, ran-ran, tan-plan ! We did the business that time 
 and rescued the prisoners. And it so chanced that 
 our Little Corporal, who was getting annoyed at the 
 conduct of the Austrians in this part of the field, had 
 climbed into a neighbouring mill and was looking on, 
 not in the best of tempers, when our precious captain 
 gave the order to retreat. He was certainly delighted 
 with what I did, although, you can understand, he did 
 not like to say too much about it. He put me on the 
 list for his Guard, and two years afterwards came the 
 Cross." 
 
 " And then people say that our Emperor has a bad 
 memory ! " exclaimed Vidal. 
 
 And everyone fell to extolling the greatness and 
 goodness of the Emperor and the valour of the Ser- 
 geant, who, intoxicated with glorious recollections, 
 drained the heel of a wine-bottle to the health of the 
 Little Corporal, and beat on the table to the tune of — 
 
 Ran-ran, ran-ran, tan-plan, 
 
 Tire-lire ! 
 On va leur enf oncer le flanc — 
 
 Que nous allons rire! 
 
 Then Vidal, not without gratification at numbering 
 the inadmirative Mademoiselle Seraphine among his 
 auditors — since, surely, he must here compel admira- 
 tion — took up the tale of derring-do : 
 
 " As to my first decoration," he said, smoothing his 
 fine and glossy moustache, " I cannot be sure for what 
 
 [95]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 particular feat of arms I received it ; since, like the 
 Sergeant here, I have found that those of which I my- 
 self am proudest have often been least noticed by 
 others. Like him, when the Legion of Honour was 
 instituted, I received the Cross. For my second deco- 
 ration, I won it at Eylau rescuing an Eagle which 
 had by some incredible accident, fallen into the ene- 
 my's hands. In this, as in other affairs, I owed as 
 much to my science in horsemanship as to my skill 
 with the sword. My father bred horses for the army, 
 and the taste is hereditary. I need not tell you what 
 sort of a battle Eylau was " — there was a kind of groan. 
 The carnage of that day had impressed itself on the 
 memory even of the Grand Army. " I had been sent 
 with a message to Murat. The armies were at the mo- 
 ment somewhat intermixed, and I chose to return by 
 a short cut which was practically within the enemy's 
 lines. I did this trusting to the speed of my horse. 
 As I was galloping over a field I saw three Russians 
 coming along a road which I was about to cross. 
 My eyes are good, but I could hardly believe them 
 when I saw that the principal personage of the group 
 carried a French Eagle. There was but one thing to 
 do — the question was how to do it. As I rode slowly 
 towards the road at right angles to them, a couple or 
 more of pistol-bullets whistled past my ears, one of 
 the officers put his horse into a gallop in my direc- 
 tion. I wished for nothing better. On the other side 
 of the road was a considerable coppice with a track 
 through it, and stooping in my saddle as though en- 
 deavouring to urge my horse to its utmost speed, I 
 rode down it till well out of sight, when I slackened 
 my pace. In a minute up comes my Russian thunder- 
 
 [96]
 
 A TALE OF BRAVE MEN 
 
 ing- in pursuit, and shouting out in French, ' Ha! Je 
 te tiens! ' Just as he is on me, I make a quick half- 
 turn to the left ; and, before he can check his impetus, 
 fall on him from the left, and giving him the point, run 
 him completely through the body. This finished, I 
 rode quickly up a path through the coppice in a direc- 
 tion parallel to that of the road, until I came to the. 
 end of the trees, and was delighted to find myself still 
 ahead of my Eagle. As I waited by the roadside, 
 concealed behind some bushes, I had time to observe 
 that the two remaining Russians were an officer and 
 a trooper. The officer, who carried the Eagle, was 
 extremely young, with reddish hair and a high nose ; 
 and as, in spite of his youth, he wore an order set with 
 diamonds, I dubbed him at once the Prince. He was 
 laughing and talking, highly elated no doubt with his 
 capture. When they came near, I let fly with my 
 pistol through the bushes, just to attract their atten- 
 tion ; for, although there are moments when one must 
 shoot or be shot, I confess that firearms afford me 
 little pleasure. The sword ! That is the really beau- 
 tiful thing! The trooper, an elderly man, bounded 
 ahead, but the young Prince followed pretty close 
 behind, so I had not so much leisure as before in 
 which to play my tricks. Nevertheless I tried my 
 half-turn to the left. The Russian, not being at full 
 charge, checked his horse and turned on me ; but my 
 manoeuvre had put him out all the same, and easily 
 parrying his blow, I cut him clean down through the 
 right collar-bone — a stroke of which I should have 
 been proud if I had had time to think of it. By this 
 time my young Prince with the Eagle was on me. 
 Bah! It is not worth talking about that one. It 
 
 [97]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 was an affair of fifty seconds. He had been riding a 
 remarkably fine chestnut mare with a dark mane and 
 tail. This was a prize I could not resist. I mounted 
 her, and dragging my own horse by the reins, shot 
 off like lightning to rejoin my marshal. I was not 
 yet free from the coppice when I heard someone rid- 
 ing in pursuit. I took no notice, believing I could 
 trust my horses. But, to my surprise, the mare on 
 which I was mounted presently slackened speed, in 
 spite of the spur, and whinnied in response to the 
 horse of my pursuer, who meantime gained upon me. 
 It was tiresome, as now I had the Eagle I did not 
 wish to waste time. At length I found myself com- 
 pelled to turn. What I saw gave me a start. Yes, 
 gentlemen, one may be a Frenchman and a soldier, 
 yet one is human. I had left the young Prince of the 
 Eagle round a turn of the track, stretched on the 
 ground with the brains running out of a great gash 
 in his skull : and there he was once more, pursuing 
 me, sword in hand, sitting his chestnut as firmly as 
 ever, his head erect, his eyes sparkling with fury. If 
 it had not been for the other chestnut, whinnying be- 
 tween my own knees, I must have crossed myself and 
 cried Miscricorde. But the wine was poured out and 
 had to be drunk. The lesson I had given my Prince 
 had certainly improved his swordsmanship, for it was 
 several minutes before I succeeded in giving him his 
 quietus, this time striking the head almost off his body, 
 after the fashion of the Mamelukes. Now, my friends, 
 I must confess to a weakness. It was my duty as an 
 aide-de-camp to press on and think of nothing but 
 rejoining my marshal ; but I could not bear to leave 
 behind me two fine horses, or even one. I stopped 
 
 [98]
 
 A TALE OF BRAVE MEN 
 
 to tie together the second chestnut and my own 
 charger — as a boy I had had plenty of practice in this 
 sort of thing — and thus came up to the General Staff, 
 where my marshal was, with all my horses full gallop 
 and my Eagle over my shoulder. Lannes and Savary, 
 to whom my partiality for horses was perfectly well 
 known, received me with a shout of laughter. The 
 Emperor himself was both amused and delighted with 
 the whole affair; and an officer present hazarding 
 the supposition that the two young men so extraor- 
 dinarily resembling each other were the twin sons of 
 Prince Something — one cannot remember these for- 
 eign names — at this also he seemed not displeased. 
 
 " * So much the worse for the Prince,' he said. ' He 
 would not remain friends with me, and now he is 
 punished.' 
 
 " Thus it was, gentlemen, that I won my second 
 decoration." 
 
 Compliments and congratulations followed. 
 
 " I do not merit so much applause," protested 
 Vidal. " We soldiers all know that decorations and 
 promotions are largely a matter of luck — and I was 
 born under a lucky star." 
 
 " I should think so, Colonel," exclaimed the Ser- 
 geant. " Que diable! I have often enough killed my 
 half-dozen men in single combat, but to recover an 
 Eagle, to kill two princes, get two fine horses and a 
 decoration in one little affair — it was magnificent ! " 
 
 "You call that magnificent?" burst out a clear 
 treble, piercing with indignation. " Well, I call it 
 horrible ! " 
 
 The explosion of a bomb in the centre of this circle 
 of warriors would hardly have caused such a sensa- 
 
 [99]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 tion as this jet of condemnatory soprano athwart the 
 flow of applausive bass. There was a pause, then 
 Labourdonnaye remonstrated : 
 
 " You are hard on us, Mademoiselle. Do you think 
 that soldiers can win battles without killing any- 
 one?" 
 
 " Mademoiselle Seraphine has singular tastes," 
 sneered Hector, in a white fume. " Perhaps she pre- 
 fers cowards to brave men. Ah, yes! Perhaps she 
 would have adored that good Captain the Sergeant 
 sent into battle with his head hanging down to his 
 heels." 
 
 Seraphine felt herself quite alone ; yet she too had 
 fighting blood. 
 
 " Not at all. Monsieur," she replied, addressing 
 herself to Labourdonnaye. " Being myself the most 
 cowardly creature in the world, I enormously admire 
 the courage of you gentlemen, which appears to me 
 little short of miraculous. As to the Captain, I think 
 the Sergeant was right ; for when a man is a soldier 
 he ought to do his duty. You must permit me to be 
 a little illogical — it is woman's privilege." 
 
 " And renders her infinitely charming," responded 
 Labourdonnaye, with a smile. 
 
 " But to rejoice in cutting human beings to pieces ! 
 To be proud of having killed two poor boys who, on 
 Colonel Vidal's own showing, were about as fit to 
 encounter an experienced swordsman as I am myself! 
 That's cruel — it's cowardly ! " 
 
 Hector blazed up. 
 
 " This is the first time I have been called a coward. 
 Bah ! What does it matter ? Talk of what you can 
 understand." 
 
 [100]
 
 A TALE OF BRAVE MEN 
 
 But the feminine tongue was now loosed and went 
 over all obstacles. 
 
 " You saw they were brothers ; and you had no 
 pity. Yet they had parents. Think of it ! A poor 
 mother at home, always anxious, always waiting for 
 news. Someone comes and says to her, ' There has 
 been a misfortune.' She asks, 'Which? Which?' 
 And then they have to tell her, * Both — your two sons 
 are dead ; you will never see them again.' And you, 
 meantime, find this amusing — yes, you laugh, you 
 and your Emperor. I tell you it is horrible — hor- 
 rible ! " 
 
 The emotions which Seraphine had all this while 
 been restraining, overcame her ; she burst into tears, 
 and for a long minute there was heard in the embar- 
 rassing silence nothing but the sobs of the young 
 girl. 
 
 [lOl]
 
 IX 
 
 VIVE L'EMPEREUR! 
 
 THE morning of December 23, 1808, broke as 
 tempestuously as the night had closed. Hail 
 sometimes succeeded to snow, but the north 
 wind drove both with the same unrelenting fury across 
 the barren summits of the Sierra. Nevertheless, Vidal 
 and Labourdonnaye set forth on their journey to 
 Madrid. 
 
 It was with a sigh that Miss Dillon saw Major La- 
 bourdonnaye depart. His refined manners and culti- 
 vated mind made him so delightful a contrast to the 
 officers who frequented the Carmona's salon. Al- 
 ready, at the Pardo, he had made an impression upon 
 her, and the kindness and tact with which he had 
 helped her to calm her emotion on the preceding 
 evening had deepened it. That he had no pretensions 
 to good-looks was a positive recommendation to her, 
 since, like most Englishwomen, she had no admira- 
 tion for the masculine type which in France is ad- 
 mired, and the simple exuberant vanity of the jolis 
 gargons of her acquaintance moved her girlish scorn 
 and derision. In short, Miss Dillon had begun to 
 entertain a sentiment, an admiration of a tender nat- 
 ure for Camille Labourdonnaye : to which it need not 
 be objected that she knew him very slightly, for this 
 was surely the very essence of the matter. I must 
 entreat for her the indulgence of the young lady who 
 has had the infinite good fortune to appear on the 
 
 [102]
 
 VIVE L'EMPEREUR! 
 
 world's stage a hundred years later. Even in the 
 dawn of the twentieth century, when Good Sense 
 grows in every garden and Humour is everywhere 
 cuhivated, under glass, such a sentiment will some- 
 times put forth its despised and stunted leaves. How, 
 then, did it flourish and abound when Sensibility was 
 the favourite flower of Society, and as such propagated 
 and imitated ; when to be wanting in Sentiment was 
 as grave a disqualification for the post of Heroine of 
 a novel as it is in this year of grace to be of a serious 
 disposition. The cut of our souls is changed a trifle 
 less quickly than the cut of our sleeves, but full as 
 fantastically, and Fashion has in both branches her 
 Grands Couturiers 
 
 Nevertheless, Miss Dillon dedicated but a few min- 
 utes to the sigh of sensibility, for more pressing af- 
 fairs soon engaged her attention. She quickly made 
 up her mind to escape from her escort before the car- 
 riage should start for Madrid and find her way on 
 foot to the post-house of San Raphael de la Fonda, 
 where she might perhaps secure mules for herself and 
 Pilar, or even a carriage to take them to Medina. If 
 not, they must walk all the way — a matter of seventeen 
 leagues. Unfortunately, the company of Pilar was 
 indispensable, and Pilar firmly declined her part in 
 the adventure. She pointed out that the presence of 
 a body of French troops between the Sierra and Me- 
 dina was a disagreeable circumstance, apart from the 
 fact that the invaders would have left no superfluous 
 donkeys or mules in the villages they had passed 
 through. As to going on foot — "Jesus!" Mean- 
 time, from the snow-choked windows, they looked 
 out from hour to hour upon the same confused and 
 
 [103]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 melancholy nothingness. It seemed as though the 
 convent hung at some fabled edge of the earth, 
 whence the eye plunged straight down into the abyss 
 of chaos, full only of the blind whirling of snow and 
 the steaming of grey cloud upon grey cloud. 
 
 About noon the downfall ceased and although 
 clouds still lay along the ridge, there were rents in 
 them. The stables and outbuildings of the little con- 
 vent lay on the opposite side of the road, and whereas 
 the convent itself was sheltered to the south by a 
 rocky knoll, the stables stood to the south of the crag 
 from which, high on its stone pedestal, the lion of 
 Spain keeps watch over broad Castile. When Sera- 
 phine saw the Sergeant, who had been anxiously wait- 
 ing on the weather, go out and disappear in the grey- 
 ness, she felt sure he had gone to the stables. So she 
 also went out, and climbing on the rock by the lion's 
 pedestal, looked forth, more hopeless than Sister 
 Anne, to see whether, peradventure, deliverance 
 might come riding from the north or from the south. 
 So first she looked northward, and saw the pale fog 
 of cloud lifting and breaking, and the road below 
 winding past Espinar towards Villacastin, round the 
 bases of the darkly-wooded hills, now flecked with 
 snow. Long and earnestly she looked that way, upon 
 which she had confidently thought ere now to be 
 speeding : then languidly, with a sigh, turned her eyes 
 southwards. There, too, was a rent in the enveloping 
 cloud ; the wind tore it wider and wider. First, dis- 
 tant yet distinct, showed the dark towers of Madrid 
 and the pale sunlit mass of its royal palace. Rapidly, 
 like a map unrolled, the whole plain of old Castile 
 spread itself before her to the horizon in the unwonted 
 
 [104]
 
 VIVE L'EMPEREUR! 
 
 whiteness of the snow. But what was that yonder? 
 A dark solid river, flowing, flowing across it ; here a 
 stream diverging, there a stream rejoining the river, 
 and all ending at the foot of the Sierra in a strange 
 kind of sea, dark and solid also. What could it be, 
 this living flood, streaming with more than elemental 
 force across the wintry plain and up the tempest- 
 guarded rampart of the Guadarrama? 
 
 On the first glimpse of its portentous movement, 
 Seraphine called imperatively to the Sergeant, who 
 was in a shed below examining the wheels of their 
 carriage with a view to replacing them by runners. 
 He came out, and after looking fixedly in the direc- 
 tion in which she pointed for above a minute, burst 
 into a loud laugh, of the kind which expresses not 
 amusement but exultant astonishment. 
 
 " What can it be? " " What could it be except the 
 army ? It is the army — it is the Grand Army ! " he 
 cried. " It is on the march ! Already ! Already ! 
 Sacre Nom dc Dicu! What a man is our Emperor! " 
 And he literally danced for joy. 
 
 Then, rushing into the convent building, he shouted 
 till the walls rang again : 
 
 " The Army ! The Army ! Hola, comrades ! The 
 Army is coming this way. Vive VEmpcrcur! " 
 
 The grenadier and the conscript came out to see 
 what this might mean, and in a few minutes the whole 
 party were making their way to a coign of vantage, 
 whence they could see some, at least, of the windings 
 of the road. The wind, continually sweeping over the 
 bare top of the Pass, had prevented any great ac- 
 cumulation of snow there, and what there was, was 
 frozen sufficiently hard to bear the light weight of 
 
 [105]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 Seraphine, though the men often sank in it above 
 their knees. They could now see the head of the 
 advancing army, pushing up a long reach of the road 
 not far below them. Its colours — blue preponderat- 
 ing — its constituent atoms, showed clearly now ; the 
 serried points of arms, the slow plunging and plough- 
 ing upwards of great guns and waggons, that heaved 
 to the struggles of lashed, exhausted horses. They 
 could see the gunners and the drivers pushing at the 
 wheels till they sometimes fell on their faces in the 
 freezing snow. In front of the guns advanced slowly 
 and with difficulty, a squadron of Chasseurs of the 
 Guard, leading their horses. Then came a number of 
 staff-officers and infantry of the Guard, all ahke 
 marching six abreast and linked arm in arm, to resist 
 the force of the blast. There followed in a ceaseless 
 stream, more guns, more waggons, more infantry, 
 more dismounted cavalry ; the mass only broken 
 where a waggon or a gun, overset or stuck fast in a 
 drift, blocked the road. And far away behind them 
 the plain continued the vast panorama of their march. 
 
 The Sergeant, with his eyes rivetted first on one 
 point, then on another, could not contain his exul- 
 tation : 
 
 " There it is on the march. Artillery, baggage- 
 train — everything complete. O, that Little Corporal ! 
 He hears the news yesterday, he saddles and bridles 
 an army of sixty thousand men as easily as another 
 man would saddle and bridle his horse, and, houp-la! 
 he is on its back and vaulting over this detestable lit- 
 tle Sierra as he vaulted over the Great St. Bernard. 
 That is he — yes, I can swear that is he himself. Look ! 
 He is standing by the foremost gun. Heave, boys ! 
 
 [io6]
 
 VIVE L'EMPEREUR! 
 
 Now then, you horses! Ay, there it goes! That's 
 the way things march when our little Great Man is 
 there." 
 
 But now the wind, which had blown one storm 
 from the edge of the Sierra and scattered it over 
 heaven, bore up another as quickly. Clouds, blacker 
 than the former ones but not so low, came racing over- 
 head, and presently the myriad lashes of the hail beat 
 impotently in the faces of the conquering legions. 
 
 The little group of spectators retreated to the con- 
 vent. That wonderful yet sinister spectacle had for 
 the moment almost distracted Seraphine's attention 
 from her own plans and prospects. She could not, 
 indeed, be sure whether this fresh turn of the great 
 kaleidoscope had brought the pattern of the world 
 more into harmony with her own little design, or less. 
 At any rate, clinging to the skirts of this winged army, 
 she might be borne along nearer to her countrymen, 
 whom she longed to join with the morbid longing of 
 the exile. It might be, it appeared only too probable, 
 that this dreadful avalanche of war now gathering on 
 the Sierra would fall upon and overwhelm them. 
 Even so, she would prefer to mingle her misfortunes 
 with theirs. 
 
 "Will you not put the horses to, Sergeant?" she 
 asked, insinuatingly, when the party, all breathless, 
 had regained the convent. " If these guns can be got 
 up the Pass, our carriage can certainly get down it. 
 Pray, Sergeant, be so obliging as to do what I want. 
 For look, if you go back to Madrid you will never 
 catch up your regiment, and will have to stay there 
 all the time the Emperor is fighting the English." 
 
 The Sergeant stroked his moustache thoughtfully. 
 
 [107]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 " That's true enough," he replied. " I would like 
 well to get to Valladolid with the head of the army, 
 and be able to join my regiment there without more 
 ado. But with this infernal carriage, these confounded 
 horses, it is easier said than done. I believe the best 
 plan would be to let the first detachment of cavalry 
 beat down the snow before us and then to press on 
 as quick as we can. The horses shall be put to as 
 soon as the runners are on the carriage — and do you," 
 he added, turning to the other soldiers, " tell these 
 sulky devils of monks to bustle about and bring out 
 all the wood they have got and some good red wine 
 to warm our dear Emperor and our brave comrades 
 when they arrive." 
 
 He looked consideringly at Seraphine and con- 
 tinued presently : 
 
 " As for you, my little lady, I don't quite under- 
 stand you. To tell the truth, you were consigned to 
 me by a commissary of the secret police with the re- 
 mark that you might possibly show me a clean pair 
 of heels before we got far from Madrid. But it seems 
 that, far from wanting to return to Madrid, you are 
 in as great a hurry to get away from it as all the rest 
 of us." 
 
 " Assuredly," replied Seraphine, " there is a mis- 
 take somewhere. I perceived myself that they took 
 me for a person who, on my honour, I am not. But 
 as this mistake happens to suit my plans marvellously 
 well, I beg you, Sergeant, to ask no further questions. 
 I am after all but one of a great many packages that 
 are placed under your care, and, as I think, the least 
 valuable of all." 
 
 The Sergeant chuckled. 
 
 [io8]
 
 VIVE L'EMPEREUR! 
 
 " I hate those gentlemen of the police. The oftener 
 they get done the better I am pleased. But women, 
 women ! How deep they are ! How they lead us 
 poor men by the nose ! Yet there is one man they 
 never deceive, and that is the Emperor. No, no. 
 There is a fellow who is too deep even for you." 
 
 Miss Dillon felt no triumph, but rather terror, in 
 the knowledge that she, the veriest tyro in intrigue, 
 had been compelled by himself to deceive the unde- 
 ceivable. She now hastened to the cold and dirty cell 
 where she and Pilar had spent the night, to prepare 
 for her journey. 
 
 While thus engaged it occurred to her that it 
 wanted but two days to Christmas Day. And so many 
 were the memories that that blessed and joyous fes- 
 tival brought to her mind that a few scalding tears 
 blinded her eyes as she collected her scanty posses- 
 sions and thrust them into her carpet-bag. The Merry 
 Christmases of her childhood were indeed far behind ; 
 yet it was not long since her only toil and anxiety 
 at this season was the completion of the little pres- 
 ents she had begun to make for her grandfather and 
 other friends, and usually neglected to finish in good 
 time. Into no worse ofifence than this had her 
 thoughtless disposition then been able to lead her. 
 But now she had lost forever the guidance and pro- 
 tection of her beloved grandfather and was thrown 
 upon her own resources in a strange and stormy world, 
 what faults and follies was she not capable of com- 
 mitting! She had, however, no time to devote to 
 tender or anxious reflections ; and in a few minutes, 
 having commended herself to the care of God, she 
 once more left the convent. 
 
 [109]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 As she stepped out into the chill air she became 
 conscious of a new sound, a confused human din, 
 making its way into the frozen solitude against the 
 steady rushing of the wind. In a moment she had 
 joined the rest of her party, who stood in a group be- 
 fore the stable door, looking intently down the Pass. 
 Before her was a straight edge, white with new-fallen 
 snow ; beyond that, dimness, immensity. Out of this 
 immensity, capping this snow, burst upon the instant, 
 as it were, the tossing crest of a mighty wave — bright, 
 dark, variegated, swiftly rising, a billowy flood of 
 bayonets, heads, faces, uniforms, rushed over the 
 edge and poured on towards the convent door with a 
 great clamour of exultation. The dismounted cavalry 
 had dropped behind, and at the head, surrounded by 
 a herded press of officers and men, came a gun. It 
 was dragged by four strong horses, the wheelers 
 brown, the leaders a faint yellow against the white- 
 ness of the snow, the coats of all matted, as it were 
 whealed with storm and sweat. And astride the gun 
 sat, draggled to the waist, his long boots full of snow, 
 the Alexander face of him clear-cut, brilliant-eyed, 
 triumphant, the master, the demi-god at whose com- 
 mand this human torrent had not for the first, but 
 for the last time prevailed against the elements and 
 overleapt everlasting barriers. 
 
 As that strange imperial equipage drew rein be- 
 fore the convent, the Emperor sprang from it, and 
 climbing on the rock beside the lion, leaned with one 
 hand on its pedestal, while with the other he waved 
 his hat over his head and cried in a ringing voice : 
 
 " Vive VArmee! Vive la France! " 
 
 And immediately the triumphant clamour about 
 
 [no]
 
 VIVE L'EMPEREUR! 
 
 him organised itself into a great shout, which beat 
 against rock and wall louder than the tempest : 
 
 " Vive VEmpereur! " 
 
 At a gesture from him, silence fell on the seething 
 multitude. 
 
 " Conquerors of the St. Bernard," he said, a proud 
 smile on his lips, " conquerors of man and of nature, all 
 that is most difficult in your task is now accomplished. 
 Before you " — and he pointed down the Pass — " is 
 only vengeance, only glory, because before you is only 
 the English army. Frenchmen, soldiers of the Guard, 
 you have gathered for yourselves abundantly the 
 laurels of Italy, of Egypt, of Germany, of Russia, of 
 Spain : the laurel of England alone remains un- 
 plucked. It has been withheld from you not by the 
 valour, but by the coward prudence of the treacherous 
 foe. To-day it is in your hands ; you have but to 
 reap it with your resistless sabres. Soldiers, I do not 
 say to you, ' Drive the English into the sea ; ' I do 
 not say to you, ' Conquer the English ' — I say to you, 
 ' Destroy them ! ' " 
 
 Once more the great shout went up to heaven ; 
 weapons and headgear tossed over the surface of the 
 crowd. Unmoved amid the enthusiasm, yellow and 
 delicately carved as the gaunt ivory Christ on some 
 old crucifix, showed the face of the Prior on the 
 threshold of the convent : his brown-robed figure tall, 
 erect and spare. He had been summoned by some 
 officers of the Staff, and lay brethren followed, laden 
 with wood and wine. This refreshment he ofifered 
 with dignified courtesy, as became a Spanish gentle- 
 man, but without alacrity, as became a Churchman 
 and a patriot. 
 
 [Ill]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 Meantime new waves of men continued to pour up 
 the road and spread along the top of the ridge : guns 
 with marshals astride of them, dismounted aides-de- 
 camp, orderlies leading their masters' chargers, bear- 
 skins and Kolbachs, bayonets and sabres. All these, 
 while the Emperor and his Staff went within, gath- 
 ered round fires made in every available shelter, or 
 merely standing in the snow, leaned on their weapons 
 and drank the hot wine which was brought them by 
 the brethren. 
 
 The halt must needs be short, for the whole army 
 was following on the Emperor's heels. The news of 
 Sir John Moore's advance and the concentration of 
 Soult's army corps, entailing the withdrawal of Fran- 
 ceschi from Valladolid, had reached Napoleon on 
 December 21st. Late in the afternoon of the twenty- 
 second his entire army, with the exception of a small 
 garrisoning force, was on the march from Madrid to 
 the North. He perceived that the intention of Sir 
 John Moore was merely to lure him from his prostrate 
 prey in the South by threatening his line of communi- 
 cations. But he doubted not by his unrivalled rapidity, 
 by that lightning pounce of his, which hitherto no 
 foe had been found cool or alert enough to evade, 
 to catch and to annihilate the enemy. Whatever he 
 might say in public, he was well aware that the army 
 of Sir John Moore could not amount to more than 
 24,000 men, a miniature force, indeed, to have launched 
 against the gigantic power of Napoleon. Evidently, 
 such an army must perish if caught between his own 
 and that of Soult. This should be no common defeat 
 — it should be a crushing disaster to the arms of Eng- 
 land. At length the hour of vengeance had struck, 
 
 [112]
 
 VIVE L'EMPEREUR! 
 
 at length he would dip his conquering- sword in the 
 blood of his one fiercely-hated, his one implacable 
 foe. In a mood as eager, as passionate and resolved 
 as that in which, ten years before, he had stormed, 
 over the frozen Alps, he hurried his 60,000 men to 
 the foot of the Pass. Spending the night himself in 
 the village of Guadarrama, he endeavoured to push 
 his advanced guard over the Sierra before him. But 
 in the morning the ofBcers in command returned to 
 tell him with one voice that the thing was impossible. 
 The soldiers had toiled manfully through the night — 
 some had already lost their lives in the attempt — but 
 the depth of the drifted snow and the violence of the 
 storm, which blew in their faces, made it impossible 
 for them to advance. Here was the " No " of Fortune, 
 which common sense, both for good and for evil, ac- 
 cepts — which genius, also both for good and for evil, 
 will not accept. Napoleon rushed to the head of his 
 troops. " What ! " he cried ; " shah a mole-hill in 
 Spain stop the conquerors of the St. Bernard?" He 
 leapt from his horse, and, causing the cavalry to dis- 
 mount, bade the men march arm-in-arm, so that no 
 more of their number might be swept away by the 
 wind. He himself marched with the vanguard, arm- 
 in-arm with Savary and Duroc. Thus in a few hours 
 they had reached the top of the Pass which had been 
 declared insurmountable. 
 
 Miss Dillon, stealing round at the back of the rock 
 in order to escape to the convent, heard with anguish 
 the threats the Emperor breathed against her country- 
 men. That it was in his power to fulfil them, she did 
 not question, for the finger of Destiny was as yet but 
 in act to turn that leaf on which was inscribed the 
 
 [113]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 amazing catalogues of his triumphs, and across a page 
 as yet unopened had written his Mene, Mene, Tekel. 
 
 Having returned to her cell, she sat there listening 
 to the rude clamour of the soldiery without and the 
 ring of spurred heels on the pavement within. The 
 time seemed very long, and she wondered what had 
 become of the sergeant, who had vanished from her 
 side immediately on the arrival of the army. Pilar, 
 who could keep watch for three nights together with- 
 out apparent inconvenience, could also sleep when 
 there was nothing better to do. She was now engaged 
 in a pleasant doze, though in a highly uncomfortable 
 posture. Seraphine took her by the hand. 
 
 " Come, Pilar," she said, " you must wake up, for 
 I can bear this suspense no longer." 
 
 She pulled down a gauze veil which protected her 
 face from insolent eyes, and, putting her hand through 
 Pilar's arm, went forth with the courage of despair 
 to find the sergeant. Thus they passed the open door 
 of the Prior's parlour, and saw there several officers 
 of the General Stafif, who, plastered with gold, but 
 soaked and shivering, pressed round the fire. The 
 Emperor sat at a table, on which a large map was 
 spread, talking eagerly to Lannes, who stood bending 
 over it. As Seraphine passed, he brought a pencil 
 down sharply, as though it had been a spear, on a 
 certain spot. 
 
 " And there I catch them," he cried, triumphantly. 
 " Let them get to their ships if they can." 
 
 The two women went quickly by, and round a cor- 
 ner ran into their sergeant. 
 
 " At last. Sergeant, I find you ! " exclaimed Sera- 
 phine. " Well, when do we start for Valladolid ? " 
 
 [114]
 
 VIVE L'EMPEREUR! 
 
 " Instantly, Mademoiselle," replied the sergeant. 
 " How ? Your baggage is already corded up ? Sa- 
 pristi, what a woman! These ladies generally keep 
 everything waiting, from a king's carriage to a tum- 
 bril. Our box fits well enough on its runners, and a 
 couple of pelotons have already trodden down the 
 snow in front of us. It is my opinion we should start 
 before a gun breaks it up — and before that confounded 
 Little Corporal catches sight of us and perhaps for- 
 bids us to encumber the march." 
 
 The carriage, squatted low on runners and with its 
 wheels piled on the roof, was waiting for them, and 
 in a few minutes they had resumed their places inside 
 it among the parcels and picture-frames. To gain it 
 they had to make their way through a mass of soldiers 
 crowded into the little convent out-buildings. Here 
 a frost-bitten man was being rubbed with snow by a 
 comrade, there a group round a fire rejoiced over a 
 smoking pot, while others, less fortunate, contem- 
 plated discontentedly the blue smoke of their own 
 pipes. Fire, wine, food, all were utterly insufficient 
 to satisfy this locust flock ; yet, when it had taken 
 wing, the brethren would be left denuded of their 
 whole year's store of necessaries. 
 
 Slowly the top-heavy carriage lumbered away down 
 the Pass, plunging and rolling like a ship in a storm. 
 But had it been the lightest of sleighs, its progress 
 would scarcely have been more rapid, for it soon be- 
 came entangled in the mass of the marching soldiery, 
 who were in no mood to put themselves out for any- 
 one except the most incontestable authorities. So, 
 hour after hour through the dim window-glass, Sera- 
 phine watched the monotonous succession of white 
 
 [115]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 snow-heaps and the set faces of soldiers tramping, 
 with heads bent, against hail and storm. Some swore 
 beneath their breath, some of the youngest even wept ; 
 others pressed on with a silent determination. They 
 knew that he who dropped by the way — and many 
 had already done so — would in all probability never 
 be seen again. When they arrived at the posting- 
 house of San Raphael de la Fonda the short winter 
 day was closing in. The building was already fully 
 occupied, and the sergeant turned aside to the village 
 of El Espinar. Dressing himself in an authority, 
 brief it might be, but not little, he quartered his party 
 on the most considerable family in the place. 
 
 The dreary dawn, stealing with a sound of buffet- 
 ing winds over the sheeted hills, saw already squadron 
 on squadron, column on column pouring along the 
 northern road. The snow muffled the sound of their 
 feet, and the peasants lighting early lamps, rather 
 from habit than because the hours were precious, 
 looked out and started to see this sinister apparition 
 of an army pass under their windows — coming they 
 knew not whence, going they knew not whither. 
 
 When the sergeant and his party quitted El Espinar 
 the snow was still deep, and after some consideration 
 he left the carriage on the runners. But as the day 
 advanced and they drew away from the frozen Sierra, 
 ' it thawed rapidly. Cavalry and infantry had passed 
 before and came crowding behind them, a fine rain 
 began to fall, and they had scarcely gone more than 
 two leagues when the road became a mere quagmire. 
 Their sleigh-runners sunk through the soft slush and 
 jolted heavily over the rotten surface beneath, so that 
 even the remorseless lash of the driver could hardly 
 
 [ii6]
 
 VIVE L'EMPEREURI 
 
 induce the horses to struggle forward. It was neces- 
 sary to stop at a Venta to replace the wheels, an opera- 
 tion which took a long time, as the tools were few 
 and the workmen less than 'prentice hands. The 
 Venta had at one time been a house of greater pre- 
 tensions and had a balcony, with a glass covering to 
 it, overlooking the high-road, which here narrowed to 
 a village street. Here stood Seraphine and considered 
 how, on a fete day four months ago, she had stood on 
 a balcony at the corner of the Rue Royale and watched 
 perhaps some of these very troops marching, in 
 holiday trim, across the Place de la Revolution and 
 up the Champs Elysees. What admiration had the 
 perfect order and regularity excited. What vivas and 
 noisy surges of music on music from the olificial 
 Veillons an Saint dc rEmpirc to the popular Ran-ran, 
 tan-plan, had accompanied them ! How neat and 
 gay had been the trappings and uniforms, how glossy 
 the steeds, how proudly amiable the masters ! And 
 now, how otherwise all these ! The contrast would 
 not always have been so great. But in consequence 
 of the hot-foot haste of the march and the terrible 
 storm on the Guadarrama, the advance of this splen- 
 didly-organised pursuing army almost resembled the 
 flight of a conquered one. The first battery which 
 Seraphine had seen that day came struggling through 
 the deep slush of the street as she stood on the bal- 
 cony. Horses and men bore the traces of the terrible 
 passage over the Pass. The men were exhausted, 
 dirty, and irritable ; the horses exhausted and raw 
 from the lash. A horse fell down, and the street was 
 temporarily blocked, except for a trickle of foot- 
 passengers. More gims, ammunition-waggons, pro- 
 
 [117]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 vision-waggons, gunners and drivers already com- 
 peting for roadway, continued to press into the village 
 street, which seemed like to burst with the congestion 
 of traffic ; the more because every man who held 
 whip or reins poured forth his feelings on some other 
 man similarly situated, while the officers who were 
 compelled to march their troops through the hurly- 
 burly added their quota of objurgations to the pande- 
 monium. Yet when the unfortunate horse had been 
 pulled and kicked to its feet, and the battery and the 
 aggregation of vehicles behind it had gone by, there 
 was still no lack of commotion. The cavalry were 
 being pushed to the front in order to cut ofif, or at 
 any rate retard, the retreat of the English to Portugal. 
 Now it was the Chasseurs of the Guard, now the 
 Mamelukes who, eager as their master to be in touch 
 with the enemy, struck like a wedge through the 
 serried ranks of the infantry, and pressed on, amid 
 oaths and words of command, sometimes explosions 
 of Oriental rage, huddling to right and left of them in 
 their impetuous course men, animals, and waggons 
 loaded with cannon-balls or sacks. And, meantime, 
 blue coats of infantry, baggy red trousers and turbans 
 of Mamelukes, men, horses, waggons, and sacks were 
 becoming every instant more soaked with the tor- 
 rential rain, more spattered and plastered with the 
 abysmal mud. And, ever and anon, worming their 
 way hurriedly, anxiously through the regular advance, 
 singly or in groups, there passed haggard, worried- 
 looking men in various uniforms — stragglers, whom 
 the remorseless speed of the march had shaken ofif 
 from the head of the army, or whom the terrible cold 
 of the night had incapacitated from starting early with 
 their regiment. 
 
 [118]
 
 VIVE L'EMPEREUR! 
 
 At length Miss Dillon perceived in the street a 
 regiment of Chasseurs of the Guard, green dolman 
 and scarlet pelisse, with an officer of rank at their 
 head whose face she remembered to have seen. And 
 it occurred to her that this was the sergeant's General, 
 Lefebre Desnouettes, for a word with whom he had 
 been sighing and groaning as never poor gentleman 
 sighed and groaned for a word with his Dulcinea. So 
 down flew Seraphine to the sergeant, and out flew 
 the sergeant to the General — which expeditiousness 
 was, on Seraphine's part, pure good-nature, since 
 nothing was expected or desired of the General ex- 
 cept that he should win the sergeant release from a 
 charge grown irksome. He came back all smiles, 
 Lefebre Desnouettes having welcomed the idea of 
 getting him back to his place in the regiment before 
 it went into action. The Emperor was to pass shortly 
 and would halt at Villacastin, where the General 
 would speak to him on the matter. The sergeant he 
 recommended to drive that evening as far as San- 
 chidrian, where the chasseurs were to halt. The car- 
 riage delayed to start till the Emperor should have 
 passed, for the sergeant knew what that meant, and 
 feared to irritate him. Soon this happened. It seemed 
 as though a wind ran before him, sweeping the road 
 clear for a mile ahead. Everything and everybody 
 was quiet and made themselves small. Fortunately, 
 there was no regiment in the street at the moment — 
 only a number of stragglers, who made themselves 
 smallest of all. Then seven or eight persons, well 
 wrapped in their cloaks, came galloping up the road 
 against the rain. It might have been thought im- 
 possible to gallop through this quagmire, but the 
 
 [119]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 Emperor's relays were always composed of the best 
 horses, and if one should put its foot into a hole — 
 so much the worse for it. The Great Man himself, 
 in small matters as in big, had his star to trust in. 
 Savary rode first, the Emperor next ; the others strag- 
 gled after. So with a clatter of hoofs — above all, with 
 a squish and splatter of mud — the flying procession 
 sped past under the balcony and away. 
 
 Seraphine felt sure she had seen Vidal on a light 
 chestnut horse, with a dark mane and tail, riding im- 
 mediately behind the Emperor. How far away — nay, 
 how unreal — seemed the Vidal of the Carmona's 
 salon! Napoleon himself she realised under a totally 
 different aspect. Henceforward the world which he 
 had so easily trodden under foot appeared to her a 
 less feeble and dishonoured thing. 
 
 Once started, the carriage soon reached Villacastin. 
 They found that the Emperor had halted there for the 
 night, exhausted himself by his exertions, and de- 
 sirous of rallying his scattered and exhausted troops. 
 Some of his private baggage was added to their load, 
 a mule having broken down, and they then proceeded 
 to Sanchidrian, the more easily because the halt at 
 Villacastin had been pretty general. They had now 
 left the mountains far behind them, and their road 
 ran under a low range of reddish flat-topped hills. 
 Away to the western horizon stretched brown, hedge- 
 less, treeless, under a gloomy sky, the featureless 
 plain, the " Campo " of which Medina is " the City." 
 
 At Sanchidrian, General Lefebre had courteously 
 reserved quarters for Mademoiselle Seraphine and her 
 maid. The Emperor, with whom he was a favourite, 
 had not only granted his request that the sergeant 
 
 [120]
 
 VIVE L'EMPEREUR! 
 
 should rejoin his regiment, but had given orders that 
 the other soldiers of the escort should rejoin the 
 army and their places be taken by such temporary 
 invalids as it appeared most desirable to help on the 
 march to Tordesillas. 
 
 As the carriage jolted along the narrow, ill-paved 
 streets of Sanchidrian, and past the great square- 
 towered church, they perceived a man standing be- 
 fore a shrine in the wall. He was wrapped in the 
 usual brown cloak, but his head was uncovered, be- 
 cause he was whispering a prayer, and the light of a 
 lamp fell upon it. Pilar knew the man. He came from 
 Medina del Campo, and was in close relation with 
 the gucrrillcros. The door of the house the two 
 women were to occupy was but a few yards further, 
 and, immediately on descending from the carriage, 
 Pilar returned to the neighbourhood of the shrine, 
 and, crossing herself, afifected to mutter a prayer. 
 But in a minute she went round a corner and the 
 man followed. He had come over yesterday on a 
 good mule, now hidden in a neighbouring cellar. 
 His business was partly private, but his chief object 
 in coming had been to get information as to the move- 
 ments of the French army. Pilar was able to tell him 
 very exactly the whereabouts of the Emperor, and 
 even the numbers of the army, as stated by the ser- 
 geant. She told him that the Emperor intended to 
 reach Tordesillas on the following day ; but they both 
 agreed that, considering the state of the roads, it was 
 unlikely he would go further than Medina. The man 
 was just about to start on his return journey, since 
 the French troops were all halted for the night. He 
 promised that Pilar's cousins and the other adherents 
 
 [121]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 of Don Fernando in Medina should be told to expect 
 Miss Dillon. They would doubtless form some plan 
 for aiding- her escape — the Chief had given them strict 
 injunctions with regard to her — and for forwarding 
 her to Zamora, whence he would send her to the 
 head-quarters of the English army. To Pilar's ques- 
 tion with regard to the whereabouts of the English, 
 he could give but a vague reply. They were known 
 to be retreating as rapidly as the French were ad- 
 vancing ; but some of them were still on this side of 
 the Esla. They might even be at Zamora. 
 
 The meeting with this man had been a piece of 
 great good-luck, yet Miss Dillon felt much more ter- 
 ror than satisfaction at finding herself face to face 
 with the issue of six months of wandering. There 
 was indeed no danger, pain, or difificulty so slight that 
 the prevision of it could not cause her miseries of 
 apprehension ; but, like many nervous persons, when 
 it came to the pinch she could find about her as much 
 courage as most other people, and sometimes even a 
 little more. 
 
 She rose after a sleepless night, and in the dim, 
 rainy dawn of this strange Christmas Day, said good- 
 bye to the sergeant under a dank stone archway 
 smelling horribly of mules. She parted from him with 
 sincere regret, but in his mind there was little room 
 for such a sentiment. His foot was in the stirrup, 
 his sabre was at his side, and he was at length about 
 to exercise his glorious and beloved art of carving 
 and slicing his fellow-creatures on the bodies of the 
 cowardly and detested English — unless, indeed, they 
 continued to run away too fast for the French to catch 
 them up. This, however, was one of those disappoint- 
 
 [122]
 
 VIVE L'EMPEREUR! 
 
 ing possibilities which the cheerful mind refuses to 
 contemplate. 
 
 After the sergeant was gone, the morning hours 
 passed cheerlessly enough in her dirty, carpetless bed- 
 room, with its view across a yard or two of rain to 
 an equally dingy house opposite. From time to time 
 the two women heard the sound of troops marching 
 by on the neighbouring high-road, and soldiers passed 
 in and out of other houses in the street. Their small 
 baggage was ready to be placed in the carriage when- 
 ever it should arrive, and they had no occupation, 
 except what they could extract from a pack of cards 
 which Seraphine carried in her reticule. So while the 
 Grand Army was sweeping past and the crisis of her 
 own little fate impending, Miss Dillon spent several 
 hours playing at piquet and beggar-my-neighbour 
 with her maid. Such is the destiny of woman — so 
 dull, so trivial, that to face it with an unshattered mind 
 asks a courage compared to which that of Hector 
 Vidal or of the sergeant is, when well considered, little 
 better than boyish high spirits. 
 
 At length the carriage arrived and they continued 
 their journey. It differed little in its accompaniments 
 from that of the preceding day, except that, as the 
 horses were more tired and the authoritative sergeant 
 gone, their progress was slower. Evening fell when 
 they were not far past Arevalo. Their road soon be- 
 came perfectly solitary, for neither officers nor men 
 cared, unless under express orders, to march at night 
 through a country where a man who dropped behind 
 in the darkness was likely to be found next morning 
 a horribly mutilated corpse. There were, however, 
 six armed men on the roof of the carriage, and their 
 
 [123]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 fear of the peasantry was a small thing in comparison 
 to their anxiety at finding themselves late with the 
 Emperor's luggage. 
 
 The plain was here broken by low flat-topped hills, 
 or rather hillocks, and woods of stunted pine. Some- 
 where in the upper fields of air the moon was still 
 shining, so that, even under her heavy shroud of 
 vapour, the earth was not in total darkness. Sera- 
 phine fell asleep. She was half awakened by she knew 
 not what. The carriage was dragging heavily through 
 a little marshy stream or pool, and she could dimly 
 see the silhouette of a soldier walking beside it, 
 holding on to it and speaking to the men on the 
 roof: 
 
 " Comrades," it kept saying, in a beggar's whine, 
 a moan, a scream, " comrades, you will not leave me! 
 No, you are Frenchmen — you have good hearts — 
 comrades, you cannot leave me ! " 
 
 The men on the roof reiterated some grufif reply, 
 the carriage got itself out of the quagmire with a 
 jolt, the driver cracked his whip, and Seraphine, just 
 shaking ofif her drowsiness, saw the silhouette's chin 
 drop on his musket, and heard a loud report close to 
 the window. There was a long-drawn multiple ex- 
 clamation from the roof. At the same moment Sera- 
 phine put her head out of the window, uttering a cry 
 of horror. Behind there was a long dark heap, still 
 stirring. It lay half in the gleamy marsh-water, half 
 in the road. 
 
 " Stop, stop ! " she screamed ; but the driver only 
 lashed his horses the more. 
 
 The young lady continued to cry out, and presently, 
 when the horses could no longer keep up this speed, a 
 
 [124]
 
 VIVE L'EMPEREUR! 
 
 soldier climbed down from the roof and stood on the 
 step of the carriage. 
 
 " Yes, it is very sad, Mademoiselle ; but what 
 would you have? We cannot take up all these poor 
 devils of stragglers : we are in a hurry and there is 
 no room on the carriage." 
 
 " But there is room for one more inside. Look ! 
 Indeed we can make room for one. They are your 
 comrades, Monsieur — you cannot leave them to perish 
 thus. Oh, I assure you, there is still room for one ! " 
 
 " We will see. Most likely we shall not meet any 
 more to-night." 
 
 Strange to say, Seraphine very soon fell asleep 
 again, and much more heavily than before. She 
 neither heard nor saw anything of a man leading a 
 lame horse — a fine chestnut horse with a black mane 
 and tail — whom the carriage caught up just where 
 the bare road took a plunge into a black stunted wood. 
 
 " Hola ! Halt ! " he cried. 
 
 The driver took no notice. The man loosed his 
 own animal and leapt angrily to the carriage-horses' 
 heads. Seizing them with a powerful grip, he threw 
 them back almost on their haunches. 
 
 " Halt, fool! " he cried again. " I am aide-de-camp 
 to the Emperor." 
 
 The carriage went without lamps, but someone 
 turned a dark-lantern on the unknown's face. 
 
 " Que diablc! " he exclaimed. " It is then you, 
 Colonel?" 
 
 " I should think it was I ! " returned Vidal, who 
 was pale and harassed. " My horse and I have been 
 going at racing speed over these infernal roads for 
 the last ten hours, and now I believe he is foundered. 
 
 [125]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 I am on the Emperor's business, and you must take 
 me up whether you have room or not." 
 
 " You can have a place inside, Colonel ; although 
 it is already full of women and parcels." 
 
 " Ah, bah ! It's all the same to me. How far do 
 you go ? " 
 
 The driver shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " As far as the Emperor goes. We have luggage 
 of his." 
 
 " Good. That will suit me perfectly. Drive straight 
 to his quarters. My poor Selim ! " — he turned to his 
 horse, raised his pistol, hesitated, put it back again. 
 " No, no — I cannot. Adieu, Selim ! " 
 
 He patted the beautiful animal's neck, gave it a 
 lingering look, and a soldier respectfully opening the 
 carriage door, jumped in. 
 
 " Madam," he said, addressing Pilar, who partly 
 woke up, " I ask your pardon for disturbing you, but 
 necessity knows not the laws of politeness." 
 
 His mind was too much occupied for him to ask 
 himself what women these were on whom he intruded. 
 It appeared to him to be a matter of no consequence. 
 
 Pilar pushed up nearer to her mistress, a motion- 
 less little heap of wraps, and presently fell a-snoring 
 again. Hector Vidal, to whom the Emperor had 
 permitted scarcely a minute of repose since he had 
 joined the StafT in the Pass of Guadarrama, also fell 
 asleep with all the promptitude of an experienced 
 campaigner. Thus he slumbered peacefully in one 
 corner of the roomy carriage and Seraphine in the 
 other, and between them sat, not merely the sleeping 
 waiting-maid, but Fate, open-eyed. 
 
 [126]
 
 X 
 
 THE PEASANT CAVALCADE ' 
 
 (( 
 
 H 
 
 IS Majesty is then determined to proceed ? " 
 It was a colonel of chasseurs who asked, 
 in a dolorous voice. 
 
 The Duke de Rovigo answered, brutally: 
 
 " You may be sure he is, Colonel. And, for my 
 part, if His Majesty had determined to cut ofi his fin- 
 gers, I should not be fool enough to try to dissuade 
 him." 
 
 The observation was aimed at Lannes, who smiled 
 drily. 
 
 " I believe you, M. le due. Our Emperor possesses 
 many loyal subjects ; but if the English kill me, he 
 will no longer possess one loyal friend." 
 
 They stood in the wide gateway of a house in the 
 Plaza of Medina del Campo. The square was dark 
 except for the glimmer of pious lamps lighted before 
 Virgins of the doorways, and the more robust flame 
 of two lanterns in the centre, where a picket of 
 mounted chasseurs stood drawn up in complete si- 
 lence, save when a bit jingled or a charger pawed 
 the ground. But in this particular gateway, and in 
 the small court beyond, lights of all kinds had been 
 fixed, for the Emperor was there. Torches flared in 
 the more sheltered corners, lamps and lanterns were 
 dotted everywhere about, since no one knew what the 
 sinewy brown men who stood back against the wall 
 as the Emperor and his escort dashed through the 
 
 [127]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 narrow streets of Spanish towns and villages might 
 conceal under those brown cloaks of theirs and behind 
 inscrutable visages. He was expected to start for 
 Tordesillas in a few minutes now, and there were half 
 a dozen officers of rank and twice as many others 
 hanging about in the entrance. Wheels rattled over 
 the terrible cobble-stones, splashed through the vast 
 puddles of the square : in a minute, a carriage shining 
 with rain, dragged by worn-out horses, and heavily 
 Jaden with soldiers and baggage, rolled into the patch 
 of light before the door. Everyone looked towards 
 it; and for that reason did not observe a man who, 
 at the same moment, appeared, descending a stone 
 staircase on the further side of the gateway. He stood 
 on one of the lower steps and watched. 
 
 The carriage had not fully stopped when Hector 
 Vidal flung open the door and jumped out; yet 
 he paused almost mechanically to open it for the 
 women. 
 
 " Come, come, ladies ! " he cried, impatiently, as 
 Pilar fumbled and delayed within. 
 
 " I cannot wake Mademoiselle," she returned, try- 
 ing unsuccessfully to lift Miss Dillon. Vidal seized 
 the small wrapped-up creature, who, to his unobser- 
 vant eyes, appeared a child, and lifting her as lightly as 
 a feather set her on her feet well inside the gateway. 
 The wraps fell from her, and she looked vaguely 
 round, pushing the loosened curls from her face. Her 
 eyes, her mouth, her cheeks were soft and bright with 
 the warmth of sleep, like those of an awakening child. 
 There made itself felt about her that hush of silent 
 homage, of pleased attention which is now and then 
 perceptible even in a drawing-room crowd, suddenly 
 
 [128]
 
 THE PEASANT CAVALCADE 
 
 subdued before the natural royalty of beauty. Hector 
 Vidal himself, all amazement though he was, could 
 not forbear a smile of pleasure at so much innocent 
 loveliness as he stood at her side holding her white 
 shawl in his hands. 
 
 This attentive pause, though perceptible, was short, 
 for the man on the stairs had a royalty of another and 
 more compelling kind, which to have overlooked but 
 for a minute seemed already half a treason. The 
 officers drew back and saluted. The Emperor was 
 standing there as if lost in thought. He held a sealed 
 despatch in one hand with which he was lightly tap- 
 ping the thumb of the other; his head was sunk on 
 his breast. He did not raise it, but at the moment 
 Seraphine, following the direction of all eyes, per- 
 ceived the Emperor, his gaze shot from under the 
 shadow of his brows, met and, as it were, led hers till 
 it rested on Hector Vidal. Where she was, how she, 
 how he, came there, was dim. But the figures of 
 Vidal, of the Emperor were distinct past praying for 
 their dissipation. She looked wildly round for Pilar, 
 but the waiting-maid had vanished ; and she forgot to 
 curtsey. 
 
 " Ah, there you are, Vidal," said the Emperor, in 
 an unmoved voice. " You have been a long time 
 about your business." 
 
 The young man stepped forward, presenting a letter. 
 
 " Sire, my horse foundered on the road from Are- 
 valo, and I should not be here now if a carriage of 
 your Majesty's had not happened to pass, which 
 brought me to Medina." 
 
 The Emperor read through his letter, and pocketed 
 it before resuming: 
 
 [129]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 " Which of your horses did you say was foun- 
 dered?" 
 
 " Selim, Sire." 
 
 " Ah, that is a pity. He was the best, and you will 
 have need of the best. You shot him, I suppose ? " 
 
 " No, Sire. I could not be sure there was no chance 
 for him. I left him. Some of our fellows may pick 
 him up." 
 
 " How many leagues from here ? " 
 
 " I do not know, Sire." 
 
 " You left your favourite horse behind for some- 
 one else to pick up ? " 
 
 " Sire, there are things which one prefers even to 
 one's horse." 
 
 " So it appears. Have you Selim's twin, Fatmeh, 
 on this relay? " 
 
 " No, Sire." 
 
 " The worse for you. But all your horses are su- 
 perior to anyone else's. Yet it is not for this reason 
 that I select you " — here the Emperor raised his 
 voice — " for an exceedingly dangerous mission. I 
 have here a despatch for Salamanca, which I have 
 hesitated to send. The country on that side is infested 
 with bandits, and were I to detach soldiers enough 
 to protect each other they could not go sufficiently 
 fast. You must trust solely to the speed of your 
 horse and to your good luck — which up to to-day 
 has been remarkable." 
 
 " I shall also trust to my sword, Sire." 
 
 " Very well. You will rejoin me at Valderas on 
 the 28th. By that time our cavalry will be on the 
 Esla and in possession of Benevente." 
 
 Vidal bowed, took the despatch, and went out to 
 
 [130]
 
 THE PEASANT CAVALCADE 
 
 find a fresh horse. His heart was troubled, but this 
 was not because of the frightful risk he was called 
 upon to run. His nerves being of iron and his con- 
 fidence in his own strength, skill, and good fortune 
 unbounded, he felt this as little as it was in humanity 
 to do ; although to perish at the hands of a savage 
 peasantry was not a fate to be chosen by the lover 
 of glory. • Rather it was something in his beloved 
 Emperor's manner of addressing and looking at him 
 which filled him with uneasiness. Vidal could almost 
 have believed that the Great Man disliked his whilome 
 favourite. He racked his brains for possible causes 
 of offence as he lay down to get a few hours' sleep 
 before starting, and suddenly remembered his few 
 mad words in the royal box at the Pardo concerning 
 the young lady whom the Emperor must have seen 
 him lift out of the carriage on their arrival at Medina 
 that evening. And in the two minutes which elapsed 
 before he fell asleep he uttered the name of Seraphine 
 with a groan which was not that of the love-sick and 
 rejected swain. 
 
 For Seraphine, when the Emperor, raising his voice 
 and casting a glance in her direction, announced his 
 intention of sending Vidal on a dangerous mission, 
 she could scarcely forbear rushing forward and falling 
 at his feet to implore mercy for the most unconscious 
 of culprits. Although her heart fluttered in her 
 breast, and she would much have liked the earth to 
 open and swallow her, she was yet determined to 
 make the Emperor hear the truth. It was therefore 
 almost with relief that she saw him beckon her for- 
 ward. She followed him into the court-yard of the 
 house, which had round it a crumbling arcade and in 
 
 [131]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 the middle a well. A lantern had been placed upon 
 the well, and the Emperor went and stood by it. 
 Even so they were at no great distance from the 
 soldiery under the arcade, and both spoke in low 
 voices. 
 
 " So, Mademoiselle, you have broken your word ! 
 I expected it. Well, you have seen the consequences. 
 There is exactly one chance in a hundred that Colonel 
 Vidal will return alive. I say there is one chance, 
 because if there were none I should not send him. 
 I do not throw away the lives of valuable officers for 
 nothing, even to punish disobedience." 
 
 "What disobedience. Sire? If your Majesty has 
 not told Colonel Vidal he was forbidden to see me, 
 he does not know it. For the rest, Sire, he has just 
 told you, his presence in our carriage was purely ac- 
 cidental. I myself knew nothing of it till this mo- 
 ment. I have slept so profoundly that, I assure your 
 Majesty, I do not even know in what town I am." 
 
 " You were in the same house with Vidal on the 
 Guadarrama for at least twelve hours, and you did 
 not tell him of my prohibition? " 
 
 " No, Sire." 
 
 "And why not?" 
 
 " Because — because I scarcely spoke to him. O 
 Sire, I have done very wrong! I told your Majesty 
 a lie in Madrid. Your Majesty threatened me with 
 imprisonment if I did not name my lover, and I was 
 frightened and named this unfortunate officer because 
 there was no other person I could think of. But he 
 is not, he never has been, my lover. We are even 
 on bad terms — which accounts for his calumniating 
 me to your Majesty. I entreat you, Sire, to spare his 
 
 [132]
 
 THE PEASANT CAVALCADE 
 
 life and to restore him to your favour, which he has 
 never deserved to lose." 
 
 " You mean to tell me you were not aware that 
 Vidal was travelling in the same carriage with you ? " 
 
 " I was not, Sire." 
 
 " You were not aware that he carried you into this 
 house in his arms?" 
 
 " No, Sire." 
 
 " Your effrontery is extraordinary — it is even 
 stupid. I told you that if you resumed your relations 
 with this officer, both should suffer ; and I keep my 
 word. If his luck brings him safely through this 
 affair, for him I shall not be severe. As to you — my 
 police inform me that during the last four months, 
 that is, ever since you have been connected with my 
 entourage, there has been a leakage of private informa- 
 tion, some of which could only have been obtained 
 from some man in Vidal's position. They believe it 
 to have been furnished by a female spy. My soldiers 
 have just now something better to do than to act as 
 custodians of women and works of art ; therefore I 
 shall give orders that for the present you are to be 
 kept under lock and key at Valladolid. We shall see 
 whether my enemies continue to receive so much in- 
 formation about me — some accurate, some highly 
 calumnious." 
 
 " Sire, I am absolutely innocent of this thing. Yet 
 of myself I say nothing — I only entreat and implore 
 you to have pity on Colonel Vidal. He is young, a 
 brave soldier, perfectly loyal to your Majesty " 
 
 " And not your lover, heinf Mcntcuse! " There 
 was a contempt, the more crushing for its coldness, in 
 the word which the Emperor spoke almost in her ear 
 
 [133]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 as he stepped hastily past her to rejoin his party in the 
 gateway, where they were waiting in some impatience 
 and more surprise. 
 
 Seraphine remained standing where he had left her. 
 She was only dimly aware of the clatter and bustle 
 in the Plaza as the Emperor rode off, accompanied 
 by his usual suite and the picket of chasseurs. 
 
 Presently, as she stood by the well, leaning her 
 elbow upon it, her face in her hand, a soldier came 
 up. 
 
 " The Emperor has seen for himself that the horses 
 cannot go further to-night. We have quartered our- 
 selves in this house, and you shall have the best room 
 in it. This will be a little compensation for having 
 the key turned on you. It is a poor trade for a soldier 
 to be jailer to a pretty young lady — but what would 
 you have? One must obey orders." 
 
 Seraphine was shown into a room well furnished 
 and warmed, but in a state of wild confusion. The 
 bed-clothes were tossed in all directions, the floor 
 littered with torn fragments of paper, the table with 
 spilled ink, spoiled pens, and a crumpled map. The 
 Great Man had rested there for a few hours. This 
 room led out of a lobby, and the soldiers conceived 
 themselves to have sufficiently fulfilled the Emperor's 
 behest when they had locked the outer door. The 
 lobby was lighted by a window on to the staircase. 
 Here Seraphine anxiously awaited the arrival of Pilar, 
 whom she rightly conjectured to have gone out into 
 the town immediately on leaving the carriage in order 
 to get help and information from her relations. It had 
 been planned that Seraphine should walk out of any 
 house where she might alight, under cover of dark- 
 
 [134]
 
 THE PEASANT CAVALCADE 
 
 ness, and take refuge wherever Pilar's cousins should 
 advise. At Sanchidrian, where they were perfectly 
 free from surveillance, they could easily have done 
 this. 
 
 At length Pilar ascended the stone stair, and, with 
 her head out of window, Seraphine whispered the 
 fact of her imprisonment. They spent but a few 
 minutes in consultation before Pilar again stole out, 
 and did not return that night. Seraphine found her 
 absence not altogether regrettable. She felt that had 
 another person been there she could not have resisted 
 the inclination to confide her remorse, her anguish 
 of mind with regard to Colonel Vidal. Now, Pilar, 
 devoted as a dog to those she loved, knew not the 
 meaning of justice or pity towards an enemy. She 
 could but have explained the young lady's emotion 
 by the supposition that, after all, the handsome cav- 
 alry officer had made an impression on her heart. 
 For Seraphine, had she been reared the veriest pagan, 
 she would have been incapable of vindictive passion ; 
 and if the careful moral training she had received 
 from her grandfather could not prevent her from 
 doing wrong, it made her very sensible of her own 
 wrong-doing. How bitterly did she repent of her 
 falsehood, which to the simplicity of her mind seemed 
 now about to lay on her soul the guilt of blood ! 
 How fervently did she pray that God would preserve 
 the life of Hector Vidal, whatever might become of 
 her own ! She remembered too late that her grand- 
 father had been used to say that lying was not only 
 the meanest but the silliest of vices. For if the liar 
 fails to deceive — which he does much more frequently 
 than he supposes — he gets nothing for his pains but 
 
 [135]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 ridicule and contempt. If he be believed, it is likely 
 — so short are human views — to bring him in a crop 
 of consequences totally different from any he imag- 
 ined, and it may be inconvenient to himself as well as 
 to other persons. 
 
 It was long before Seraphine composed herself to 
 sleep, and she was woke early in the morning by the 
 return of Pilar. Pilar informed her that there were 
 several men of Don Femando's band at that moment 
 in Medina, on their way from Almedo to Zamora, 
 and that a plan had been formed for the rescue of 
 Miss Dillon on her way to Tordesillas. They doubted 
 not to succeed, since there was not a peasant in the 
 country but would welcome any opportunity of play- 
 ing a trick on the French ; and the popularity of her 
 uncle the General, and yet more of her brother Don 
 Patricio, was great in the district. 
 
 It was thus in a tremor of nervous expectation that 
 Seraphine started afresh on her journey. Of all the 
 army only a regiment or two of cavalry had spent 
 the night at Medina del Campo. The Guard had 
 pushed on to Tordesillas ; the bulk of the regiments 
 had found the forced march from Villacastin beyond 
 their powers, and had halted for the night at various 
 points short of Medina. The road was then fairly 
 free from traffic, though extraordinarily muddy. Now, 
 hitherto the advance of the army had been through a 
 desert. There had been a notable absence of those 
 slow processions of priest and peasant, caballcro and 
 muleteer, which, with brown churches and battle- 
 mented walls for background, inform with beauty the 
 fiat landscape of central Spain. Therefore the sol- 
 diers should have been more surprised than was Miss 
 
 [136]
 
 THE PEASANT CAVALCADE 
 
 Dillon when, between Medina and Tordesillas, a party 
 of peasants emerged from a field-track on the high- 
 road. There were women seated on donkeys and 
 mules between bulging saddle-bags, clothed in skirts 
 and bodices of various colours, but their heads uni- 
 formly mufifled in orange handkerchiefs ; men, su- 
 perbly wrapped in the brown toga of Spain, trudging 
 afoot or bestriding their steeds, supported by such 
 peaked saddles and flamboyant stirrups as might have 
 appertained to Don Quixote himself. Besides these 
 peasants there was on this particular bit of road, 
 running hedgeless and flat through flat fields oozy 
 with rain, nothing visible on the universal brown ex- 
 cept, in the remote distance, a wood of stunted pines, 
 through which went disappearing a body of cavalry, 
 and, much nearer, a solitary Vcnta, or wayside inn. 
 The peasants, pounding along through the mud, kept 
 close together, conversing as they went in hoarse, 
 harsh voices, and neither passing the carriage nor 
 falling far behind it. At a certain point there was a 
 slight dip in the ground, and, in consequence of the 
 heavy rains, a spring had overflowed the road in a 
 wide pool. This was the work of accident, but in 
 the middle of the pool some deep holes had been dug, 
 which the water filled and concealed. These, though 
 dangerous to cavalry, were no insuperable obstacle, 
 and even the carriage-horses, anxiously watched by 
 the peasants, did not fall, but scrambled and splashed 
 in them, with much swearing and whip-cracking at 
 their backs. But the unfortunate horses, although 
 they remained on their legs, were evidently unable to 
 drag the carriage out of the difficulties amid which 
 it and they were wallowing, and half a dozen of the 
 
 [137]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 men behind proffered their services with such good- 
 will as the French soldiers were not accustomed to 
 find in Spain. Wading recklessly into the water, they 
 heaved and tugged at the wheels with an energy which 
 presently resulted in the horses struggling up on to 
 the level of the road, dragging the carriage up after 
 them. But whether because the wheels had been 
 attached to it in hasty and amateur fashion, or because 
 it had been left unwatched in the Plaza during the 
 night, or owing to both causes, the strain of emergence 
 was too much for it. A wheel came off, it fell on its 
 side with a heavy crash, and several soldiers and a 
 great deal of baggage were shot into the mud. Shrill 
 and dismal was the clamour that arose within, but 
 long within it did not remain. Miss Dillon and her 
 maid were dragged out into the road, where the 
 young lady fell into the arms of her maid in a fit of 
 violent hysterics. Such conduct caused no surprise, 
 hysterics being considered, even by the rudest soldier, 
 as a very natural result of a carriage accident in which 
 delicate females were involved. The landlord of the 
 Venta and one or two men who were drinking in the 
 shelter of the wall, came to the assistance of the sol- 
 diers, who not being, like the sergeant, men of re- 
 source, stood helplessly round the fallen carriage and 
 cursed. The peasants, for the most part, after bestow- 
 ing a stare upon the victims of the disaster, drew up 
 in a body at the Venta and called for wine. Some 
 went inside and some stayed with the donkeys and 
 mules, which stood in clusters about the house. Mean- 
 time, the landlady, a handsome, rosy woman, with a 
 roguish twinkle in her dark eye, came to the succour 
 of the young lady with a torrent of sympathetic ex- 
 
 [138]
 
 THE PEASANT CAVALCADE 
 
 clamation and assisted her within. They had no 
 sooner got across the threshold than Miss Dillon 
 stood up, and, wiping from her eyes the tears which, 
 to her own surprise, she had conjured there, said, very 
 calmly, in her best Spanish : 
 
 " A thousand thanks, Senora. I fear you are run- 
 ning some risk on my account." 
 
 " Come this way, dear Sehorita," replied the land- 
 lady. " I should have known you anywhere from 
 your likeness to Don Patricio. My brother, as per- 
 haps you know, is his servant, and loves him so much 
 that we are glad indeed to do his sister a service. 
 Besides, to deceive these accursed Frenchmen, the 
 enemies of religion and of Spain, is also to do a service 
 to Jesus and His Mother and our good King Ferdi- 
 nand VII." 
 
 So speaking, she opened the door of a bedroom at 
 the back of the house, and ran back to her customers, 
 anxious to avert as far as possible all suspicion of 
 complicity in the escape of Miss Dillon. Seraphine 
 entered the room, closing the door behind her; and 
 scarcely had she done so when a strange figure jumped 
 in at the window. The short blue skirt, the orange 
 handkerchief over the head, suggested a woman ; but 
 there was a reckless activity about the manner of en- 
 trance that blazoned the boy. While this boy-woman 
 was explaining itself, with a volubility which made 
 Seraphine feel inclined to cry in good earnest, since 
 she could not understand a word of the explanation, 
 another precisely similar creature flew in at the same 
 window. Both now threw off their female attire, this 
 way and that on the floor, and would have disappeared, 
 leaving Seraphine still at a loss to understand the 
 
 [139]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 meaning of the apparition, if she had not desperately 
 clutched one by the shirt, on the very window-sill, 
 and held him there till Pilar appeared to interpret it. 
 She then learnt that the boys, who had left two mules 
 tied under the window, quite out of sight from the 
 road, represented herself and Pilar, who should now 
 assume the habiliments so whirlingly dismissed by 
 these young gentlemen, and ride away among the 
 party of peasants they had seen assemble round the 
 house. 
 
 While this was passing, the landlady was serving 
 the soldiers and her other guests with wine, and 
 loudly asseverating her concern at the case of the poor 
 young French lady, whom she declared to have only 
 recovered from strong hysterics to fall into a dead 
 faint. 
 
 Pilar had not neglected to bring what she could 
 carry of her lady's possessions ; and might indeed 
 have taken out of the carriage almost anything she 
 had pleased, the soldiers being much too full of their 
 own disaster to pay any attention to her proceedings. 
 With the assistance of the boys, she partly emptied 
 the large saddle-bags of the mules, which were stuffed 
 with nothing more valuable than straw, and placed 
 Miss Dillon's property in the middle of them. All 
 this took but a short time to do ; and there sat the 
 two women on the mules, waiting in suspense for the 
 summons of the gucrrillcro who led the band. This 
 was delayed, because another regiment of cavalry was 
 passing by, and the soldiers in charge of the carriage 
 stopped some officers in order to send a message to 
 Tordesillas recounting their misfortunes : how that, 
 not only had the wheel come off, but the lynch-pin 
 
 [140]
 
 THE PEASANT CAVALCADE 
 
 was lost, and though the landlord of the Venta had 
 sent to the nearest village for a smith, they could not 
 hope to reach Tordesillas until some hours later than 
 the Emperor was expecting them. 
 
 The peasants, meantime, waited in suspense also, 
 fearing lest their dummy saddle-bags should be 
 searched or their best animals appropriated. But the 
 cavalry were in too great a hurry to stop for depreda- 
 tions, and having stared at the women between the 
 bags — with the exception of the two hidden from pry- 
 ing eyes behind the Venta — loudly pronounced them 
 old and weather-beaten, and trotted away up the road 
 to rejoin their comrades. Then the gucrrillcro, a man 
 with an impassible leather-coloured face, stepped 
 round the corner a moment and beckoned to Miss 
 Dillon. 
 
 It was indeed like taking a header into cold water 
 with an unknown bottom to leave the kindly shelter 
 of the house and plunge into the open ; yet out the 
 two orange-kerchiefed women must come. Pilar, ac- 
 customed to the management of mules, rode first, and 
 shambled on without misadventure to join three 
 women already waiting in the road. Seraphine's 
 mule, having a companion still at the door of the 
 Venta, had no sooner come well into view than it 
 jibbed. She dared not call out to it, or even strike it, 
 lest her voice or her white hand should attract atten- 
 tion. Two soldiers stood on guard by the carriage, 
 the others were seated at a little table, conversing as 
 well as they knew how with the attractive landlady. 
 They had early convinced themselves that this party 
 of peasants did not contain one handsome woman, 
 and therefore bestowed scarcely a glance on the 
 
 [141]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 jibbing mule and its terrified rider. The guerrillero 
 hastily mounted his own animal and rode past Miss 
 Dillon, calling out something to her mule as he went. 
 It immediately followed its companion, and in silence, 
 except for cries of encouragement or upbraiding ad- 
 dressed to their animals, the whole party drew slowly 
 but steadily away from the Venta, up the long reach 
 of road towards Tordesillas. At a certain moment 
 the silence broke itself as though at a signal. There 
 was a simultaneous breath of reHef, simultaneous 
 exclamations, a little outburst of nervous feminine 
 laughter. The men drew together and deliberated, in 
 tones half hurried, half triumphant ; the women gave 
 loud thanks to the saints, and congratulated Miss 
 Dillon and Pilar, who was known to several of them. 
 The beasts were urged to a trot far beyond their usual 
 pace, and presently the whole party, as seen from the 
 Venta, was but a collection of moving points disap- 
 pearing up the road through the pine-wood. 
 
 [142]
 
 XI 
 
 THE CURATE OF CARCAJALES 
 
 IN the early morning hours Seiior Don Fernando 
 Carmona y Romanez was pausing, a fold of his 
 cloak flung across his mouth, on the long grey 
 bridge which spans the Duero at Zamora. The wide 
 river swept, turbid with rains, round the rocky base 
 of the city, whose long line of embattled walls still 
 rose above stream and plain, stately as when Urraca 
 reigned within them and the Cid came riding to the 
 gates. Grey wall above grey wall, tier upon tier 
 of warm-coloured roof, tower upon tower the city 
 climbed and crowned the rock, and, withdrawn from 
 it as it were in a certain isolation, rose the light and 
 lovely dome of the Cathedral, its pointed spire and 
 square, majestic belfry. The eye of Don Fernando 
 rested with satisfaction on the town ; not that its 
 picturesque aspect gave him pleasure, but rather the 
 solidity of its ancient walls, which would enable it 
 even yet to repel any chance attack of troops without 
 heavy artillery. Don Fernando was no ignorant 
 peasant, like El Empecinado and some other guerril- 
 lero leaders. He was a man of education, whose in- 
 telligence had led him to perceive that in the regular 
 armies of Spain salvation was not to be found. Cor- 
 ruption daily devoured their material resources, and 
 their officers were drawn from a degenerate aristoc- 
 racy, remarkable for their physical inferiority to the 
 men of the lower classes. As fighting characters 
 
 [143]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 these regular armies strongly resembled Tweedledum 
 and Tweedledee, supposing those two immortal war- 
 riors to have encountered separately, instead of to- 
 gether, the " monstrous crow," whose part Napoleon 
 played. The real fighting power of Spain lay in her 
 population ; men and women alike passionate in their 
 love of country and religion, recklessly brave, hardy, 
 and indififerent to ease and prosperity — it must be 
 added, of a merciless ferocity calculated to strike ter- 
 ror into the heart of the boldest foe. 
 
 Don Fernando passed under the slender gate-tower 
 on the further side of the bridge, and pursued his way 
 to a house standing among poplars on the bank of 
 the river. A woman opened the door, and, in answer 
 to his question, answered that the Sefiorita was awake 
 and drinking her chocolate. He lit a cigar and waited 
 while Miss Dillon dressed herself, with such an ex- 
 emplary patience as perhaps no Englishman is capable 
 of exhibiting under like circumstances. She had 
 arrived considerably after midnight, very weary, but 
 had slept well and appeared refreshed. Her journey 
 had been fatiguing, but uneventful. Once out of 
 sight of the Venta she and her whole party of rescuers 
 had turned to the left through the pine-wood, and 
 while the greater number of them, whom Pilar ac- 
 companied, returned by a circuitous route to Medina 
 del Campo, Seraphine and Don Fernando's men had 
 hurried all day and half the night along lonely paths 
 by the wooded banks of the Duero, and neither met 
 nor heard of a single Frenchman by the way. Ex- 
 hilarated by freedom and good fortune, she was now 
 all eagerness to press on and rejoin her father, wher- 
 ever he might be. After the first exchange of senti- 
 
 [144]
 
 THE CURATE OF CARCAJALES 
 
 ments and courtesies, Don Fernando informed her 
 that Mr. Dillon was at Astorga, where General Moore 
 had given orders to accumulate stores in preparation 
 for the arrival of his army. He checked her eager- 
 ness by representing how unfit a place was an army, 
 especially an army in retreat, for a young lady like 
 herself, and proposed sending her to a relative of his 
 own in a convent on the Portuguese border — safe, if 
 any spot on Spanish ground could be called safe 
 while half a dozen French armies were scouring the 
 Peninsula. But no ! — Seraphine had made up her 
 mind to join her father and her countrymen, and join 
 them she would. After a lengthy argument, Don 
 Fernando succumbed to her obstinacy, promising to 
 send her to Astorga as soon as two of his men, well 
 acquainted with the mountain-paths thither, should 
 have returned from their homes. 
 
 Their conversation was carried on in her own 
 tongue, for Don Fernando had become familiar with 
 English as a boy, and had consequently since done 
 much legal business for English firms trafficking in 
 Spain. They were thus able to converse with free- 
 dom, in spite of the presence of the lady of the house. 
 
 " And now, Miss Dillon," he said, " I wish to en- 
 gage you in a little comedy, in which, I beg, if you 
 have any gratitude for my poor services, you will not 
 refuse your part." 
 
 " I should indeed be churlish and ungrateful did I 
 refuse any request of yours, Don Fernando." 
 
 He paused a moment, holding the stump of his 
 cigar between his long fingers, and looking at it, re- 
 sumed : 
 
 " I wish you to accompany me to mass at the 
 
 [145]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 Cathedral this morning. The brave and loyal Zamo- 
 rans know well your uncle the General and your 
 brother Patrick. They will welcome you as a heroine, 
 perhaps they will believe you to be more heroic, more 
 Spanish, more patriotic than you can truthfully claim 
 to be. No matter — it will give them pleasure." 
 
 Miss Dillon readily consented, strong in the con- 
 sciousness that her limited knowledge of the Spanish 
 tongue would certainly prevent her from being called 
 upon to give her own account of her adventures, and 
 might even prevent her from obtaining a very clear 
 idea of the account of them current in Zamora. 
 
 Having taken some little pains with her toilet and 
 put on a white mantilla belonging to her hostess, she 
 mounted a handsomely caparisoned mule, and accom- 
 panied Don Fernando to the city. The three men 
 chiefly concerned in her rescue walked alongside. 
 When they had passed the bridge they made a detour 
 to the right, passing through miniature plazuelas and 
 narrow streets, where, on either side, carven blazonries 
 over arch and doorway proclaimed the ancient glories 
 of Zamora. So by way of the Plazuela S. Gil they 
 reached the market place. The water-carriers had 
 by this time proclaimed their advent. From the long 
 board where the many-coloured market-women dis- 
 pensed their many-coloured wares ; from the further 
 portico, where the high central archway let in a 
 glimpse of the hills ; from the booths clustered about 
 with brown-cloaked men and orange-kerchiefed 
 women ; from among the crockery and clothes, the 
 pimentos and onions, and all other numberless and 
 nameless wares of the Spanish market, there set tow- 
 ards the eastern end of the Plaza a tide of interested 
 
 [146]
 
 THE CURATE OF CARCAJALES 
 
 humanity. For yonder came the chief, Don Fernan- 
 do, on his way to mass at the Cathedral, and with 
 him the three brave fellows who, in company with 
 half a dozen patriots from Medina, had put" to flight 
 a whole regiment of French and rescued La Dillon, 
 the sister of Don Patricio — and herself a heroine. 
 For not only had she known how to defend herself 
 in this encounter, but she had before gone in disguise 
 to the French army to obtain valuable information 
 for General Moore and the Spanish juntas. 
 
 As the little procession emerged into the Plaza it 
 rang with mingled cries, now shrill, now deep, " Viva 
 nucstro Jcfc! Viva Don Fernando! " " Viva Fer- 
 nando VII.!" " Muerte al Napoleon!" "Viva Es- 
 paiia!" Don Fernando took of¥ his hat with a grand 
 sweep of the arm, and bowed low and gravely in re- 
 sponse to the popular greeting. Miss Dillon replied 
 with the attractive smile some fairy godmother had 
 bestowed upon her in her cradle, and those gracious 
 and graceful gestures of the South which she was 
 actress enough to know how to imitate. This heroine, 
 so young, so pale and sweet of face, scattering kisses 
 among them from delicate finger-tips, swayed the 
 crowd to enthusiasm : all other vivas were for a mo- 
 ment drowned in " Viva la Dillon! " Don Fernando, 
 riding up the steps of the Town Hall, spoke brief but 
 eloquent words of heroic Spain, unconquered and 
 unconquerable, confident in the justice of her cause, 
 protected by Maria and the saints. Enthusiasm rose 
 to tumult, a stall full of little red and yellow national 
 flags was emptied — almost plundered ; and when Don 
 Fernando and his party passed on up a narrow wind- 
 ing street towards the Cathedral, the surging crowd 
 
 [147]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 closed up and, waving their flags overhead, marched 
 on behind them. At first they marched only to hoarse 
 roaring " Vivas " and " Down with Napoleon ! " but, 
 as they went, began to sing, and at length with one 
 great voice rolled forth : 
 
 " Espana de la guerra 
 Tremola su pendon ," 
 
 and from the belfry tower the bells of the Cathedral, 
 ringing to mass, boomed accompaniment. Slowly 
 the multitude pressed on through street and plazuela, 
 under crumbling coats-of-arms and the melancholy 
 magnificence of half-ruinous churches ; so reached an 
 open space before the dignified front of the Cathedral, 
 over-soared by rich dome and pointed spire, and 
 flanked by the square mass of its Romanesque belfry, 
 from whose high windows the swinging bells of green 
 bronze were pealing forth their summons. Before the 
 Cathedral was a kind of paved court, separated by a 
 low boundary from the rest of the open space. Here 
 stood a group of priests, tall and black against the 
 pale stone of the Cathedral. Don Fernando, leaning 
 from his mule, said to Miss Dillon, in EngHsh : 
 
 " These priests " — and the tone was different from 
 that in which he would have spoken of the Fathers in 
 Spanish — " These priests, Miss Dillon, know you are 
 a heretic. They know everything. On them, at any 
 rate, you need not fear you are practicing an imposi- 
 tion. The tallest is the Bishop." 
 
 Seraphine believed she would have known by in- 
 stinct what Don Fernando had told her. The whole 
 party kneeled before the Bishop to receive his bless- 
 
 [148]
 
 THE CURATE OF CARCAJALES 
 
 ing before they passed into the Cathedral ; but she 
 was aware of something superficial in his smile and 
 perfunctory in his tone when he turned towards her. 
 This did not prevent her from being placed in a 
 prominent position among the worshippers under the 
 dome. She observed, however, that a crucifix with 
 which a dirty little acolyte scampered round, offering it 
 with more haste than reverence to the kisses of the 
 faithful, was not brought in her direction. Accus- 
 tomed to the congregations in French churches, where 
 the few men present appeared to be there from a sense 
 of social or political propriety rather than as an act 
 of devotion, the fervour of the Spanish peasants was 
 strange and interesting to her. The kneeling women, 
 filthy rags pressing against rich silks, seemed scarcely 
 so new as the rude heads of the men, bowed over 
 their clasped hands, till they seemed to hang lower 
 than the robust brown necks, whose napes showed 
 round and firm or lean and corded under thick clubs 
 of hair. From time to time silently moved in prayer 
 full young lips, red under the black line of the small 
 moustache, or mature ones, straightened hard and 
 blue over the harder and bluer jaw. Yet in that 
 religious fervour there was, I know not what, which 
 gave her a vague feeling of alarm. At first she 
 scarcely noticed when group after group stole out 
 before the end of the Office, whispering as they 
 went. But, before the priests had left the choir, she 
 could not but observe how thin the congregation had 
 grown. On Don Fernando's face she seemed to now 
 discover a shade of disquietude, and the thought flashed 
 through her mind, "Can the French be upon us?" 
 It was therefore with a hasty step that she followed 
 
 [149]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 him, when mass was over, through the north door of 
 the Cathedral. No sooner had it swung behind them 
 than a sound broke on her ears which either the deep 
 walls had hitherto shut out or the organ-music over- 
 whelmed. It was a hoarse roar, such as a number of 
 caged wild beasts might make, yet in some indefinable 
 way more horrible. Don Fernando, with an air of 
 concern, his long thin hand upon his chin, followed 
 the direction of the sound and the drift of the remain- 
 ing congregation, to the top of the steep road to the 
 city gate. The sentries — one wore the great-coat and 
 one the gaiters of a French grenadier — had opened 
 the gates and were leaning out, looking with eager 
 interest down the rock-hewn ascent from the river, 
 as were a number of other persons assembled in the 
 gateway. At a certain moment, when the approach- 
 ing sound seemed to be just without the walls, these 
 persons answered it with a multitudinous cry, harsh 
 and shrill from the throats of the women, grating and 
 deep from the hard jaws of the men — " Miiertc al 
 Frances! Mucrtc! " The sentries thrust back the 
 crowd with their muskets, and the head of the com- 
 ing procession appeared in the gateway. First came 
 two men leading a donkey. One of them was strangely 
 and incongruously dressed in the uniform of a French 
 staff officer, with the exception of the boots. The 
 other was a robust young muleteer, with his hair in a 
 net and his features beaming with triumphant delight. 
 But the central figure was the man on the donkey, 
 who could scarcely be said to be clothed at all, except 
 in filth and blood. His hands were tied tightly be- 
 hind his back, his thick hair was wet and matted with 
 the contents of a rotten &gg, his shirt hanging about 
 
 [150]
 
 THE CURATE OF CARCAJALES 
 
 him in rags, showed that he had been a mark for 
 many missiles as foul. 
 
 They were scarcely within the gates when a woman 
 of the people flew at the prisoner with a scream of 
 " Atheist ! Blasphemer ! French monkey ! " — and, 
 winding one hand in his hair, drew the long talons 
 of the other down the side of his face and neck. The 
 crowd roared its sympathy, and below and above the 
 hoarse chorus burst out afresh — " Death to the French- 
 men, death ! " The mass of the men, indeed, contented 
 themselves wth looking on, grimly satisfied, and en- 
 couraging with sullenly revengeful voices the violence 
 of the women and lads. The attack of the Maenad was 
 followed by a shower of stones, which came so smartly, 
 pelting not only the prisoner, but his guards, that 
 these, after remonstrances drowned in the general 
 uproar, whipped up the donkey, and took it and its 
 burden at a smart run to the top of the hill. Here 
 a handsome woman of the upper bourgeoisie, her 
 basquina of rich silk, her black hair beautifully dressed, 
 pushed past Seraphine, and crying in a loud harsh 
 voice, " Take that, enemy of Jesus and Maria ! " 
 raised a pair of scissors, which hung at her waist by 
 a ribbon, and made a thrust at the Frenchman's eyes. 
 By a rapid motion of the head he partly avoided the 
 blow, but glancing against the bone of his forehead 
 it ran a long gash up into his hair, and there followed 
 a blinding rain of blood, which, pinioned as he was, 
 he was unable to wipe from his eyes. No one made 
 the least movement to control the woman. 
 
 " French devil ! " she ejaculated, breaking the rib- 
 bon of her scissors and baring two rows of glittering 
 white teeth in her rage. Then throwing back her 
 
 [151]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 arm, the scissors formidable in her clenched hand, 
 she was about to repeat her blow with greater vio- 
 lence and surer aim, when another woman threw her- 
 self upon the outstretched arm, crying, in a piercing 
 voice, " No — no — no ! " The cry ended in a gasp, as 
 Seraphine, her utterance frozen, white as a sheet, her 
 eyes dilated, hung with all her slight weight upon the 
 outstretched arm. So they paused — she of the scis- 
 sors, Seraphine, and the whole crowd. Then it was 
 that Seraphine's wild and shuddering gaze fell acci- 
 dentally upon the Frenchman on the donkey, and 
 she perceived the pitiable waif of humanity to be no 
 other than that brilliant and fortunate soldier of the 
 Emperor, Colonel Vidal. For him, the blood raining 
 in his eyes prevented him from seeing anything. Her 
 gaze next travelled to a group of priests up there by 
 the Cathedral — the Bishop, his canons and chaplains. 
 On their faces was no promise of help, but the same 
 grim satisfaction, controlled by dignity, as on the 
 faces of the other by-standers. In silence, then, she 
 snatched the bridle of the donkey, which the men on 
 either side of it had loosed, attentive rather to their 
 own bruises than to their prisoner, and pulled the 
 animal and its load on to a level with herself and Don 
 Fernando. Although in her mind there was a long 
 interval between her two actions, it was in fact short. 
 Stupefaction had scarcely had time to give way to 
 anger, manifested by a low indignant muttering, when, 
 standing close in front of the prisoner, she said, in a 
 voice which trembled a little yet was perfectly audible 
 even at the gateway : 
 
 " Gentlemen of Zamora, I ask of you the life of 
 this man." 
 
 [152]
 
 THE CURATE OF CARCAJALES 
 
 "You hear, brave people of Zamora?" interposed 
 Don Fernando. " This heroic, this patriotic lady, 
 asks of you the life of your French prisoner. You 
 cannot, I think, refuse her a request which she makes 
 from no love of the French, but only out of the good- 
 ness of her heart." 
 
 Strong was the thirst for vengeance in the breast 
 of the Zamorans ; strong, too, the instinct of courtesy 
 to a woman, and one so young, so gracious, and so 
 patriotic as the sister of Don Patricio. The two 
 feelings fought against each other, while looks and 
 murmured words passed round. Then one of the 
 brown-cloaked citizens spoke, removing his hat and 
 bowing towards Miss Dillon : 
 
 " For my part, I say, since there are thousands of 
 Frenchmen left in Spain for us to kill, if the fair sister 
 of Don Patricio asks us to leave this one alive, let us 
 grant her request ; for it is no great matter." 
 
 " I thank you with all my heart, Seiior," cried 
 Seraphine, eagerly. 
 
 There followed a silent moment which seemed to 
 seal the assent of the Zamorans. But then a broad- 
 shouldered, slouching young man stepped forward, 
 robust and of savage aspect, in spite of his cassock. 
 The cassock was torn, and on his head he wore a 
 tall beaver hat, the rough skin of which stood out 
 round it furrily ; a gun was slung across his shoulders. 
 
 " Thousands of Frenchmen in Spain ! " he ex- 
 claimed, in harsh accents ; " thousands of devils ! 
 And of all these you have caught only one — then you 
 talk of letting him go to please a foreign girl. And 
 the Holy Church ? And Maria ? Shall they have no 
 revenge ? Look at me ; a priest — a priest, I say " — 
 
 [153]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 and he smote on his broad breast with broad and 
 hairy hands — '' You know me, the Curate of Carca- 
 jales. These devils caught me on the road to Medina ; 
 they had no reverence for my ofifice, they jeered at my 
 dress, and blasphemed the Church. They bound a 
 load upon my back, as though I were a pack-horse 
 or a mule ; and what did this load contain ? Holy 
 Maria! My lips tremble as I speak it. Chalices, 
 reliquaries, enamels, and rich lace stolen from 
 churches by these impious robbers, whom God and 
 His saints shall punish. They drove me with bayonet- 
 pricks along the road. What am I ? Dust and ashes 
 — but it was Jesus, it was Maria they insulted in my 
 person. Pious people of Zamora, who will avenge 
 Jesus and Maria? I have visions, I see them every 
 night; they weep and weep. ' Who will avenge us? ' 
 they cry. Ay, who will avenge Jesus and Maria." 
 
 It was not the first time the Curate of Carcajales 
 had told his story in Zamora, but as he related it 
 afresh, in a hoarse voice full of contagious passion, 
 a thrill of reawakening rage and horror quivered 
 through the crowd. A grey-headed woman, lean but 
 muscular and fiery-eyed, took up the tale — she also 
 raven-voiced : 
 
 " Jesus and Maria want revenge — I want it. The 
 French hung my son and his wife for nothing — hung 
 them before their children from the rafters of their 
 own house. Shall we let one of these devils go when 
 we have caught him ? No, no ! " she screamed, lifting 
 her knotted arms to heaven. " Let me drink his 
 blood, I say. I want revenge ! " 
 
 The crowd down the hill by the gateway answered 
 with a fierce growl, above which rose sinister articu- 
 
 [154]
 
 THE CURATE OF CARCAJALES 
 
 late cries. In the neighbourhood of Don Fernando 
 and Miss Dillon courtesy subdued their rage to whis- 
 pers and scowls. Seraphine was unable to follow the 
 hoarse and rapid utterance of the speakers, but the 
 drift of their impassioned appeals was plain enough. 
 She stood suspensive, her back against the donkey, 
 her eyes scanning the crowd. Standing so, she grasped 
 Don Fernando's sleeve with her slight, cold fingers, 
 and said, rapidly: 
 
 " Save this man. If they kill him they must kill 
 me first." 
 
 " Why ? " He looked at her, suspicious as well as 
 amazed. 
 
 " It is my duty — I owe it to him. Don Fernando, 
 please do something — quick ! " 
 
 " My God ! I am considering — I want to save him. 
 I can fight men, but women are dangerous and priests 
 the devil." 
 
 Meantime Seraphine had, half mechanically, wiped 
 the blood from Vidal's eyes, as one wipes tears from 
 the eyes of a child. Having done so, she realised how 
 shocking an object the wretched man had become, 
 and the horror, the disgust that the sight inspired, 
 showed itself momentarily but clearly in her face. It 
 was upon this face that Vidal opened his half-blinded 
 eyes. 
 
 " Mcrci, Mademoiselle, merci! " he murmured, mis- 
 erably ; and then was aware, without great amaze- 
 ment, because of so much emotion his dulled senses 
 were incapable, that the woman at his side was Sera- 
 phine. Yet so strong are the habits of the mind that 
 even at this moment, face to face with a horrible 
 dea^, his sufferings were sensibly increased by the 
 
 [155]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 perception of his bodily humiliation, reflected in the 
 eyes of a woman. 
 
 For Seraphine, extreme fear had driven out of her 
 head the little Spanish in it. In vain she racked her 
 brains for a suitable discourse, but could find noth- 
 ing better than : 
 
 " Are you Christians, and talk of revenge? " — which 
 she cried out shrilly, with suppliant hands stretched 
 out to the people. 
 
 The woman with the scissors flung them furiously 
 ?from her. 
 
 " A heretic ! " she cried, spitting on the ground in 
 the direction of Miss Dillon. " And she has the 
 audacity to tell us Christians what we ought to do ! 
 Already in church I found her out. She took holy 
 water from Don Fernando, but she did not cross her- 
 self. No, she did not make the sign herself once 
 during the whole office. Heretics love infidels be- 
 cause the devil loves both. That is why La Dillon 
 wishes to save this atheist and blasphemer." 
 
 " Jesus and Maria ask for vengeance," repeated the 
 curate, in a chanting voice, as though he had heard 
 nothing which had passed since he had last spoken. 
 
 ** Speak, Sefiorita ! Say you are not a heretic," 
 cried a friendly someone from among the by-standers. 
 
 Seraphine only answered by a little gasp. 
 
 There v/as a sullen silence, an ominous impulsion 
 of the whole crowd up the hill. It became clear to 
 her that it would make a serious difference, perhaps 
 even to her, certainly to Vidal, if she would at once 
 proclaim herself a daughter of the Roman Church ; 
 and it was not so much the spirit of the martyr as the 
 stubborn pride of the Briton that made the lie stick 
 in her throat. 
 
 [156]
 
 THE CURATE OF CARCAJALES 
 
 Don Fernando looked at her a minute, shrugged 
 his shoulders imperceptibly, and spoke : 
 
 " The heroic, the pious and patriotic sister of Don 
 Patricio has lived so long in England she has forgotten 
 the Castilian tongue, and does not understand one 
 word of what you are saying. Noble Spaniards, re- 
 strain your wrath, for I, also, say to you, do not kill 
 this Frenchman." 
 
 '* The Emperor is his enemy — he sent him here in 
 order to get him killed," said Seraphine, hurriedly, in 
 English. And seeing the scissors lying on the ground 
 at her side she stooped and picked them up. 
 
 " This prisoner is important," continued Don Fer- 
 nando. " He is a Frenchman certainly, but the enemy 
 of Bonaparte, who wishes him to be killed. General 
 Moore, on the other hand, is anxious to have his life 
 preserved. Shall we kill him and thus gratify the 
 vile Corsican, doing for him his butcher's work, or 
 shall we keep alive a prisoner desired by our noble 
 friend, our brave ally, the Englishman ? " 
 
 As he spoke, hoarse impatient cries rose from the 
 crowd by the gate. 
 
 " Down with heretics ! Viva the Curate of Carca- 
 jales! Down with the Chief! " 
 
 At this last shout a slight simultaneous movement 
 showed which were Don Fernando's men. 
 
 " Who dares cry down with our Chief? " asked an 
 irritated voice. " Viva, viva Don Fernando ! " 
 
 There was a deep responsive shout of " Viva the 
 Chief!" 
 
 Seraphine, meantime, had turned her back to the 
 crowd, and, leaning over the donkey, was occupied in 
 cutting the cords which bound the prisoner's hands, 
 
 [157]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 whispering to him as she did so. She pushed the 
 donkey further up in the direction of the Cathedral, 
 the north door of which still stood open. 
 
 " People of Zamora," cried Don Fernando, sud- 
 denly becoming animated and straightening his back, 
 " this prisoner is mine. I cannot permit you to kill 
 him. Does anyone here question my authority ? " 
 
 The Curate of Carcajales came striding up the hill. 
 His eyes were rolling and bloodshot, his broad hands 
 clenched. 
 
 " I know no authority but the authority of the 
 Church," he said ; then, turning to the people : 
 " What does the English general matter to us ? The 
 English are heretics. What does noble Spain want 
 with allies ? She can drive the French devils over the 
 Pyrenees and back to Paris without the help of here- 
 tics. We have better help than theirs — the help of 
 Maria, Sant Jago, San Ildefonso, and all the saints. 
 Down with infidels ! Down with heretics ! " 
 
 As he finished speaking, the Frenchman was seen 
 leaping the low boundary into the paved enclosure 
 before the cathedral and running like a hare for the 
 great door. There was a forward bound of the crowd, 
 an inarticulate roar. The curate snatched the gun 
 slung at his back and levelled it at the fugitive. He 
 was a mighty hunter and a dead shot. Don Fernando 
 seized the barrel, the ball whizzed past the ear of a 
 gnerrillero and missed the Frenchman. 
 
 " I forbid you to kill my prisoner," said Don Fer- 
 nando, in an imperious tone ; and the crowd hesitated 
 before a group of armed guerrilleros, gathering about 
 their chief, ready to support his authority. The more 
 respectable citizens also showed an inclination to draw 
 
 [158]
 
 THE CURATE OF CARCAJALES 
 
 to Don Fernando's side. The curate reloaded his 
 gun, ramming down the charge furiously. 
 
 '* Follow me, sons of the Church! Will you obey 
 this Carmona, this lawyer who is not a good Catholic ? 
 No — you will obey Jesus, who says to you, ' Avenge 
 my bride the Church ' ; you will obey Maria, who 
 weeps and weeps because the Frenchmen daily insult 
 her. Maria, Maria ! Kill him ! Kill him ! " The 
 foam flew from his lips. 
 
 On seeing the dash of the Frenchman across the 
 pavement before the cathedral, the group of priests 
 about the Bishop made a start forward. But even 
 had the dignity of their calling permitted them to 
 run they would have failed to intercept the active 
 young soldier running for his life. Perhaps they had 
 no wish to do so, for the Bishop, on whose coun- 
 tenance the rest waited, was uncertain of his course. 
 He had given way for a time to the vindictive pleasure 
 of seeing one of the hated dominators of his country 
 suffer; but if Don Fernando was not in every way 
 to his taste, good sense and jealousy combined to put 
 him on the side of the guerrillcro against a low-born 
 curate of his diocese, who was attempting to play the 
 part of a leader under his own nose. 
 
 Before the Frenchman had gained the great arch- 
 way of the cathedral, Seraphine had fled to the 
 Bishop and fallen on her knees before him. A minute 
 passed in complete silence, since not a syllable of 
 Spanish would come to her lips. Remnants of Latin, 
 caught rather than learned from her grandfather, 
 were all that she could find in her head. 
 
 " Sancte Pater," she stammered, indicating with a 
 gesture the fugitive. "Invoco protectionem, Sancte 
 Ecclesics." 
 
 [159]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 It may be that the Latin, with its solemn associa- 
 tions, touched the right chord in the Bishop's breast 
 more surely than the vulgar tongue could have done, 
 
 " Go," he said to a young priest, and pointed to 
 the Cathedral door into which Vidal was disappear- 
 ing. " Lock the door behind him and take the key." 
 
 " Surge, iilia mihi, pefitio tua concessa est." 
 
 Meantime a scuffle had begun between Don Fer- 
 nando's men and the populace, headed by the Curate 
 of Carcajales. The gucrrillcros being outnumbered, 
 the curate and a score of lads behind him broke 
 through and poured, with triumphant yells, across the 
 open space towards the Cathedral doot. The priest 
 who had just turned the big key in the lock caught 
 sight of them coming on at a run, and stood, uncer- 
 tain, swinging the key in his hand — a tall black figure, 
 yet insignificant, microscopically minute, like the rest 
 of this agitated human ants'-nest — under the vast 
 pkcid front of the Cathedral. Minutest of all was a 
 solitary woman's figure in the centre of the paved 
 space, moving with hesitancy, like one feeling her 
 way. The curate put his gun to his shoulder and, 
 shouting " Death to the heretics ! " fired as he ran. 
 There was no cry, and but a moment's suspensive 
 swaying of the body, and then the girl fell full length 
 upon her side and lay there motionless. An aghast 
 pause succeeded, even among the curate's immediate 
 followers. They thirsted for the Frenchman's blood, 
 but not for the blood of La Dillon, whom an hour 
 ago they had acclaimed through the streets. The 
 Bishop, his priests about him, advanced and faced the 
 curate with uplifted hand. ' 
 
 " Shame on you, Father," he said, sternly. " It is 
 
 [i6o]
 
 THE CURATE OF CARCAJALES 
 
 you who insult the Blessed Virgin by shedding- inno- 
 cent blood on the very threshold of the holy precincts. 
 Do you intend to tear the Frenchman from the altar? 
 It is an outrage which our Holy Mother the Church 
 will not permit. Pious citizens of Zamora " — and 
 here he raised his voice — " will you obey your Bishop 
 or the Curate of Carcajales?" 
 
 The advanced guard of the curate's forces stood 
 ashamed, while behind them, the fray calmed itself. 
 
 " Is this a time, my children," continued the Bishop, 
 all being attentive to his voice, " for Castilians, for 
 Catholics, to fight against each other, when the Cor- 
 sican and all the powers of Hell have arisen against 
 our Holy Church and against Spain? Reconcile 
 yourselves, I say. Is the voice of the Church in the 
 mouth of your Bishop or in that of this curate? For 
 you. Father, I do not command you to return to your 
 parish of Carcajales — from which you appear to be 
 frequently absent without the leave of your Diocesan 
 — because, if you have killed this poor innocent, you 
 must answer for it before your superiors." 
 
 The curate himself, his insane passion cooled by 
 the shock of his own deed, stood lowering, but sub- 
 missive. The Bishop continued to address his flock, 
 who bowed the head, curbed in their rage by the same 
 power of the Church which had before lashed them to 
 fury. 
 
 Don Fernando, caught in the toils of the fight at 
 the top of the hill, did not at first understand the 
 cause of their welcome slackening. In a few minutes 
 he heard one say and another repeat : 
 
 ** The Curate of Carcajales has shot La Dillon — 
 Jesus milk veces! " 
 
 [i6i]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 Then Fernando Carmona y Romanez knew what it 
 meant to feel his blood run cold. 
 
 He slipped out of the crowd and saw, beyond it 
 and beyond the Bishop, a tall priest stooping and 
 turning over on the ground an inanimate woman 
 wrapped in a white mantilla. 
 
 [162]
 
 XII 
 
 TWO IN A TOWER 
 
 AND while these petty storms raged without, 
 within the big Cathedral was hushed and de- 
 serted. Not a sacristan, not an acolyte had 
 remained behind, and, unextinguished, the immense 
 candles of the sacrarium burned with a steady flame. 
 Up in the carven dome lucarnes let in the grey light 
 of the heavily clouded day, but in the nave and soli- 
 tary aisles dim shadows hung, odours of the incense 
 of centuries and ghostly whispers of silence. Yet on 
 the altar-steps might have been seen, if any had been 
 there to see, something which, though motionless, 
 shook with the pulse of life, a figure crouched, elbows 
 on knees, hands clasped round bleeding head ; jetsom 
 of humanity that the storm had stranded on this calm 
 and solemn shore. Nor, indeed, wholly out of place 
 here, victim and child of cruelty and war though he 
 was ; for within his bruised body something had be- 
 gun, feebly, unconsciously, to pulsate in unison with 
 unnumbered chants that had beaten their soaring 
 wings against the sculptured broideries of dome and 
 arch. He was lost in a dull wonder at the recollec- 
 tion of a fragile, timid woman, to whose senses he 
 had failed to appeal, who did not even like him, yet 
 had dared to face alone a bloodthirsty mob to save 
 him from death. And the wonder grew till, for the 
 first time, the man became really aware of a motive 
 force in the world different from that of interest or 
 
 [163]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 passion, a strength beyond the strength of the prac- 
 tised arm and the cunning brain. 
 
 There was the noise of a door unlocked and opened. 
 Vidal raised his head. He expected to hear the cries, 
 the rushing advance of the populace. He heard only 
 a few deliberate steps, some low, grave speech. Three 
 persons entered, none of them attentive to his pres- 
 ence — a priest and a layman carrying a woman, whom 
 they laid upon the pavement under the dome. The 
 priest then hastened away down the north aisle, while 
 the other man, who was Don Fernando, brought a 
 cushion from one of the two gilded pulpits and placed 
 it under the woman's head. Vidal came down from 
 the altar-steps, treading silently in his stocking-feet. 
 But Don Fernando saw him coming, rose and took 
 him by the shoulder. 
 
 " Frenchman," he said, slowly, in his guttural 
 French, " I know not what you have done to deserve 
 it, but this lady has given her life for yours." 
 
 Vidal threw himself on his knees beside Seraphine. 
 
 " Seraphine ! Angel ! No, she is not dead — she 
 cannot be." 
 
 " The Curate of Carcajales shot her." 
 
 " The infernal monster ! " 
 
 Vidal gently unwound the white mantilla and 
 sought for the wound with practised eye. 
 
 " I see nothing. She is not dead ; she breathes. 
 It is but a swoon." 
 
 " The priest saw this atrocious fanatic shoot her. 
 She fell immediately." 
 
 Vidal groaned and cursed. 
 
 " Bring wine, for God's sake." 
 
 " The priest is fetching wine." 
 
 [164]
 
 TWO IN A TOWER 
 
 The two men kneeled, on either side of the inani- 
 mate girl, beating the palms of her hands and fanning 
 her with Don Fernando's cloak. It was no great 
 while before the steps of the young priest were heard 
 coming along the aisle, and he appeared under the 
 soaring arch bearing wine in a tall and ancient cup 
 of glass ornamented with gold and having a twisted 
 stem, which he had found in the sacristy. Already 
 Seraphine's eyelids had fluttered, but Don Fernando 
 hastily seizing the glass, spilt the wine over her 
 bosom instead of down her throat. It was Vidal who, 
 taking it from him, raised her head gently and forced 
 her to swallow a mouthful. When, however, her eyes 
 really opened, he fled with precipitation, not desirous 
 once more to inspire horror by his wounds, his dirt, 
 his nudity. Seraphine sat up and looked wonder- 
 ingly at Don Fernando, at the Cathedral, and the 
 young priest. She put her hand before her eyes. 
 
 "Oh, I remember!" she exclaimed; then, with a 
 look of fear : " That dreadful man fired at me. Where 
 am I wounded? " 
 
 " That is precisely what I would ask. Miss Dillon. 
 We feared he had shot you dead." 
 
 He helped her gently to her feet. She shook her 
 limbs, felt herself all over. 
 
 " It is very strange," she murmured ; " I can feel 
 nothing." Then, turning to the priest and throwing 
 out her hands: "Nada!" she cried, with a weak, 
 hysterical laugh, *' Nada, Su Paternidad! What a 
 fright I have given you for nothing, Don Fernando ! 
 I was foolish enough to feel faint, and when I turned 
 round and saw all those people running after me, and 
 the man with his horrible face and his gun, I was so 
 
 [165]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 frightened I suppose I must have fainted. Tant 
 mieux! Pen suis quitte pour la peur." 
 
 " You are not hit, then ? " cried a voice in French. 
 " I said so ! " 
 
 Seraphine started and looked round, but could see 
 no one. 
 
 " Where is the Frenchman ? " she asked. 
 
 " He is safe," replied Don Fernando. " He was 
 here a moment ago. Miss Dillon, you have been 
 heroic — this time it is true ; but I beg it may not 
 happen again. You make all your friends suffer too 
 much. I myself cannot believe that there is a man 
 in the French army whose life is worth the risk of 
 yours, or that of any good Spaniard." 
 
 "Is anyone else hurt? No? Then do not scold, 
 Don Fernando, for I could not have done otherwise, 
 and I hope nothing worse will come of it than a head- 
 ache for me and a few bruises for other people." 
 
 " I shall fervently rejoice if it is so ; but the trouble 
 may not yet be over. I beg, then, you will forgive 
 my discourtesy if I not only leave you, but turn the 
 key upon you." 
 
 He moved to the door, followed closely by the 
 priest, carrying the key. 
 
 Seraphine seated herself on a chair left standing 
 below one of the pulpits. She clasped her hands in 
 her lap and listened anxiously for any sound of 
 tumult from without. All was silence. 
 
 " Mademoiselle," said a voice, in French, " the 
 sentiments I would express to you are of the most 
 serious nature — gratitude, admiration, for which I 
 can never find words sufficiently serious. But, un- 
 fortunately, the situation in which I find myself is 
 ridiculous." 
 
 [i66]
 
 TWO IN A TOWER 
 
 " It is you, Colonel Vidal? " asked Seraphine, look- 
 ing round once more, and still seeing no one. " From 
 whence do you speak to me ? " 
 
 " From the pulpit. Mademoiselle." 
 
 Seraphine began laughing hysterically : he had been 
 only too certain she would laugh. 
 
 " Continue, Colonel. I have an incurable habit of 
 listening with respect to every word which falls from 
 the pulpit." 
 
 " Permit me then, my daughter, to tell you that 
 you have a very much worse habit of laughing at 
 people who do not deserve it. You laugh at your- 
 self, when you have saved the life of another at the 
 risk of your own — the life of a man you detest, Sera- 
 phine — and when he desires to express to you his 
 profound, his eternal gratitude, why — then you laugh 
 in his face." 
 
 " That is just what I cannot do," replied Seraphine, 
 continuing to laugh, " for I cannot see even the end 
 of his nose. What are you doing up there in the 
 pulpit?" 
 
 " I am kneeling on my bare knees, like a fanatic 
 monk before the Holy Virgin." 
 
 " Do not kneel to me. Colonel Vidal, for it was the 
 Bishop and not I who saved your life. You need 
 not continue to hide yourself. The door is locked 
 and he will not permit the mob to come in," 
 
 " It is not from them I am hiding." 
 
 " And your wounds ? Let me see them " 
 
 " No, no ! For God's sake, do not come here. My 
 wounds are nothing; yet they are painful because 
 they render it necessary for me to make myself either 
 horrible or ridiculous in your eyes." 
 
 [167]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 " Do not say so. I will not laugh again — I will 
 not think you horrible. Hush ! Stay where you are. 
 Someone is coming." 
 
 The Cathedral door was once more unlocked and 
 Don Fernando returned, accompanied by the Bishop. 
 They spoke of the French prisoner as well as of 
 Miss Dillon as they came, but knowing he must be 
 somewhere in the building did not trouble to seek 
 him out. Nor did Seraphine reveal his hiding-place, 
 for she knew not what his wishes and plans might be. 
 
 The prelate looked upon her with kindly eyes, in- 
 stead of the cold ones with which he had blessed her 
 on her arrival in Zamora, and invited her to go with 
 him and Don Fernando to the Palace, which stood 
 close by. It was not till the last echo of her voice 
 and step was hushed in the Cathedral that Hector 
 Vidal descended from the pulpit, before the eyes of 
 an astonished sacristan, and began to be conscious of 
 the smart and ache of his wounds and bruises. 
 
 The sacristan called assistance, and presently lodged 
 his prisoner in an upper chamber of the belfry, the 
 lower part of which he and his family inhabited. 
 Vidal, having washed away the fouler traces of his 
 humiliating adventure and put on the couple of rough 
 peasant garments provided for him, lay down on a 
 bed of straw and slept soundly for many hours. 
 
 It was almost evening when he woke, and the win- 
 try sun was low. Wrapping himself in the cloak 
 which had served him as a coverlid, he seated him- 
 self in the stone embrasure of a window and looked 
 out. Grey walls and towers, a picturesque huddle of 
 red roofs below, said nothing to him ; but instinctively, 
 with unconscious refreshment, his eye rested on the 
 
 [i68]
 
 TWO IN A TOWER 
 
 wooded course of a stream cleaving the hills on its 
 way to the Duero. Yet his thoughts did not rest on 
 the stream, nor even follow the uncertain course of 
 his own fate. They reverted to the mysterious and 
 attractive figure of Seraphine. Her image appeared 
 to him clothed with all the womanly purity and piti- 
 fulness and courage which were in truth hers, un- 
 alloyed with the numerous very human weaknesses of 
 which the real Angela Dillon was also compact. That, 
 whatever she was, she was not the light woman he had 
 foolishly mistaken her for, was to him now as clear 
 a fact as though he had known the whole explanation 
 of her position. A man of calm and temperate dis- 
 position would not have judged so rightly, for he 
 would have reflected and said that the lowest of 
 women can, under stress of circumstance, momentarily 
 touch the height of the sublime. Vidal did not let 
 generalities give him pause, but allowed his emotional 
 instinct to take him straight to the truth of the matter. 
 He recalled with tenderness his introduction to 
 Seraphine in Paris, where her reserve had daunted 
 all but the oldest and most paternal of his comrades, 
 and merely piqued himself. He remembered that he 
 had smiled at his own folly in taking some pains, 
 using some art, to break down that reserve, and then 
 at the pleasure he had found in the society of a woman 
 so ignorant of how to flatter the vanity or appeal to 
 the senses. Yet he had soon discovered in her a vein 
 of coquetry, of an innocence which charmed him, 
 while he was unable to believe in its genuineness. 
 He attributed its quality rather to a cold tempera- 
 ment and a mocking wit ; an idea which gave the zest 
 of difficulty to a conquest otherwise unimportant. 
 
 [169]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 His meditations were interrupted by the step of his 
 jailer on the steep and winding stone staircase, and, 
 perceptible to a quick ear, a lighter step, which might 
 have been that of a child. The key was turned with 
 difficulty in the rusty lock, the door opened, and 
 Seraphine came in. She stood by the door, her face 
 pale in the shadow of a small black mantilla, her long 
 cloak falling to her feet in straight folds, except where 
 she had gathered it up with one hand. Vidal rose 
 from the window-seat and stood momentarily embar- 
 rassed, conscious of many things — amongst others of 
 his peasant's shirt and breeches and the scratches on 
 his face. He had washed ofif the blood and dirt, but 
 the marks of women's nails are neither becoming nor 
 honourable wounds. 
 
 " You are recovered, Colonel? You are not much 
 hurt? " asked Seraphine, in her sweet, timid voice. 
 
 " Not at all, Mademoiselle." And Vidal shifted 
 awkwardly from one leg to another, as he had not 
 done since he was a lad of sixteen. 
 
 There was a pause ; then, ashamed, he stepped 
 forward, and putting one knee to the ground, respect- 
 fully kissed her hand. 
 
 " Mademoiselle, I owe you my life. I thank you 
 for it on my knees. Alas ! I am only too well aware 
 how great has been your generosity. You have told 
 me plainly with your own lips that you do not love 
 me — more than that, you detest me, you have cause 
 to detest me. You have risked your life to save mine, 
 moved by no sentiment but that of generous pity." 
 
 " You are mistaken. That was not all," replied 
 Seraphine, in a low voice. 
 
 He looked up, startled. If she were going to con- 
 
 [170]
 
 TWO IN A TOWER 
 
 fess that she loved him it would be at once a gratifica- 
 tion and a shock. 
 
 " It was my duty," she continued, " to give even 
 my life to save yours, because it was through my 
 fault — I ought perhaps to say my crime — that you 
 were exposed to this horrible danger," 
 
 Vidal had risen to his feet. 
 
 " You mean you informed these good people of my 
 journey to Salamanca?" 
 
 " No, a thousand times no ! " 
 
 " Then, Mademoiselle, I cannot imagine what you 
 mean." 
 
 " It is impossible that you should understand with- 
 out my explaining to you ; although the explanation 
 is extremely embarrassing for me." 
 
 " Then do not explain. I will promise not to die 
 of curiosity." 
 
 " I must explain, not only because I do not like to 
 accept a great deal more gratitude than I merit, but 
 because the danger you owe to me may continue to 
 menace you, even though I shall no longer be there." 
 
 " If you insist upon telling me, Mademoiselle, at 
 least seat yourself. You look ready to faint. I have 
 unfortunately no better seat to offer you than this 
 stool." 
 
 A wooden stool, a trestle table, and the heap of 
 straw which served as a bed, were all the furniture of 
 the room. Seraphine seated herself. 
 
 " In order," she said, " to spare myself a little of 
 the shame I feel in making this confession, I must 
 remind you. Colonel Vidal, that you were, to begin 
 with, exceedingly guilty towards me. You repeated, 
 to whom I know not, certain very imprudent words 
 
 [171]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 of mine, spoken in the heat of anger, concerning the 
 Emperor. It was a treason on your part." 
 
 Vidal covered his eyes with his hand. 
 
 " No, Mademoiselle, believe me, it was not treason ; 
 it was madness. I feel I can never explain to you 
 how it happened — never." 
 
 " It may not have been meant as an act of ven- 
 geance " 
 
 " No, no, it was not. I tell you I was raving mad." 
 
 " At any rate, the consequences it brought upon 
 me were of a terrible nature. God alone preserved 
 me from falling a victim to the malice of your Em- 
 peror. Then, Colonel Vidal — then, instead of leaving 
 everything in the hands of Providence, I sought to 
 protect myself at your expense. Indeed, I behaved 
 in a manner which deprives me of all right to reproach 
 you with your indiscretion and — and covers me with 
 shame." 
 
 " Mademoiselle, I can only hope you were really 
 guilty of some bad conduct towards me, as otherwise 
 my position is becoming too painful." 
 
 " You perhaps understand by this time that I am 
 not an actress, but a well brought up girl " 
 
 " I am convinced of it with all my heart." 
 
 " I am an Englishwoman, and as such was unjustly 
 detained in France with my grandfather. On his 
 death I made my escape, through the kind offices of 
 Mademoiselle Carmona, to Spain, where my family 
 live, some of them being in the employment of the 
 State. Your Emperor had paid little attention to me 
 until he learned through you that I detested him. He 
 accused me of being a Royalist in disguise, an agent 
 employed to corrupt the loyalty of his officers. Of 
 
 [172]
 
 TWO IN A TOWER 
 
 one thing" he was perfectly sure — that I should not 
 have rejected his infamous advances unless I had a 
 liaison with some other person. On the pretext that 
 it was necessary to protect that person from my bad 
 influence, but really to revenge himself on me, he 
 threatened to throw me into prison immediately if I 
 would not reveal the name of my lover. As I was 
 then on the point of starting to join my Spanish 
 friends, the threat was peculiarly terrible to me. He 
 frightened me greatly, he pressed me in a cruel man- 
 ner. If men feel terror before your Emperor, imagine 
 the feelings of a weak and timid young girl in his 
 presence ! At length I — I, too, Colonel Vidal, had my 
 access of madness. Forgetful of modesty, forgetful 
 of truth and of justice, I named — you." 
 
 "As your lover. Mademoiselle?" 
 
 " Yes," she breathed, and plunged her face in her 
 hands. 
 
 Colonel Vidal smiled slightly and caressed his 
 moustache. 
 
 " It is an accusation under which I will do my best 
 to stand upright. The part, if I understand you 
 aright, was one which he himself wished to play. 
 Dame, this poor Emperor! He must have envied me 
 furiously." 
 
 The humiliated penitent was suddenly transformed. 
 She stood up and stamped upon the floor, her eyes 
 flashed and her cheeks became pink. 
 
 " Stupid that you are ! Can you think of nothing 
 but nonsense? Can you not see that, for you, at any 
 rate, this is a very serious matter?" 
 
 " Pardon me, Mademoiselle, but I had not expected 
 to be accused of a crime so — so little criminal." 
 
 [173]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 Vidal became grave again, intelligence mastering 
 vanity. 
 
 " I can easily imagine that the Emperor was ex- 
 tremely angry with me. An observation which before 
 may have appeared only wanting in delicacy, seen in 
 this light became something much worse." 
 
 " He was extremely angry. ' The traitor ! ' he ex- 
 claimed. * Then it was as I suspected ! ' So that I 
 fear the name I uttered happened to have been the 
 very one he was endeavouring to make me pronounce. 
 It is not surprising that he will not believe me now, 
 when I assure him that I told him a falsehood." 
 
 While she was speaking, Vidal seated himself on a 
 corner of the table in an attitude of the deepest 
 despondency. 
 
 "My Emperor! He called me that?" 
 
 " Before I had pronounced your name he had prom- 
 ised me in the most solemn manner that he would in 
 no way punish the man I should mention. Mademoi- 
 selle Carmona told me I was a fool to believe him, 
 yet I have no reason to doubt that he would have 
 kept his promise, if accident had not most unhappily 
 freed him from it. The condition he made was that 
 I should never see you again. Considering the cir- 
 cumstances under which we had parted, considering 
 my prospect of leaving Madrid within twenty-four 
 hours, I was surely not rash in accepting this con- 
 dition. But whether I was pleased to meet you on 
 the Guadarrama you may easily guess. Still I hoped 
 the Emperor would never hear of our meeting. I 
 was mistaken ; that man hears of everything. I will 
 do him the justice to say that he seemed to recognise 
 the fact that the meeting was accidental. What he 
 
 [174]
 
 TWO IN A TOWER 
 
 could not believe was that we had spent so many 
 hours under the same roof without your having 
 learned from me what had passed. And as for the 
 extraordinary fatality which caused you to get into 
 our carriage on the way to Medina, why, it must be 
 admitted that few persons would, under the circum- 
 stances, have credited us with innocence. It must 
 have appeared a piece of amazing impudence." 
 
 " To think," exclaimed Vidal, throwing himself 
 back with uplifted arm and clenched hand — " To 
 think I cannot fly to the Emperor and implore him 
 upon my knees to let me wash out this odious inso- 
 lence, this criminal disobedience, with the best blood 
 of my heart ! " 
 
 " The Emperor told me," continued Seraphine, in 
 a voice full of sympathetic agitation, " that in order 
 to punish you for it he had sent you on an expedition 
 from which there was but one chance in ten of your 
 returning alive. For myself, faithful friends have 
 saved me from any future vengeance of your Em- 
 peror ; but you will now understand. Colonel Vidal, 
 why I should have been the basest of women if I had 
 hesitated to run a small risk in order to save you from 
 the certainty of a horrible death." 
 
 " What you have told me. Mademoiselle," replied 
 Vidal, passing his hand across his forehead and en- 
 deavouring to calm his anguish of mind, " cannot 
 efface from my heart the impression of your courage 
 and your goodness. It was I who struck the first 
 blow of this duel in the dark, in which it seems each 
 has injured the other much more deeply than either 
 intended. As to the expedition on which the Em- 
 peror sent me, do not blame yourself. He had the 
 
 [175]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 despatch in his hand, written and sealed, when we 
 arrived at Medina." 
 
 " But he told me it was to punish you that he se- 
 lected you for this dangerous mission." 
 
 " He may have said so to punish you. Impossible 
 to tell. Those who permit themselves to criticise our 
 Emperor affirm that he throws away the lives of valu- 
 able officers on services which simple couriers could 
 perform as well. I myself believe that he knows his 
 own business very much better than we do. Ah, yes ! 
 I am ready, a thousand times ready for any service 
 on which he sees fit to employ me. But to be mis- 
 judged by my Emperor, to be ill-regarded, to be 
 
 suspected " He broke off and took a couple of 
 
 turns across the room in a silence Seraphine did not 
 attempt to interrupt. Then, suddenly falling on his 
 knees by the table, he buried his face in his arms and 
 cried, with a deep sob : 
 
 " No, no ! I cannot bear it." 
 
 He said no more, but she could see his shoulders 
 heave with the passion of his grief and despair. 
 
 While they talked, the shades of evening had been 
 gathering in the rude chamber, and now the great 
 bells of green bronze, which from an upper chamber 
 of the tower, century after century speak to the city 
 below with grave and mellow voices, began to ring 
 the Angelus. As the winged sounds swept forth and 
 hovered over the assemblage of mellow pantiled roofs 
 below, which had already sheltered so many mortal 
 generations, tower after tower took up the sound, an- 
 swering one another with antiphonal harmonies, and 
 in upper air the great eddy of sound widened and 
 rippled out to the broad plain and the solitary hills: 
 
 [176]
 
 TWO IN A TOWER 
 
 and the lonely shepherd on the Sierra, the peasant in 
 the field, the muleteer and waggoner on the road, the 
 priest pacing, breviary in hand, and the citizen in the 
 market-place, all alike and everywhere paused in their 
 occupations, with bowed heads obedient to the call to 
 prayer. But within the tower itself the echoes of the 
 bells boomed one great hollow noise, into which each 
 new stroke of the clapper fell clanging, to be instantly 
 swallowed. A human voice would have fallen imper- 
 ceptible in the midst of this metallic uproar as a drop of 
 water into a stormy sea. It may be that Seraphine 
 could not easily have found anything to say to this 
 young man who kneeled beside her, shaken by his sobs, 
 his hand convulsively clenched in his thick brown hair. 
 She sat for a while motionless in pale silence, while 
 the bells clanged overhead and their echoes stormed 
 about her; then laid her hand upon his arm. There 
 was something magnetic in the frail touch. His grief 
 became less poignant, and when the bells ceased to 
 ring, leaving in the tower a silence, in its turn half be- 
 wildering, although he remained in the same position, 
 the passion of his emotion was over. 
 
 " I implore you," she said, " not to give way to such 
 despair. This is, after all, only a misunderstanding. 
 It may be, when I am gone, the Emperor will for- 
 get it." 
 
 He sighed, and answered, in a muffled voice : 
 " The Emperor, they say, never forgets." 
 " In politics, in war, that may be true. But con- 
 sider how trifling a matter is this. An afifair of a 
 woman he has never even pretended to admire — a 
 caprice of resentment. He cannot be so stupid as to 
 persevere in depriving himself on this account of the 
 
 [177]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 services of an officer such as you — brave, devoted to 
 his person, of a talent no one denies. He has been 
 angry with you, no doubt, but perhaps even now 
 is saying, ' I hope that fooHsh Vidal will get back to 
 me safe and sound.' " 
 
 " If I could but go back," resumed Vidal, in a 
 calmer voice, " all might be explained, or at any rate 
 atoned for. But I leave him in this moment of just 
 anger, I become a prisoner in the hands of these ban- 
 dits, without a chance of winning back his favour." 
 
 " Alas, Colonel ! It is not in my power to send 
 you back to the Emperor. To-morrow Don Fernando 
 has promised to send me with an escort to Astorga, 
 where I shall find my father. You will travel with 
 me so far and will then be left in the hands of the 
 English general. If he does not desire to have pris- 
 oners, you will be sent to the Marquis of Romana, in 
 Galicia. In any case you will have a chance of being 
 exchanged with other prisoners of war, which you 
 would not have if you remained the prisoner of the 
 guerrilleros." 
 
 " You must despise my weakness." 
 
 " I, who by my own culpable weakness have been 
 the cause of your misfortune? No, no — do not be- 
 lieve it. I only beg you not to despair, not to take 
 too gloomy a view of an afifair to which I, a woman, 
 have perhaps attributed too much importance." 
 
 " He might have forgiven me if I had succeeded 
 in bringing through the despatch ; but I failed. The 
 Emperor does not like people who fail. Well, well ! 
 After all, I was lucky in not being murdered at once. 
 Certainly my star was once more in the ascendant 
 when it could send to my rescue an angel, a seraph — 
 
 '[178]
 
 TWO IN A TOWER 
 
 Where then, Mademoiselle Seraphine, do you hide 
 the wings which brought you here ? " 
 
 " I wish in truth I had wings, for they would so 
 long since have carried me far away that you would 
 never have had the misfortune to know me, nor I the 
 misfortune to know the Emperor. But all things 
 have an end, and I have now nothing to wish, except 
 that you may soon have as little cause to fear his 
 vengeance as I have." 
 
 " Do not be too sure that you will never have cause 
 to fear it, Mademoiselle. Spain cannot much longer 
 resist the Emperor's power, and a day may come when 
 I in my turn may be able to protect you." 
 
 " I thank you. Colonel Vidal. I cannot pretend to 
 believe that Spain can remain forever unconquered — 
 and my family have all their interests here. Perhaps 
 when you are a duke, or even before, I may have to 
 ask you to exercise influence on their behalf. For my- 
 self, I have a refuge and even a very small fortune in 
 England. How glad I am to have done something 
 to soften the recollection of the wrong I did you, be- 
 fore we part, never to meet again." 
 
 " Never to meet again ? Do not be too sure, 
 Mademoiselle. Superstition would say that Fate, who 
 has already played us two tricks, is likely to have 
 another in store for us." 
 
 He had risen to his feet, and smiled somewhat as he 
 spoke, while endeavouring to smooth the disorder of 
 his hair. Seraphine smiled response. 
 
 " Superstition ! You forget this is the nineteenth 
 century, in which there is no longer any such thing." 
 
 She had knocked at the door, and the jailer opened 
 it from without. 
 
 [179]
 
 XIII 
 
 THE DEAD SOLDIER 
 
 THE round and massive arch of the city gate- 
 way echoed back the " Vaya con Dios " of the 
 sentry as Miss Dillon, accompanied by two 
 guerrilleros and the French prisoner, rode out of 
 Zamora in the grey morning, the grey, interminable 
 rain. She was mounted upon a pony, Vidal bestrode 
 a mule of an obstinate and phlegmatic temper, and 
 was closely watched by the guerrilleros, both well 
 mounted and armed to the teeth. At first their road 
 ran by a babbling stream, whose course is here 
 through a grove of waving trees and under a grey 
 cliff crowned with the red vineyards, the grey walls 
 and pantiled roofs of the suburb of S. Lorenzo. Then 
 once again they found themselves pounding along 
 one of those fiat roads across the plain, with which 
 both Miss Dillon and Vidal were by this time pain- 
 fully familiar. After some weary miles of this, they 
 at length reached the bank of the muddy Esla and 
 crossed it by a bridge. And, to tell the truth, until 
 they had crossed this bridge, the guerrilleros did 
 not feel themselves, their charge, or their prisoner in 
 perfect safety. Rumours had reached Zamora that 
 the French cavalry were being pushed across the 
 plain at racing speed, and when they would reach the 
 river and how far down its course they might come, 
 no man could tell. In fact, upon that very day a de- 
 tachment of chasseurs of the Guard crossed the Esla 
 
 [i8o]
 
 THE DEAD SOLDIER 
 
 at Castro Gonzalo and came into touch with the 
 British rear-guard, just about withdrawing itself from 
 Benevente towards Astorga. It was a brisk encounter, 
 man to man, sword to sword, pursued a mile or two 
 across the fields and even into the oozy bed of the 
 river. A bloody skirmish and a rude check to those 
 gallant soldiers of France, who met here for the first 
 time, surely not unsurprised, the stubborn soldiery 
 whom their Emperor was wont to assure them were 
 such exceedingly bad troops. It was, perhaps, con- 
 fidence in these assurances which filled the chasseurs 
 over-full of temerity, and caused their general, Lefebre 
 Desnouettes, to fall into the hands of the enemy — a 
 mischance which greatly disturbed our sergeant's 
 temper. 
 
 The chasseurs were fording the stream many miles 
 higher up when Miss Dillon crossed it. The party 
 had now left the soaked plain for the barren Sierra, 
 and the guards no longer rode on each side of Vidal. 
 Ignorant of the Spanish language, unarmed, ill- 
 mounted, with murder waiting its opportunity in the 
 heart of every peasant he met, he could have small 
 temptation to attempt escape. Sometimes one, some- 
 times the other of the guerrilleros would dismount 
 and lead her pony up or down stony places, although 
 it was almost as sure-footed as a mule and of more 
 agreeable manners. The faces of these men, more 
 rudely cut than those of the Madrilefios, with the 
 thick dark hair chopped straight on their foreheads 
 and plastered down on their temples to meet small 
 whiskers, expressed now only that good-nature, that 
 sympathetic courtesy which was the normal side of 
 their- character. That they were capable of stern 
 
 [i8i]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 cruelty, of vindictive ferocity, Miss Dillon knew by 
 the evidence of her own senses ; yet she could not 
 believe it. Such difficulty has even the supplest of 
 Northern minds in fully grasping the elements of 
 Southern character. The amiability is real, the feroc- 
 ity is real ; and the combination is nearly as much 
 beyond our comprehension as the most abstruse theo- 
 logical doctrine of the Nature of the Divinity. 
 
 Seraphine talked with them as well as she was able, 
 but the weakness of her Spanish limited conversa- 
 tion. And during the greater part of the way it was 
 Hector Vidal who rode beside her or walked at her 
 pony's head. The Sierras over which they were now 
 journeying were scarcely mountains, but rather hills, 
 of a kind which in another climate would be clothed 
 with fern and heather, and wrapped about the feet 
 in a velvet luxuriance of leafage. Here the bare 
 bones of the ancient earth are scantily clothed with 
 low grey thymey-scented shrubs, or overshadowed by 
 black woods of pine or ilex, which cling to crag and 
 boulder with twisted, obstinate roots, and starved and 
 stunted, yet unconquerable, plume with serried dark- 
 ness the long waving line of the heights which over- 
 look the plain. From time to time the travellers 
 caught a glimpse of a distant mountain-peak, glitter- 
 ing pure silver; but from these hills the snow had 
 melted, except for patches lingering on the higher 
 points, perhaps " waiting for more," as in England 
 the country people say. 
 
 Hector Vidal had never in his life been so happy 
 as he Vas walking at Seraphine's bridle-rein, and this 
 although so dark a cloud hung over his once brilliant 
 career. The thing will appear absurd, incredible, to 
 
 [182]
 
 THE DEAD SOLDIER 
 
 those who, in the course of half a century or so of 
 existence, have never learned the secret of love : to 
 those who have it will seem too obvious to be worth 
 stating. For so it is with the things of the heart. 
 For twenty-eight years the body and, in a measure, 
 the mind of Hector Vidal had been living and thriv- 
 ing, and now something else in him, call it a heart 
 or a soul, awoke and flung its windows open to the 
 sun. And the strangest thing was that he could have 
 sworn that, after all, it had never been more than half 
 asleep, and waiting for this sun, aware of this splen- 
 dour travelling up over the dark edge of the earth 
 to strike at such a moment on its casement. To 
 another eye the face of Seraphine, pale and worn with 
 the fatigue and emotions of the last crowded days, 
 would have appeared robbed of near all its charms, 
 except when illuminated by the fugitive light of her 
 smile. To Vidal that face was now, even now, the 
 loveliest in the world, and often furtively, when he 
 fancied she did not see him, he would gaze upon it, 
 endeavouring to fix every aspect and lineament in his 
 memory, clear beyond all danger of dimness. And 
 Seraphine was glad, because all enmity and sense of 
 mutual wrong between them was wiped out, although 
 the consequences of such enmity and wrong remained 
 behind, as it is the disagreeable habit of consequences 
 to do. Her gaiety, perhaps her coquetry, reasserted 
 itself, and they made some laughter and a little wit as 
 they went. What they talked of is not worth recording, 
 for while speech is the embodiment of thought, it is 
 only the electric wire of emotion. They too seemed 
 to belong to a different world from their companions, 
 almost as much as though they had been thrown to- 
 
 [183]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 gether on an island inhabited else only by harmless 
 savages. 
 
 The first night they spent at the house of a village 
 curate, a simple and kindly man. He seated Miss 
 Dillon on the gloria or bench of honour by the fire, 
 and treated even the French prisoner with courtesy 
 and benevolence. Seraphine could not follow all that 
 was said by her escort, but she heard enough to feel 
 sure that the legend of her escape from the French 
 was losing nothing in their mouths, and smiled to 
 think she had only to sit still to become every day a 
 greater heroine. The priest, also, had his stories of 
 the stirring times to tell. As, for example : there was 
 a young man, lately returned to the village, who had 
 been in Madrid at the time of the victory of Bailen, 
 and had heard on that day, with his own ears, the 
 statue of S. Isidoro intone the Hosanna in Excelsis; 
 which, indeed, half Madrid had heard. The number 
 of miracles being vouchsafed to pious and patriotic 
 Spain was truly very great, and since it was plain 
 enough that Jesus, Maria, S. Jose, and S. Isidoro were 
 all acting on her side, he knew not why people should 
 so greatly concern themselves about the doings of 
 Napoleon. The Spanish generals were only waiting 
 their time to entrap and conquer him as completely 
 as Dumont had been conquered at Bailen. Thus 
 talked the worthy man, undisturbed as yet in his 
 quiet corner by the tumult of war, and though a 
 patriot, without the bloodthirstiness which too often 
 characterised the priesthood militant. 
 
 On the second day of their journey Hector Vidal 
 observed that they had not plunged so deep into the 
 mountainous country as he had before supposed. At 
 
 [184]
 
 THE DEAD SOLDIER 
 
 the top of a steep path they came into a pine-wood, 
 and saw, through the stems of the trees, the plain 
 spread out before them, very clear, illuminated by a 
 pale gleam of sunshine treading on the heels of rain. 
 Away to the horizon it stretched, brown and monoto- 
 nous, but immediately below them the many streams 
 of the Sierra flowed out through grassy fields, where 
 tall poplars and elms waved their leafless yet pleasant 
 branches. Beyond them a wide meadow, spreading 
 away to the Esla, caught the sunshine, and by some 
 trick of the varying sky, the rock-perched, walled 
 town of Benevente stood dark against it. From the 
 castle tower waved a flag, its colour not discernible ; 
 and beyond the town, over the flat meadows, troops 
 were pouring, some infantry and large bodies of cav- 
 alry. Vidal could not distinguish the uniforms, but 
 he doubted not they were French troops. At the 
 sight he fell rudely from heaven to earth. Could this 
 idyllic journey last forever, the Grand Army might 
 march where it liked for him. But to-morrow the 
 idyll would end, and he would be doomed to the 
 dreary, the ignominious inactivity of a prisoner of 
 war. Since he was in disgrace, no special effort would 
 be made to exchange him. A prisoner he must re- 
 main, without that opportunity of regaining his Em- 
 peror's favour, which it appeared to him he could so 
 easily find were he but a free man. Meantime, other 
 men, his inferiors in talent and in courage, would be 
 outstripping him in the crowded race for glory. 
 Peace truly might come soon ; the Emperor's un- 
 broken career of victory made that probable. The 
 more need to efface, with the fresh print of gallant 
 and successful enterprise, the impression of an oflfence 
 
 [185]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 so paltry that it could surely not be deeply graven 
 on the bronze of the Great Man's memory. All this 
 flashed across his brain in two seconds, and as he had 
 always been in the habit — or so it now appeared to 
 him — of telling Seraphine everything, he presently 
 confided to her his melancholy reflections. 
 
 Now, this same distant view had somewhat discon- 
 certed the plans of the gucrrillcros, who had no idea 
 that so large a body of troops had already crossed 
 the plain. They had intended to leave the mountains 
 just beyond Benevente and follow the highroad to 
 Astorga. This plan would now require reconsidera- 
 tion. They pursued their way, talking earnestly to- 
 gether ; and presently the party, descending the 
 mountain, came into a narrow valley, through which 
 a stream ran out into the plain. The valley floor was 
 green with grass. On the opposite side of the stream 
 was a low clifT, which presently curved back into a 
 kind of inland bay, wherein grew a number of trees, 
 spreading the beautiful tracery of their branches and 
 bare innumerable twigs, in many delicate shades of 
 gilded grey and brown, against the delicate grey of 
 the sunlit rock. For the sun still shone at intervals. 
 A fact worth nothing when those guerrilla fighters, 
 Generals Mud, Rain, and Snow, were harassing friend 
 and foe alike along nearly every mile of the way from 
 Madrid to Corufia. 
 
 It was about the hour of the mid-day meal, and 
 the guerrilleros, having finished their confabulation, 
 explained to Miss Dillon that they had no food 
 with them, having expected to get some at a certain 
 monastery not far from Santa Marta. It would now, 
 however, be dangerous for the party to advance so 
 
 [i86]
 
 THE DEAD SOLDIER 
 
 far into the plain. Their present intention was to take 
 a path over the Sierra which would not before even- 
 ing bring them to any village or farm. Before doing 
 so they wished to go away, each in a different direc- 
 tion, to try to procure food in the more immediate 
 neighbourhood. But while they said this to her, their 
 principal object was to observe the French advance 
 and get the latest intelligence from the peasantry. 
 They requested her to ask the Frenchman whether 
 he would remain with her on parole while they were 
 absent ; otherwise they would be unwilling either of 
 them to go off guard, and would continue the journey 
 at once. Small as was Vidal's hope of escape, the 
 near neighbourhood of his countrymen had excited 
 him, and had Seraphine been out of the case he would 
 not willingly have foregone even for an hour his chance 
 of one of those lucky throws of Fortune's dice which 
 had so often given him the game. His hardy frame 
 could support, with little inconvenience, a ten hours' 
 fast, but he could not endure that Seraphine should 
 be subjected to such a hardship. Therefore, when she 
 had interpreted to him the proposition of the guer- 
 rilleros, after looking on the ground a minute, he gave 
 the required parole. 
 
 The two Spaniards, having tethered the phlegmatic 
 mule and the pony to crop the fresh herbage of the val- 
 ley, rode off together, leaving Seraphine and Vidal 
 alone beside the stream. She sat upon a stone, while 
 he, throwing back the large Spanish cloak in which he 
 was wrapped, lay upon the ground, his hands clasped 
 under his head, the gorra tilted over his eyes, as 
 though to shade them from the sun, but in reality to 
 allow him the more freely to feast them on the face 
 of Seraphine. 
 
 [187]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 After a while she proposed that they should explore 
 the little valley, so refreshing to the eye after the deep 
 mud of the corn-growing plain and the starved grey- 
 ness of the Sierra. At a little distance down the 
 stream was a foot-bridge, and, crossing it, they 
 strolled up a path on the opposite bank, and so into 
 the wooded bay in the cliff which they had seen from 
 the opposite side. This was not all thickly wooded, 
 as it appeared to be from a distance, but had under 
 the cliff an open grassy space. Now, looking through 
 the brushwood beside the path, they both at the same 
 moment caught sight of a scarlet something lying on 
 the grass under the cliff. Vidal perceived it to be a 
 dead man, dressed in a uniform which he had never 
 before seen. Catching Seraphine by the cloak, he 
 cried out : 
 
 " Do not look. Here is a thing which will frighten 
 you too much." 
 
 But she had by this time recognised the English 
 uniform, and paying no attention to what he was say- 
 ing, she pushed through the brushwood into the open 
 space. A young English officer lay there on his side 
 up the green slope under the cliff, as though asleep. 
 But, on looking at him more closely, it was plain that 
 he was dead. There was no sign of any struggle hav- 
 ing taken place here. At first sight it even appeared 
 as though he had died a natural death, so thin was 
 the trickle of blood which had flowed from an almost 
 invisible hole in his side. There must have been, very 
 lately, some chance encounter of foraging parties 
 above on the cliff or lower down the valley in which 
 he had been hit by a pistol bullet and killed, not so 
 immediately but that he had been able to drag him- 
 self to a place of concealment. 
 
 [i88]
 
 THE DEAD SOLDIER 
 
 Even Vidal, habituated to the sight of hideous and 
 multitudinous death, felt a touch of pity and rever- 
 ence before the corpse of this poor youth, so beautiful 
 and composed in his last slumber. All that Seraphine 
 must naturally have felt at such a ^ectacle was ren- 
 dered the more poignant by the circumstance that this 
 was the first to meet her eyes of those English faces 
 she had so ardently longed to see. It was such a 
 face — smooth, clear-cut, fair-skinned, crowned with a 
 bright wave of blond hair — as may be seen over and 
 over again in any assemblage of English youths, and 
 in spite of his soiled and faded uniform and the per- 
 sonal neglect incident to such a march as he must 
 have made, it was plain he was gently nurtured. For 
 a while she gazed through tears at her dead country- 
 man, then, kneeling beside him, kissed the cold fore- 
 head for those at home who would perhaps never 
 know where he slept the last sleep. And meantime 
 Hector Vidal looked at her half wistful, half wonder- 
 ing. A pair of carrion crows were suddenly visible 
 against the sky, wheeling round with harsh cries. To 
 her they were too strange to be significant ; but Vidal 
 knew them. Tempered as he was to the horrors of 
 war, he could never see these ill-omened followers of 
 the army without a shudder. 
 
 " Will no one bury him ? " she asked. 
 
 "I would do it myself," he replied, with feeling; 
 " but how can I ? — I have not even a knife." 
 
 Seraphine took a white handkerchief from her 
 pocket and spread it over the dead boy's face. She 
 then repeated to herself such few phrases as she could 
 remember, majestic in their gloom or gentle and re- 
 freshing as the sound of falling water, from the Eng- 
 
 [189]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 Hsh Burial Service. On seeing her thus kneel beside 
 the corpse in prayer, a man brought up in respect 
 for religion must have taken the cap from his head 
 and bowed it in sympathy. But Hector Vidal re- 
 mained covered and upright. Though so young a 
 soldier of the Empire, he was still a child of the 
 Revolution. Yet had the words, of which he some- 
 times caught a few as they fell from her lips, been 
 Latin, he would have felt a certain familiarity in the 
 situation : for if he had known few good women, he 
 had known plenty of pious ones. As it was, Sera- 
 phine seemed to have gone away, hand in hand with 
 the dead youth, into some place the door of which 
 was closed to him. He was glad when she rose, and, 
 wiping the tears from her eyes, regained the footpath 
 at his side. 
 
 " It is unjust," he said, " to give a dead man your 
 tears and your kiss, when a living one would give 
 much to have them." 
 
 Emotion and embarrassment kept Miss Dillon 
 silent. 
 
 " If this young man," he resumed, " was a good 
 soldier, he must have known that there are worse 
 things than to be killed in combat. That is a fitting 
 end, and one we soldiers may almost be said to seek. 
 When I leave you, Mademoiselle, it will be for the 
 living death of a prisoner of war. Indeed, if my fate 
 is no better than that of the unfortunate prisoners 
 of Bailen, it is very likely to end in death from misery 
 and privation." 
 
 " You make me very unhappy, Colonel Vidal," re- 
 turned Seraphine, her thoughts not following the 
 track of his. " It is cruel that you should be so near 
 the French army without being able to rejoin it." 
 
 [190]
 
 THE DEAD SOLDIER 
 
 He glanced at her, half mortified, half relieved, to 
 feel sure she had not guessed the folly which had 
 flitted through his mind. 
 
 " You will think me a barbarian," he resumed, 
 after a while ; " but I own I looked to see what 
 weapons this young officer carried. Well, I am not 
 in luck to-day. His sword must have been a very 
 light one — you may have noticed it was broken close 
 to the hilt. I could have done that with a stroke of 
 my sabre. And no pistols ! He must have fallen 
 from his horse and left them in the holsters. That 
 was a misfortune — first for him, then for me." 
 
 They reached the foot-bridge, and, leaning on the 
 parapet, watched the running water absently and in 
 silence. 
 
 Presently Vidal said, with some hesitation : 
 
 " I believe if I could possess myself of the uniform 
 of this English officer it might enable me to escape." 
 
 " How so? " asked Seraphine. 
 
 " These fellows do not, for the most part, trouble 
 themselves much about guarding me. They credit 
 me with good sense enough to know that my fate, 
 if I fell unarmed into the clutches of the country peo- 
 ple, would be unenviable. Yet the peasants cannot 
 really know one foreigner from another, and if I 
 could pass myself ofif as an English ofificer I could 
 surely make my way to Benevente. I think I know 
 now a few words of Spanish, yet so few they could 
 not expect me to tell them a very long story in it. 
 However, I would rather remain a prisoner than do 
 anything which would cause you pain." 
 
 " I do you the justice to believe," replied Sera- 
 phine, after a pause, " that it is as repugnant to you 
 as it would be to myself to despoil the dead. But it 
 
 [191]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 can do no harm to this poor corpse, and I would not 
 wilHngly oppose anything which seems to offer you 
 a chance of escape." 
 
 Having received this permission, Vidal ran back to 
 the clearing. One large black crow had just settled 
 on the scarlet uniform, another on the ground beside 
 it. With a vicious stone he sent the pair of them 
 flapping and scrawking up over the cliff and away. 
 Rapidly divesting the dead man of his outer garments, 
 he felt about, like the old campaigner that he was, 
 for money or other valuables, and found a purse con- 
 taining a few Spanish coins, a gold watch, and fifteen 
 English sovereigns sewn into a lining. Besides these 
 things he took the small handkerchief with which 
 Seraphine had covered the dead man's face. 
 
 " Pardon me, comrade," he muttered as he did so ; 
 " but to you it is worth nothing, and to me it is worth 
 much." 
 
 This was the only article of those which he had 
 taken which he did not show to Seraphine. 
 
 " It is useless to leave these valuables," he said. 
 " We might as well take them as leave them to be 
 taken by the first peasant who passes." 
 
 And seeing that Vidal had often enough helped 
 himself to such goods as the gods provided on the 
 body of a fallen enemy, disdaining nothing, from a 
 bit of meat to a purse of gold, he felt how ridiculous 
 was the apologetic manner of his speech. Yet it came 
 naturally to him. 
 
 The watch had a coat-of-arms and initials engraved 
 upon it. 
 
 " When I reach England I shall no doubt be able 
 to restore this to his family," said Seraphine. 
 
 [192]
 
 THE DEAD SOLDIER 
 
 Having inquired what the gold pieces were worth, 
 Vidal said: 
 
 " You told me yesterday your pocket was almost 
 as empty as mine. I do this EngHshman the honour 
 to believe that, were he alive, he would gladly offer 
 you his gold, to protect you from hardships I tremble 
 to think of your suffering. He would not so gladly 
 offer me these five Napoleons, but my necessities com- 
 pel me to take them." 
 
 " Take as many as you want," cried Seraphine, 
 eagerly. " Be under no scruple. I will repay them 
 to his family, and on me you must feel you have a 
 claim." 
 
 Scruple ! He smiled. A belief that she might pos- 
 sibly repay the five Napoleons was the only thing 
 that might have made him scruple to take them. But 
 no ! There were a thousand chances to one against 
 her doing it. In the first place, she would never get 
 to England. Hector Vidal was one of those men who 
 are blessed with a congenital certainty that nothing 
 which would be disagreeable to them if it happened 
 can possibly happen. Fortune loves those who are 
 confident of her favour, as women are said to do ; 
 though, like a woman, she can also sometimes reserve 
 for them disagreeable surprises. 
 
 " This is enough," he said, securing the gold. " If 
 I get back to the army I shall find no lack of money. 
 If not, my captors will rob me of all I have." 
 
 There were saddle-bags filled with Seraphine's 
 things on his mule, and he concealed the uniform 
 among them. 
 
 Soon afterwards the two guerrilleros came riding up 
 the valley. They brought with them only a little 
 
 [193]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 sour bread and some small cakes of the country, called 
 mantecadas. Vidal contrived that Seraphine should, 
 without knowing it, have nearly all his share of the 
 provisions, and fared on up the wild and lonely path 
 in the darkening weather, with a heart which hunger 
 could not prevent from being light, although the 
 prospect of parting from Seraphine took half the 
 brightness out of those hopes of liberty he now held in 
 his saddle-bags. Still he felt sure that there would 
 be a capitulation of the English army, in which her 
 father would be involved ; and then he should some- 
 how contrive to find and protect her, and to win for- 
 giveness from the Emperor for both their offences, 
 common and separate. 
 
 They were now plunging into the depths of the 
 Sierra de la Pena Negra, so as to keep well out of 
 touch with the advancing French army. Vidal ob- 
 served with annoyance that they frequently changed 
 their direction, and sometimes left the path altogether 
 to strike across trackless hillsides. It was already 
 twilight when they reached a collection of houses, at 
 one of which, a large farm, they were to spend the 
 night. Yet dusk though it was, as they came up to 
 it, Vidal's keen eye contrived to note many details 
 of its position and surroundings. He stabled his own 
 mule, thereby succeeding in extracting the uniform 
 unobserved, and also in securing a piece of small cord. 
 He and his guards were to sleep over the stable, in a 
 loft having a small unglazed window. This he had 
 observed from the outside, and while the other men 
 were engaged in finding fodder for the mules — for 
 there was Httle to be had — he unbolted and disposed 
 the wooden shutter within in such a way that he could 
 
 [194]
 
 THE DEAD SOLDIER 
 
 remove it when necessary without noise. Although to 
 leave it at all was perhaps an excess of caution, as his 
 guards were in no fear of his escaping now that they 
 had left the French far behind them, and had they 
 noticed the open window, would probably have con- 
 sidered it too small to admit of his passage. But 
 Vidal had in the course of his experiences convinced 
 himself of his own almost animal power of squeezing 
 through small apertures. There was a dung-heap 
 under the window ; not a special dung-heap, but part 
 of one, deep and wide, which spread all round the 
 stables and house. In the loft was a great heap of 
 ilex-branches, destined ultimately for fire-wood, but 
 now freshly cut and still covered with leaves. Of these 
 he made himself something between a bed and a shel- 
 ter, and concealed his disguise in the mouth of a sack 
 beside it. 
 
 The whole party had supper with the farmer and 
 his family, whose courtesy and grace would have 
 adorned a palace in any other country than Spain. 
 Soon after supper everyone retired to rest ; but be- 
 fore doing so their host lighted two candles before a 
 picture of Christ and the Virgin, and with all those 
 in his house kneeled, rosary in hand, to recite the 
 evening prayer. Seraphine kneeled in company with 
 these pious and simple people, though somewhat in 
 the background. Vidal, disdaining to pretend a rev- 
 erence he did not feel, seated himself on a wooden 
 stool close to her. But at a moment when the mutter 
 of prayer filled the room, and everyone was evidently 
 absorbed in their orisons, he slipped on to his knees 
 at her side. She heard a soft sound between a sigh 
 and an exclamation, felt her hand gently but irre- 
 
 [195]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 sistibly seized, and then kisses, fervent without vio- 
 lence, pressed upon the back, the pahn, and the deh- 
 cate blue-veined smoothness of wrist and inner arm. 
 In a minute Vidal had resumed his seat, and after- 
 wards bade her good-night with formal politeness. 
 
 When assured that the gucrrilleros lay in a sound 
 sleep, he took the uniform, which he had made into 
 a parcel with a piece of cord, out of the sack and ar- 
 ranged his cloak over a large branch of ilex, in such 
 a way as to conceal his disappearance as long as pos- 
 sible from his guards. Feeling for the shutter, he 
 removed it with infinite precautions, and dropped his 
 parcel out of the window, not without a qualm lest 
 in the dark he should be unable to find it. He then 
 wriggled himself feet foremost through the aperture, 
 and after a second or two of suspense and suspension, 
 fell on to the dung-heap with a thud which sounded 
 in his ears loud enough to waken the Seven Sleepers. 
 So fixed was his attention on a possible halloo over- 
 head, that he found himself scrambling and stumbling, 
 parcel in hand, through the scrubby aromatic-smell- 
 ing vegetation of a barren hill-side before he realised 
 that he had hurt his knee in his drop from the win- 
 dow. It gave him acute pain. So much the worse ! 
 There was neither moon nor star, and a cold sleet 
 verging on snow was beginning to fall. In spite of all 
 his efforts during the afternoon he had been unable 
 to preserve his sense of direction, and as he hurried, 
 doggedly, swiftly, painfully, up and down slopes of 
 loose stones in profound darkness, he wondered to 
 himself, with an ironic smile, w^hether with all this 
 haste he was most likely to find himself by daylight 
 on the frontiers of Portugal or at the gates of Bene- 
 vente. 
 
 [196]
 
 XIV 
 
 THE KNIGHT SANS PEUR ET SANS 
 REPROCHE 
 
 THE dull and wintry day was darkening 
 towards evening- in the city of Astorga. A 
 " noble " city, a Grandee of Spain, yet some- 
 thing fallen from its high estate — squalid, with narrow 
 streets most infamously paved, and now deep in the 
 slush of trodden snow. To be felt, the chilly slush, 
 but scarcely to be seen, except, in smears on the in- 
 cessant crowd which covered it, swarming this way 
 and that, like ants on a disturbed ant-heap, or lying, 
 either in huddled heaps of humanity mostly covered 
 with faded scarlet uniforms under the store-waggons 
 which blocked the narrow ways, or singly in the mud, 
 just as they had fallen. Wine ran from under broken 
 doors, wine oozed from the lips and nostrils of the 
 sleepers, a sickening odour of wine mingled with all 
 the fetid odours of the town. This crowd was of vari- 
 ous and shifting colours, yet there was in it a certain 
 monotony of misery and degradation. Shoeless and 
 starving men in British uniforms jostled and wrangled 
 with Spaniards, shoeless and starving too, some half- 
 naked, others dressed in strange odds and ends of 
 fine clothing — a velvet coat here, a pair of satin 
 breeches there, covering bodies whose bones almost 
 started through their covering of brown skin and dirt. 
 Hunger, fever, the excitement of plunder, glittered in 
 the eyes of this wild horde of peasants, the so-called 
 
 [197]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 army of Romana. Undisciplined, unfed, smitten with 
 typhus, the French had easily driven them from Leon ; 
 and now they overflowed, in all their contagious con- 
 fusion, the sullen march of the British. There were 
 women, too, among- the crowd, high-coloured English- 
 women and dark-eyed Spaniards, different enough in 
 shape and complexion, but alike hardy and weather- 
 beaten, clothed alike in scanty rags eked out with col- 
 oured kerchiefs — except where one, more favoured 
 than her sisters, had secured a silk gown, a shawl, or a 
 moreen petticoat stolen from the wardrobe of some 
 citizen's wife. Some of the women staggered, and 
 laughed drunkenly among the men, a few even lay 
 among the abashed cumberers of the ground — and 
 these were, without exception, British. Children were 
 there too — babies in arms and ragged, bare-legged 
 boys and girls. Occasionally a citizen of Astorga 
 looked out in pale bewilderment on this invasion of 
 the barbarians, or hammered at the mending of some 
 broken door. The tapping sound struck feebly through 
 a babel of drunken laughter, of obscenity, and quarrel- 
 some shouting in two languages. 
 
 In the Plazuela, before the imposing front of the 
 vast Cathedral, stood some waggons laden with flour 
 which men were busy scattering upon the ground, 
 not madly, but in a business-like fashion ; while 
 women and children, gathering about them, filled 
 aprons, caps, and all manner of receptacles with it. 
 This cold, methodical destruction of food in the midst 
 of starvation had its own touch of horror. A throng 
 of soldiers, worn and ragged indeed, but of orderly 
 aspect, were collected round another waggon, on 
 which stood, with a drift of soft snow white on his 
 
 [198]
 
 SANS PEUR ET SANS REPROCHE 
 
 broad shoulders, a big red-headed officer, a sergeant, 
 and two privates serving out new shoes. The red- 
 headed officer, who was very young and ugly with 
 the raw ugliness of youth, stood on the front of the 
 waggon, playing the cheap-jack amid bursts of merri- 
 ment, while the soldiers below handed the new shoes 
 from man to man, fitting them on each other with 
 good-humoured jokes and laughter. 
 
 Meantime there pressed out of a narrow street, into 
 the comparative freedom of the square, a sturdy pony, 
 carrying a small and completely muffled female on its 
 back and accompanied by two armed Spaniards, bet- 
 ter dressed and accoutred than the ordinary Spanish 
 soldiers in the town. The female on the pony trotted 
 up to the waggons, and addressed the same question 
 to two officers in succession. They were directing 
 the destruction of the stores, and each in turn an- 
 swered perfunctorily, scarcely turning his head. The 
 enquirer paused irresolute in the middle of the square, 
 and mechanically pushing back the shawl which con- 
 cealed her features, looked all round her with her 
 young brow puckered into a frown, and anxious eyes 
 large in her pinched white face. 
 
 The shoes were all distributed. The red-headed 
 officer jumped down from the waggon and stood 
 about, pacifying half humorously, half roughly the 
 discontent of some soldiers who had arrived too late 
 for the distribution. Then, followed by the non- 
 commissioned officer, he strode ofif in the direction 
 of a small street to the northwest of the Cathedral. 
 Thus he passed near the young woman on the pony. 
 Her eyes had for some minutes been following him, 
 and she rode forward across his path. 
 
 [199]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 " Pray, Sir," she asked, " can you tell me where 
 I am likely to find Mr. Dillon of the commissariat? " 
 
 The red-haired man stopped, looking bothered. He 
 scratched his head, thereby tilting his three-cornered 
 hat over his nose. 
 
 " Dillon, Dillon, Dillon," he repeated, thoughtfully. 
 " Blest if I know ! " 
 
 '' No one seems to know ! " exclaimed Miss Dillon. 
 " How dreadful ! " 
 
 " I'm not in the commissariat myself, nor anywhere 
 near it. I served out the shoes, because if I hadn't 
 the Johnny Craps would have got 'em. You'd better 
 ask someone who's in the business." 
 
 " Whom shall I ask ? " she enquired, despairingly. 
 
 He considered, still bothered. 
 
 " You can come down this street with me if you 
 like, and I'll show you Sir John's quarters. If you 
 wait about there, most likely you'll see some big gun 
 who can tell you what's become of the commissariat. 
 It's more than I can do." 
 
 The crowd in the street down which they turned 
 was, in its English element at least, something less 
 noisy, something less brutal than in that inferno 
 through which Miss Dillon had previously passed. 
 Yet without the comparison it would have seemed to 
 her as horrible as well might be. The young officer 
 walked in front, clearing the way peremptorily if still 
 slowly. He was out of temper with things in gen- 
 eral, and in particular at finding himself the convoy 
 of a young lady through this abominable scene — since 
 her voice and a glance or two at her face had con- 
 vinced him that, incredible as it seemed, here was 
 a lady. 
 
 [200]
 
 SANS PEUR ET SANS REPROCHE 
 
 " What in God's name made you come to Astorga 
 at this pinch?" he broke out, passionately, as their 
 way was blocked by a waggon of the country, beneath 
 whose tilt was piled a heap of men, women, and chil- 
 dren, naked and fever-stricken. 
 
 " I was a prisoner — I have escaped from the 
 French," she replied. " I heard my father was with 
 the army, so I came to join him." 
 
 " Then it was a damned silly thing to do," he re- 
 turned. And there was something peculiarly crush- 
 ing in his way of looking at her, which was no different 
 from the way in which he would have looked at a 
 schoolboy of fourteen who had been guilty of some 
 highly mischievous and inconvenient folly. Miss 
 Dillon had no spirit left in her with which to resent 
 this brushing aside of the customary social shelter of 
 her sex. 
 
 " I didn't know," she murmured, feebly. 
 
 He gave a snort or grunt, which seemed to indicate 
 that he thought poorly of her intelligence for not 
 knowing; then bestowed a stern and effectual — 
 " Now then, my man ! Get out of this lady's way, 
 if you please " — on a soldier slightly elevated with 
 wine, who showed a disposition to stare in Miss 
 Dillon's face. From the covered waggon close by 
 came the groans of dying, the dreadful chatter of de- 
 lirious people, the exhalations of deadly typhus. Miss 
 Dillon drew her shawl tightly across her face, in a 
 vain endeavour to shut all the avenues of sense to 
 the horrors which crowded in upon them. At length 
 the waggon moved on, bearing further its aftermath of 
 war ; and dragging her pony after him the red-headed 
 man pushed forward. The tiny Plazuela into which 
 they emerged was almost quiet, almost empty. 
 
 [201]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 " That's where the General's quartered," said the 
 officer, loosing her rein and nodding towards a house 
 opposite, of no pretension except for two small shields 
 carved above the entrance. 
 
 As he spoke, the door of a neighbouring house 
 burst open and a Spaniard, wearing the rags of a 
 brown uniform, rushed out. carrying an earthen pot 
 in his hand and closely pursued by a British soldier. 
 The soldier caught the fugitive a blow with his fist, 
 and, as the Spaniard staggered and paused, made a 
 snatch at his frantically clutched pot. Close upon the 
 heels of the pair ran a decently dressed citizen and 
 his wife, rending heaven with their cries of rage and 
 despair. The soldiers, Spaniard and Englishman, 
 got each the fingers of one hand in the mouth of the 
 pot. and tugged this way and that, till the money in 
 it rattled again, and a coin or two fell out. to be 
 eagerly gathered up by its lawful owners. The red- 
 headed young man strode across to the combatants, 
 bellowing orders to desist. At that moment the 
 Spaniard dropped the jar, thereby sending the Eng- 
 lishman staggering backwards, and whipped out a 
 knife. He was quick, yet not quick enough for his 
 intent : for the Englishman also dropped the pot, 
 and, catching his arm. fell with him backwards into 
 the gutter. There the two lay rolling, the Spaniard 
 with the knife still in his hand, but unable to use it. 
 Meantime the citizen and his wife snatched up the 
 jar, collected their scattered gold, and ran back into 
 their house. The young officer stooped over the 
 struggling pair in the gutter, and tore open the Span- 
 iard's clenched hand. He threw the knife to the 
 sergeant behind him, and began impartially kicking 
 Englishman and Spaniard alike. 
 
 [202]
 
 SANS PEUR ET SANS REPROCHE 
 
 " Get up, you brutes ! " he said, making it mean- 
 while rather difficult for them to do so. 
 
 After a minute of this treatment, he dragged up 
 the Spaniard, who lay uppermost, while the sergeant, 
 under his orders, seized the Englishman. The citizen 
 ran back without his jar, to lay an emphatic complaint, 
 with elucidatory gestures, against both combatants. 
 
 " Biicno, Scflor, buctw! Son dos ladroncs,'' said the 
 red-headed man, laboriously ; and twisting an imag- 
 inary rope round the Spaniard's neck, hung him in 
 pantomime. 
 
 The Englishman understood the gesture, and did 
 not, like the Spaniard, feel the iron grip of the officer 
 upon him. He half shook ofT the sergeant. 
 
 " You let me be," he said, with a variety of oaths. 
 " You an't no officer of mine, and I don't intend for 
 to obey yer." 
 
 " I am a British officer, you scoundrel, and I arrest 
 you for disobeying the orders of the Commander-in- 
 Chief, who, as you very well know, has forbidden 
 plundering on pain of death." 
 
 " British officer be damned. You an't my officer, 
 anyways. I come over the seas to fight Frenchmen, 
 I did, not to be starved to death by these 'ere cow- 
 ardly folks what we're fighting to defend, and as won't 
 raise a finger to 'elp or give us bite or sup, not though 
 we pays for it. As to the blasted money, the Spaniard 
 would have took it if I hadn't, and now the Johnny 
 Craps '11 get it, that's all. Why an't we fightin'? 
 Why be we runnin' away before we're beat? What's 
 the General ?" 
 
 " Come along, and don't argufy. You've got a long 
 tongue, my lad, but you'll find the cat's got a longer." 
 
 [203]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 The red-headed man pushed the Spaniard towards 
 the sergeant and leapt on the recalcitrant Briton. 
 The Spaniard ran. This was perhaps what was in- 
 tended ; for to punish him would hardly have come 
 within the scope of British authority, while the mis- 
 erable rabble which Romana, contrary to his agree- 
 ment with Moore, had permitted to fall back upon 
 Astorga, had few and shadowy officers, without the 
 will or the power to control their disorders. The 
 British soldier ceased to struggle in the grip of the 
 red-headed man ; the sergeant lent his officer the as- 
 sistance of his hands, the citizen of Astorga the 
 assistance of his encouraging cries. So the three 
 disappeared up the street, slowly, followed by a 
 threatening group of the culprit's comrades, vaguely 
 meditating a rescue. In the demoralisation of a re- 
 treat whose apparent causelessness leapt to the eye 
 of every private, the men were ceasing to respect any 
 but their own regimental officers. Yet there was 
 something about the red-headed man which made 
 ceasing to respect him seem a difficult, even a fear- 
 some, process. So that the fruit of the soldiers' medi- 
 tation was that they let him and his prisoner alone. 
 
 Miss Dillon would by no means have regretted his 
 departure under ordinary circumstances, but just now 
 it appeared a desertion. Either he thought he had 
 done all he could for her, or — and this was the more 
 likely — in the hurry of this little incident he had for- 
 gotten her existence. She waited for she knew not 
 what, speaking every now and again in a deprecating 
 tone to her two giicrrillcros, who remained at her side, 
 imperturbably good-tempered and polite, although 
 the escape of their prisoner had destroyed their in- 
 
 [204]
 
 SANS PEUR ET SANS REPROCHE 
 
 terest in the journey, and they were probably hanker- 
 ing after their share in the phinder of Astorga. Just 
 opposite her was the street by which she had come, 
 a narrow, grey street, overtopped by a western tower 
 and a pierced gable of the Cathedral. The twilight 
 was falling, and it was much emptier than it had been, 
 but the scarlet uniforms, stained though they were, still 
 made patches of colour amid the darkening shadows. 
 A man in a cocked hat and feathers rode down the 
 street, followed by several mounted officers. He 
 drew rein once or twice to rage impotently at soldiers 
 staggering from wall to wall before him, or lying 
 prone in doorways. Miss Dillon made up her mind 
 to speak to him when he got near. He had white hair 
 dressed in a pig-tail, and his wine-coloured cheeks, 
 which had doubtless not long ago been of a jovial 
 plumpness, hung loose and deplorable. He was 
 growling and swearing to himself as he rode across 
 the Plazuela, his broad elderly back hunched against 
 a scurry of sleet ; and although she had dismounted 
 in order to address him, she lacked courage to do so. 
 Scarcely had he disappeared, when a similar group 
 came riding from another direction. The principal 
 personage, upright on his horse, dark in a feathered 
 hat and swathing military cloak, spoke to the soldiers 
 in a clear voice, sympathetic for all its sternness ; and 
 his speech, in its severe sobriety, free from all effer- 
 vescence of oaths, seemed to sober the unhappy 
 drunkards he addressed — to fill them suddenly with 
 human shame and self-respect. The personage or- 
 dered the arrest of a soldier obviously laden with 
 booty, and then rode up to the door of the house 
 with the armorial shields. 
 
 [205]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 Miss Dillon was holding her courage with both 
 hands as she watched him approach, fearing lest it 
 should once more escape her at the critical moment. 
 But when he drew rein, and she looked up in his face, 
 she had no longer any need of courage. She saw 
 above her a brow somewhat bent with the weight of 
 authority and care, a countenance full of dignity and 
 resolution, a little sad and infinitely good. There was 
 sweetness in the lines of the firm lips, benevolence as 
 well as keenness in the dark eyes. Yet, so accustomed 
 was she to the glitter and pomp of the Imperial mar- 
 shals and their staffs, that it never occurred to her to 
 suppose that this man, the loosening of whose cloak 
 revealed no golden splendour beneath, whose few 
 companions were as unadorned as himself, was in 
 truth the General in command of the British forces. 
 She stepped forward quickly, and spoke before he had 
 dismounted. 
 
 " Pardon me. Sir, but can you tell me where I 
 am likely to hear of a commissariat officer named 
 Dillon?" 
 
 The General looked down in surprise at the young 
 creature with her pretty, childish voice. 
 
 " Dillon ? " he repeated. " Yes, I think I know the 
 man. He has been sent on to Lugo, hasn't he, 
 Harry?" — and he turned in the saddle to address an 
 ofificer behind. 
 
 " He has, Sir John." 
 
 " Is Lugo far from here ? " asked the poor girl, 
 anxiously. 
 
 " Sixty miles and a bad road." 
 
 Sir John Moore smiled resignedly as he spoke, his 
 far-away gaze seeing the leagues of rock and snow 
 
 [206]
 
 SANS PEUR ET SANS REPROCHE 
 
 over which this demorahsecl army of his must needs 
 be dragged. To fight he could trust them, but not 
 to march. 
 
 " Oh ! " breathed Miss Dillon, faintly. And the 
 tears sprang to her eyes. 
 
 *' What is your business with him, young lady?" 
 
 " I am his daughter, Sir. I have escaped from 
 France. He told me — I have come a long way to 
 join him — I am quite alone." 
 
 She pressed her handkerchief to her lips and bat- 
 tled with the sobs which rose in her throat. 
 
 " Told her to come, and thought no more about 
 it, I suppose," muttered someone behind. " Just like 
 Pat Dillon ! " 
 
 " You have certainly arrived at a most unhappy 
 moment. Miss Dillon," said Sir John. " But come in 
 out of this terrible weather. The accommodation in 
 my quarters is small, but good enough ; at any rate 
 there is a fire." 
 
 The General looked and spoke as though he had 
 nothing in the world to consider except Miss Dillon 
 and her comfort. 
 
 " These people, Sir," she gasped, pointing to her 
 companions, " they have come with me from Zamora 
 —they are Don Fernando's men." 
 
 Sir John turned to an orderly: 
 
 " Look after them, Compton — you speak Spanish. 
 I will see them myself when Pedro returns, for they 
 may have information of value. Come in. Miss Dillon, 
 come in. 'Tis indeed no pleasant situation in which 
 you find yourself, but I doubt not a warm fire and a 
 glass of good wine will make it appear more toler- 
 able." 
 
 [207]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 He had dismounted. An aide-de-camp plucked his 
 cloak and murmured remonstrances. The General 
 urgently needed a few hours of complete repose, and 
 here he was burdening himself with this girl; a 
 piteous little creature no doubt, but of no more in- 
 terest, of no more importance in this tumultuous 
 crisis of war than a lost dog in a great city. 
 
 " Let me take charge of her, Sir. I'll find quarters 
 for her somewhere." 
 
 " No, no, Harry. You are too young and giddy 
 to play knight to an errant damsel. No, I tell you. 
 Miss Dillon comes in here." 
 
 The aide-de-camp, who knew his Chief, shrugged 
 his shoulders and was silent. Miss Dillon was too 
 busy checking her own convulsive sobs to overhear 
 the dialogue ; and it must be confessed that had she 
 done so, she could not have found in her heart hero- 
 ism sufficient to make her abandon the shelter ex- 
 tended to her by this stately dark-eyed man, who was 
 at once so gentle and so authoritative. He made her 
 pass before him, and she entered the house as it were 
 in his shadow. 
 
 The owners of the house had just left it, fearing 
 the advent of the French, but an old couple remained 
 in charge, to whom the General consigned his guest, 
 promising to see her later in the evening. Warm, 
 dry, cheered by food and wine, she presently sat be- 
 fore a fire — a luxury more often than not unattainable 
 in Spain — and considered how she should get to 
 Lugo. The alternative of returning to Don Fer- 
 nando she did not even consider. He had told her 
 before she started that it was doubtful how long he 
 would remain in Zamora, as the priests who were 
 
 [208]
 
 SANS PEUR ET SANS REPROCHE 
 
 there in formidable numbers disliked and distrusted 
 him as a former enemy of the Church ; and he had 
 concluded that his band of guerrilleros would be more 
 useful haunting the mountain passes and cutting off 
 isolated bodies of French troops, than exposed to the 
 risk of wholesale capture in a city. Moreover, having 
 come so far, whatever the difficulties still ahead of 
 her, Miss Dillon had no mind to go back. 
 
 About nine o'clock she made herself as pretty and 
 neat as circumstances permitted and, according to 
 orders, waited on the General. He was seated at a 
 table heaped with maps and papers, thus for a mo- 
 ment disagreeably recalling to Miss Dillon's mind 
 certain glimpses of another and a mightier General at 
 his business. But if here was a likeness, beyond what 
 a contrast ! Not merely, in place of the short, hunchy 
 figure of the Emperor, a man tall and well built, but, 
 O much more consoling ! — instead of the terrific coun- 
 tenance of Caesar, a face full of calm intelligence, of 
 inalterable benevolence, and besides of that nameless 
 something in presence of which the hearts of men 
 and women open as flowers open to the sun. This 
 quality is like all that moves and directs the pro- 
 founder currents of the universe, a mystery and in- 
 definable. It is essentially secret, even when most 
 apparent in its individual manifestations, and presently 
 sinks altogether into the secrecy of the grave. Thus 
 it appears only to disappear, as though some wonder- 
 ful treasure lying in the deepest bottom of the sea 
 should swim up for a moment, lifting itself to the day 
 just long enough to be perceived by chance sea- 
 farers before it sinks again plumb down into the abyss. 
 The sailors who had seen it would often talk of the 
 
 [209]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 wonder they had beheld, and other men would listen, 
 critical, perhaps incredulous, certainly quite unable to 
 conceive what manner of thing had been this rich and 
 fleeting apparition. So with the magnetic personality 
 when it has sunk into the abyss of Time : whether it 
 has come and gone without leaving behind it a visible 
 trace, or whether it has left much, even something, to 
 change the orbit of the world, the personality has 
 srone, it has sunk in a sea whence no diver mav re- 
 cover it. Sir John Moore's was this magnetic quality ; 
 a personality which, though its virtues and its gifts 
 might be tabled, could not be reproduced by any 
 words of those who followed and adored him in life 
 and long lamented him in death. 
 
 Miss Dillon was already under the charm. 
 
 " Come now, young lady," he said, with a delightful 
 smile ; " put your feet on the hrasero — it is the only 
 Spanish invention which can be trusted to work — 
 and let us have a chat over a glass of wine. It will 
 remind us of home — at least it will remind me. 
 Thomas, clear away these maps and put on the tray 
 yonder." 
 
 The round table was fitted with a hrasero on a 
 stand below, making a warm and comfortable foot- 
 stool. Miss Dillon placed her feet upon it, pleased 
 that the action should exhibit pretty and neatly shod 
 extremities — not with the pleasure of a woman of the 
 world, who calculates precisely the advantage given 
 her by every personal charm, but with the innocent 
 vanity of a simple girl. She regretted, too, with that 
 trivial seriousness of which only a girl is capable, that 
 owing to wind and weather the Httle hand she must 
 hold out to be served when Thomas had placed the 
 
 [210]
 
 SANS PEUR ET SANS REPROCHE 
 
 wine and raisins on the table was neither so soft nor 
 so white as was the invariable hand of the heroine 
 of fashionable romances. But in the interest of Sir 
 John's conversation even trifles so important as these 
 were speedily forgotten. At first they discussed only 
 her own immediate plans. The General endeavoured 
 to persuade her to remain for the present with a num- 
 ber of women and children whom it was his intention 
 to leave behind at Astorga. Either, he argued, they 
 would be entirely overlooked by the French, hot-foot 
 in pursuit of the British, or these would treat them 
 with humanity, as they had before treated a similar 
 party which fell into their hands. In any case the 
 French army would not desire to load itself with a 
 burden found intolerable by its opponents, and the 
 women and children would be eventually assisted to 
 the coast by the Spaniards. The idea of falling again 
 into the power of the French filled ]\Iiss Dillon with 
 terror. It was then that, without being precise with 
 the General as to the cause of Xapoleon's malice 
 against her, she related how she had been absurdly 
 accused of espionage, and sent on a journey in an 
 Imperial carriage with a view to putting her under 
 the sun'eUlanee of the police in France. So she came 
 to describe with considerable vivacity the arrival of 
 the Emperor at the summit of the Puerto de Guadar- 
 rama and the terrible forced march of the French 
 army. The General heard, his attitude became more 
 alert, his eye brightened. He plied her with ques- 
 tions to which, observ'ant and interested in all that 
 passed around her as she was, she was able to give 
 intelligent answers. ^Meantime Sir John walked about 
 the little room with eager gestures and exclamations, 
 
 [211]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 grimly gratified to find how exactly he had foreseen 
 the steps his great antagonist would take — ay, and 
 how admirably they would be taken. Relieved, too, 
 to learn that those accidents of weather which had so 
 severely tried his own troops, had told at least as 
 much on the immense army of his foes. Suddenly 
 his face clouded and he flung himself in a chair. 
 
 " Ah, Miss Dillon ! " he exclaimed. " How atrocious 
 a thing is war ! Here am I, who in times of peace 
 do not willingly see an animal suffer, rejoicing, yes 
 rejoicing at the sufferings and death of hundreds of 
 my fellow-creatures, most of whom are no doubt as 
 deeply mourned by loving hearts in France as I should 
 be in England if I fell. I cannot help it — it is a 
 hideous necessity. And we say that Europe is Chris- 
 tian! 
 
 " If the people of Paris, whom the Emperor in- 
 toxicates with glittering reviews, could see war as 
 even I have seen it, it would damp their admira- 
 tion. But even in France, where Napoleon keeps the 
 dazzling side of things in evidence, the depopulation 
 of the country begins to be observed — there is little 
 enthusiasm, much discontent." 
 
 Sir John's face hardened and his dark eyes flashed. 
 
 " And all this to pamper the pride of one man ! A 
 great man, ay, but a much greater criminal. There 
 are times, Miss Dillon, when, upon my word, I am 
 so sick of the whole business — not the fighting, for 
 I can't help loving it — but the worries here and else- 
 where, that I just want nothing but to die soon in a 
 well-fought action." 
 
 She exclaimed apprehensively. 
 
 " Ah, well ! " he resumed, with a stern smile, " that's 
 
 [212]
 
 SANS PEUR ET SANS REPROCHE 
 
 only sometimes. Much oftener I pray to be alive 
 and there at our great defeat of Napoleon, at the bat- 
 tle of Armageddon. Trust me, it will come. You 
 doubt it, Miss Dillon, I see doubt on your face. You 
 have lived too long in France and do not know the 
 greatness of the country to which you and I have the 
 honour to belong. Yet do not think I undervalue 
 the genius of Bonaparte ; on the contrary, I am not 
 only awe-struck before it, but I am full of curiosity 
 about his person. You have met him, it seems, you 
 have been in his company. Now, what was the thing 
 that principally struck you in conversing with him ? " 
 
 Miss Dillon looked down, then up, with a whimsical 
 smile. 
 
 " That he was very ungentlemanly. Sir John." 
 
 The General laughed. 
 
 " That is indeed a woman's way of looking at a 
 great man ! " 
 
 " And in what other way did you expect me to look 
 at him? You asked me, Sir, what principally struck 
 me on the two or three occasions when I conversed 
 with the Emperor. I can only say that each time my 
 attention was very unpleasantly drawn to the fact 
 that I had here to do with a man who was as devoid 
 of the usual civilised feelings of courtesy towards my 
 sex, of respect for our weakness, as a red Indian or 
 one of his own horrid Turks. Yes, Sir John, the prin- 
 cipal thing I have to remember about Napoleon is 
 that he will not scorn to use his great power in order 
 to crush the smallest and feeblest of creatures. By 
 the mercy of God I have once and twice escaped from 
 him, but sooner than run the risk of again falling 
 into his hands I would beg you or some other kind 
 
 [213!
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 man to put a bullet through my head — since I fear 
 it is a thing I should never have courage enough to 
 do for myself." 
 
 She smiled as she spoke ; nevertheless it was evi- 
 dent she was in earnest. The General was silent a 
 minute, his hand across his mouth ; then said, looking 
 at her kindly : 
 
 " I know not whether I am doing right. Miss Dillon, 
 but I will stretch a point to bring you to your father, 
 who can then do with you as he thinks best. I see 
 you have a special reason to dread falling into the 
 hands of the French, and besides it is certainly un- 
 fitting that so young a lady should be separated from 
 her natural protector." 
 
 " You will take me with you to Lugo, Sir John ? " 
 exclaimed the girl, her eyes sparkling. " How kind, 
 how delightful of you ! " 
 
 " Oh, it's not a pic-nic invitation. Miss Dillon. In- 
 deed, I don't know whether you will think the road 
 or the company the worst, but certain it is that both 
 will be very unsuited to a delicate female. However, 
 you will be on the way to your father and among your 
 own countrymen, of whom the roughest will treat 
 you with respect. Is your pony your own?" 
 
 " I bought it this morning from Don Fernando's 
 
 men." 
 
 " Good. My officers all have their hands full — but 
 I must put you into somebody's charge." 
 
 Miss Dillon felt somewhat dashed. She had in- 
 voluntarily pictured herself riding to Lugo in Sir 
 John's company. How ridiculous a notion it was she 
 confessed to herself on the instant. 
 
 The General summoned an orderly and despatched 
 him to find Lieutenant Harrington. 
 
 [214]
 
 SANS PEUR ET SANS REPROCHE 
 
 " I may seem to be doing an indiscreet thing, Miss 
 Dillon," he said, " in putting you under the charge 
 of a subaltern, but Barrington is no ordinary fellow, 
 and he has not the responsibilities of a senior officer 
 — although there is no responsibility he will not cheer- 
 fully assume. He is a rough diamond and by no 
 means gallant — an advantage perhaps under the cir- 
 cumstances — but I believe he will take good care of 
 you." 
 
 While they were waiting for the arrival of Mr. 
 Barrington, the General continued his conversation 
 with her. It was in itself a repose to him to talk with 
 a refined and sympathetic woman, such as he had not 
 spoken to for many months. Moreover, it happened 
 that this woman had much to tell him of the deepest 
 interest to the representative of England in Spain. 
 He had, indeed, a long while since been obliged to 
 abandon all belief in the legend of organised patriotic 
 resistance, of huge and heroic armies, whereby the 
 Spanish juntas charmed English gold into their pock- 
 ets. But the credulous Ministers of England still be- 
 lieved this legend, and he knew that it was of the 
 highest importance to collect facts to put in its place. 
 He listened with attention to all that Miss Dillon had 
 to tell him of the total want of organisation which 
 had left Madrid quiet under the heel of France — as 
 a man is quiet who is bound hand and foot — although 
 absolutely unconquerable in its sullen hatred of the 
 conqueror. She told him also of the review before 
 the gates of the city, and of Napoleon as she had seen 
 him personally examining every waggon-load of am- 
 munition prepared foT the campaign. He listened 
 and gave way to unbounded admiration for the great 
 
 [215]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 soldier, the victor and the organiser of victory. He 
 was interested, too, in hearing of Don Fernando and 
 his troubles with the priests and the turbulent popu- 
 lace of Zamora. Miss Dillon made very little men- 
 tion of the French prisoner, but she spoke of the dead 
 Englishman, and taking ofif the gold watch, which 
 she wore round her neck on a black ribbon, had just 
 laid it on the table when Mr. Barrington was an- 
 nounced. 
 
 Mr. Barrington knocked the snow off his boots 
 noisily before coming in ; nevertheless he brought 
 the chill atmosphere of the wintry night into the warm 
 little room. He was serious, as became a serious oc- 
 casion, but for all that beaming, since he imagined 
 his Chief's sending for him at this hour likely to mean 
 that there was some tit-bit of fighting, some particu- 
 larly difficult and dangerous job put on one side for 
 him against the morning. 
 
 " I'm afraid I've been rather long in coming. Sir, 
 but " 
 
 " Don't apologise, Barrington ; you have been won- 
 derfully prompt. I did not expect you nearly so 
 soon. Allow me to present you to Miss Dillon." 
 
 The pair respectively curtsied and bowed, looking 
 at each other with fear and speculation in their eyes. 
 
 " We — we have made acquaintance already. Sir 
 John," murmured the lady; for Mr. Barrington was 
 the red-haired young man, and although she was not 
 in the least afraid of the General, she was terribly 
 afraid of him. 
 
 The General proceeded to explain to Mr. Barring- 
 ton how that Miss Dillon was confided to his care as 
 far as Lugo, and if necessary farther. The Red Cross 
 
 [216] .
 
 SANS PEUR ET SANS REPROCHE 
 
 Knight of old, pricking vaguely over plains on a 
 horse of the cart-horse breed, naturally found a dam- 
 sel on a palfrey no encumbrance, but on the contrary 
 an agreeable diversion to his ennui. Let it not be 
 sighed that the age of chivalry is dead because Mr. 
 Barrington was not pleased at the prospect of Miss 
 Dillon on her pony accompanying him on a long and 
 terrible march of retreat, lashed by the storms of 
 heaven and the swords of a furiously pursuing enemy. 
 Yet disappointment and dismay need not have stared 
 so unhooded from his every feature when he heard 
 what manner of task his General had reserved for 
 him. This was mortifying for Miss Dillon ; yet, 
 happening to catch Sir John's eye, she could not resist 
 a smile. In a minute Mr. Barrington recovered him- 
 self, and uttered a flatly civil acceptance of the charge. 
 While details were being discussed, the General ob- 
 served him looking at the gold watch on the table. 
 
 '' Can you give a guess to whom this watch be- 
 longed ? " he asked, when all was arranged, handing 
 it to the young man. 
 
 Barrington examined it with a troubled brow. 
 
 " It's his, I'm afraid. Sir — my cousin's, I mean. I 
 know the look of it well, and there are his initials 
 and the Barrington coat. Where did it come from? 
 I hope to God nothing has gone wrong with poor 
 Dick." 
 
 Sir John and Miss Dillon told him all the circum- 
 stances connected with it, except that Miss Dillon did 
 not mention the fate of the uniform. Young Bar- 
 rington kept on alternately blowing his nose and 
 stuffing a very large bandana handkerchief into his 
 mouth. At last he was obliged to wipe his eyes. 
 
 [217]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 " I'm deucedly sorry, Sir, to be behaving this way," 
 he apologised, in a muffled voice. 
 
 " You needn't be ashamed to show your grief, Har- 
 rington. I know only too well what it means to lose 
 comrades and friends." 
 
 " Such a fine fellow, Sir, and ever so much younger 
 than I am ! It wouldn't have seemed so bad if he'd 
 been killed in a regular battle, but to fall like that in 
 some paltry foraging skirmish, no one knows how ! 
 It's — it's damnably hard," blubbered the young man. 
 
 " It seems hard, my dear lad," said the General, 
 laying a gentle hand upon his shoulder, " but it can- 
 not really be so. We have all a loving Father " — he 
 glanced reverently upwards — " and our times are in 
 His hand. Surely we soldiers, who often have to do 
 hard tasks without knowing the reason, should find 
 it easier than others to bow to the will of God. 
 Though it's cruelly hard sometimes — ay, cruelly 
 hard." 
 
 The General bowed his head, and there was a silence. 
 Then young Barrington convulsively grasped Sir 
 John's hand. 
 
 Afterwards he put the watch in his pocket, but re- 
 fused to take any of the money which had been found 
 on his cousin. 
 
 " Keep it. Miss Dillon. You did what you could 
 for poor old Dick — and his mother will be glad to 
 know. You can pay her back when you get home 
 if you like — but she won't care whether you do or 
 not, poor soul." 
 
 The melancholy treasure-trove which Miss Dillon 
 had brought in had somewhat humanised her future 
 protector's attitude towards her. He took his leave 
 
 [218]
 
 SANS PEUR ET SANS REPROCHE 
 
 in a very subdued manner, and Miss Dillon also pre- 
 pared to bid Sir John good-night. All this time her 
 attention had frequently been distracted by wild sounds 
 beneath the windows. At this moment they burst out 
 more tumultuous than ever. 
 
 It might have been thought from the crowing 
 and cackling, the lowing and bleating which assailed 
 the ears that Astorga was an immense farmyard, full 
 of an exceedingly drunken and roaring set of drovers 
 as well as of particularly loquacious animals. Sir 
 John listened uneasily. 
 
 " What a number of animals there seem to be 
 about," observed Miss Dillon. 
 
 " Animals ? Oh, no — these are our ventriloquists, 
 amusing themselves or trying to lure out the poor 
 beasts their owners have concealed. I cannot alto- 
 gether blame the men, for if the Spaniards refuse to 
 sell them food they must find it for themselves. But 
 the drunkenness, the disorder! It's disgraceful, it's 
 heart-breaking — I will not bear it." 
 
 The General flung his cloak about him, clapped on 
 his hat, and summoning an aide-de-camp, strode out 
 into the raging night. 
 
 [219]
 
 XV 
 
 COLONEL VIDAL'S LUCKY STAR 
 
 ON the level plain, the low red hills, the dusky 
 heights of La Pefia Negra, the silent multi- 
 tudinous snow fell and fell. Yet, since it also 
 melted, the ilex-forest which hung on the side of the 
 steep Sierra, the stunted trees which huddled to- 
 gether in patches on the flat, waste land, remained dark 
 as funeral plumes above the surrounding whiteness. 
 From the walled villages, overshadowed by great 
 brown churches, no living creature came forth. None 
 seemed anywhere astir except a few black and white 
 birds, which wheeled and flitted low over the ilex scrub 
 and the waste country. Gradually the snow-flakes 
 grew fewer and farther between, till at last, although 
 the clouds still hung dark over the earth, scarcely a 
 flake fluttered to the ground. 
 
 Somewhere there to the north wound the high- 
 road, but heedless of it, in a straight line for Astorga, 
 came a small party of riders, galloping fast, tailing 
 ofif as they went, here a single man, there a couple, 
 black silhouettes against the grey whiteness of the 
 cloud-roofed snow. The foremost rode in a silence 
 which had already lasted an hour and bade fair to 
 last till they reached Astorga, for there was a cloud 
 upon his brow which his hat, pulled low, and his 
 collar, pulled up to his ears, could not wholly conceal. 
 A cloud was on it such as none had ever seen there 
 before. 
 
 [220]
 
 COLONEL VIDAL'S LUCKY STAR 
 
 And it was the last day of the old year. 
 
 Out of the dark ilex-thicket on to the open ground 
 came a moving patch of scarlet, glowing under the 
 sullen hue of the sky, upon the pallor of the snow. 
 It was a man on horseback, still far ofif, but rapidly 
 drawing nearer, as he leapt his horse over a bush 
 here, a boulder there, and plunged recklessly at a 
 hand-gallop through snow-drifts over broken ground. 
 The Emperor pulled up his own galloping horse and 
 trotted. 
 
 , " Look at that man for me," he tossed over his 
 shoulder to an aide-de-camp, " and tell what uniform 
 he wears." 
 
 The aide-de-camp put up his field-glass and looked 
 long. 
 
 " Well? You seem in no hurry to answer." 
 
 " Sire, it is — I could almost believe it to be the 
 English uniform." 
 
 The Emperor again reined in his horse, this time 
 to a walking pace. His companions looked to their 
 pistols. A glimmer of satisfaction lightened the 
 gloom of his face. Was it possible that the English 
 General wished to open negotiations? Once more 
 that vanished dream of capitulation flitted before him. 
 
 The ofificer, still riding with the apparent reckless- 
 ness and real care of a good horseman, was now much 
 nearer, and the British uniform was unmistakable. 
 There was a flutter among the party, larger now by 
 the addition of two olScers who had taken advantage 
 of their slackened speed to rejoin them. An aide-de- 
 camp, pistol in hand, rode to meet the advancing 
 horseman. The red-coat took a white handkerchief 
 from his bosom and waved it, shouting something 
 
 [221]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 the wind blew away. The Emperor stopped to re- 
 ceive him, arranging his face, which had fallen into 
 weary folds, to a calm, imperial expression. The red- 
 coated officer was bare-headed ; he came leaping over 
 a depression in the ground and cantered up to within 
 a few yards of the Emperor. Then he stopped dead, 
 and, saluting with profound respect, cried, in jubilant 
 accents : 
 
 " At your Majesty's service ! Vive VEmpereur! " 
 
 For a long minute the Emperor and his escort 
 stared, silent. Then the Emperor said, slowly : 
 
 " It is you, Vidal ! How the devil ? " 
 
 " Sire," replied Vidal, his face aglow, " your Majesty 
 commanded me to rejoin you at Valderas on the 28th. 
 I had the folly to be captured by brigands on my 
 way to do so, but I have since done my best to repair 
 that error." 
 
 The eyes of the young man were full of loyal de- 
 votion, his air was full of triumphant gallantry, in spite 
 of the red scar on his forehead. The Emperor's former 
 partiality for him returned irresistibly, and he blamed 
 himself for having wantonly sent so fine a man, so 
 excellent a soldier, to an inglorious death. 
 
 " I congratulate you, Vidal," he said, with a fas- 
 cinating smile. " You have, like me, it seems, your star. 
 Is this uniform, then, a trophy? " 
 
 " Not of my own prowess, Sire, but of that of some 
 other French soldier. I took it from the body of an 
 Englishman which I found lying on the mountains 
 yonder ; showing we had met them there and had 
 the advantage." 
 
 " But you are wounded on the forehead. Was it 
 an Englishman or a Spaniard who did that?" 
 
 [222]
 
 COLONEL VIDAL'S LUCKY STAR 
 
 " Neither one nor the other, Sire. It was a woman." 
 And Vidal showed his white teeth in a broad smile. 
 
 The Emperor smiled too, but drily. 
 
 " A woman ! With them at least I thought you 
 had always good luck." 
 
 Hector Vidal pushed up his moustache. 
 
 " I do not entirely lack it, Sire. But this woman 
 — who was, so far as I could see, young and hand- 
 some — far from admiring my fine eyes, was anxious 
 to put them out. She would even have done so, had 
 she not been prevented by a still younger and prettier 
 woman, who in the most courageous manner saved 
 my Hfe." 
 
 " You have evidently had adventures worthy of a 
 hero of romance. Come, ride by my side, and beguile 
 me this horribly tedious journey with your story, 
 which will, I hope, be more amusing than the last 
 novel the Empress sent me from Paris. First tell 
 me — have you a despatch for me from the General ? " 
 
 " I reached him. Sire, and was returning to you 
 when these rascally brigands shot my unlucky horse 
 through the head — they are devilish good shots, for 
 example ! — as I was seeking a ford to cross the Duero. 
 They caught me while I was still entangled with the 
 animal in his dying struggles. When your Majesty 
 learns that after this they stripped me of everything 
 I had on except my shirt, putting my uniform on the 
 dirty person of their leader, you will understand that 
 it was impossible to save my despatch. But I believe 
 it contained only an acknowledgment of your Maj- 
 esty's, with an assurance that your orders should be 
 punctually obeyed, and an expression of regret that 
 neither information nor supplies could be obtained 
 
 [223]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 from the district, owing to the ferocious character of 
 the inhabitants." 
 
 " Bah ! My generals don't know how to manage 
 these Spaniards. Continue." 
 
 " I was bound hand and foot and thrown down in 
 a corner of a hut, while a dispute went on between 
 the brigands and some peasants : the question being, 
 I imagine, whether I should be killed at once or taken 
 to the chief of the brigands at Zamora. Eventually 
 I was tied on the back of a most deplorable donkey, 
 and trotted along the banks of the Duero in a manner 
 extremely disagreeable for us both. This, however, 
 was a pleasure compared to our triumphal entry into 
 Zamora — which, by-the-bye, is a fortress not alto- 
 gether to be despised, although very ancient." 
 
 The Emperor shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " It is of no consequence. When we have driven 
 out the English these turbulent little cities will be as 
 harmless as mosquitoes after frost." 
 
 " I should like well to crush this particular mos- 
 quito before it dies a natural death. For a French- 
 man, an officer on your Majesty's staff, to be dragged 
 into a town half naked on the back of a miserable 
 donkey, while the whole populace pelted him with 
 filth and stones and the women scratched his face, 
 is an experience which leaves behind it a pretty little 
 appetite for revenge." 
 
 " I am of your opinion, Vidal. They will have to 
 be punished. But the fair ladies of Zamora must have 
 long nails, if the embejlishment of your forehead is 
 their work." 
 
 " That, Sire, was done by a devout woman with a 
 pair of scissors. She was about to repeat her blow 
 
 [224]
 
 COLONEL VIDAL'S LUCKY STAR 
 
 when a young lady, the niece of some Spaniard of 
 importance, took me under her protection. She en- 
 abled me to take refuge in their Cathedral ; but 
 whether it would have proved a secure refuge I know 
 not, if she had not persuaded the chief of the brigands 
 himself and the Bishop to protect me. In doing this, 
 moreover, she incurred the greatest danger, since a 
 fanatic priest, disappointed of my blood, endeavoured 
 to assassinate my protectress." 
 
 " Vidal is seeking to glut our appetite for romance," 
 observed the Emperor, turning to the listening escort. 
 
 " He will tell us next. Sire," returned one, ** that 
 the lovely young lady had an English lover, whom 
 she sacrificed in order to provide this terrible Vidal 
 with his uniform." 
 
 " You are wrong, my friend," returned Vidal ; " yet 
 not so far wrong as you may think. For it so hap- 
 pened that the guards who were deputed to escort 
 me to Romana also acted as escort, for part of the 
 way, to this young lady. Otherwise I should never 
 have been able to get the handsome uniform in which 
 you see me. These guards consented to leave me 
 alone with her on parole, while they went to get food, 
 and I was thus enabled to procure these clothes and 
 also some money from the body of an English of^ficer 
 — killed no doubt by some of our men." 
 
 " And you would have us believe, Vidal, that rob- 
 bing a corpse was all the occupation you found when 
 you were left alone with a pretty girl, who had evi- 
 dently fallen in love with you at first sight." 
 
 The Emperor having given the lead, there was an 
 outburst of comment, more jocular than refined. 
 Vidal could only just contain an anger which sur- 
 
 [225]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 prised himself. He had mentioned the intervention 
 of Seraphine half guilefully, thinking that if the Em- 
 peror believed his fancy to have already flitted away 
 from her, his olTence would the more readily be for- 
 gotten — half fatuously, not unwilling to ease a cer- 
 tain smarting of vanity by the salve of his comrades' 
 belief in the smiting nature of his charms. Now, with 
 " curses not loud, but deep," he condemned himself 
 and them to regions unvisited by pleasantry. Sur- 
 prised at the sullen meekness with which he bowed 
 his head to a storm as jovially aimed as a shower of 
 confetti at carnival time, his comrades presently de- 
 sisted ; he meanwhile registering a vow before I know 
 not what Madonna, unless it were her of Zamora, that 
 never again should the lovely image of Seraphine be 
 exposed, however disguised, to the defiling gaze of 
 ignorant men. Excusably ignorant, since in all the 
 world there was certainly not to be found another 
 woman so nearly an angel as Seraphine. 
 
 "Was your horse also the Englishman's?" asked 
 the Emperor. " Women and horses ! Wherever this 
 Vidal goes he is sure to find both." 
 
 " Neither my horse nor my sword are English, 
 Sire," returned Vidal. " They belonged, alas ! to a 
 Frenchman, a courier of your Majesty's, whom these 
 savages have murdered." 
 
 The Emperor's brow darkened. 
 
 " These Spaniards are fools. They do not yet un- 
 derstand they are conquered. But how did you find 
 his horse? " 
 
 I escaped from a farm in which we were spending 
 the night, without other mishap than an injury to my 
 knee. But your Majesty knows well what weather we 
 
 [226]
 
 COLONEL VIDAL'S LUCKY STAR 
 
 have had. The night was very dark. I lost all sense 
 of direction, and before long my knee became exceed- 
 ingly painful. I dragged myself, I hardly know how, 
 many leagues, and when day broke amid falling snow 
 I found myself nowhere within sight of this plain, for 
 which I had intended to make, as I knew there were 
 French troops at Benevente. As far as I could see 
 there were nothing but long dreary hill-sides, covered 
 with stones, grey scrub, and snow. But in a depression 
 just below me I perceived a well and a small convent. 
 I walked up to the door, rang boldly, and informed the 
 monk who opened it, in the very few words of Spanish 
 I possess, that I was an English officer. The monks, 
 who would doubtless have murdered me if they had 
 known I was a Frenchman, treated me with kindness 
 and skill. My knee was no laughing matter and the 
 wound on my head was inflamed by the cold, so that 
 it appeared to me wise to lie perdu for a couple of days 
 in this lonely convent, where in such bad weather no. 
 one seemed likely to come." 
 
 " Was it the monks who assassinated my courier? " 
 " No and yes. Sire. I learnt from them my way 
 out of the mountains, and with much toil and pain but 
 without misadventure, made my way this morning to 
 the edge of the Sierra. You see where the black 
 wood is broken by the steepness of the mountain- 
 side? There is a zig-zag path yonder which I was just 
 about to descend when I saw two persons coming up 
 it. They were boys of from twelve to fourteen, talk- 
 ing volubly as they walked, and carrying between 
 them a sword. When they reached the top of the 
 path they stood still and, drawing it half out of its 
 scabbard, examined it with joyous curiosity. I had 
 stepped aside, in order to consider more at my ease 
 
 [227]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 what I should do. Finding that the boys were alone, 
 I stepped up to them, and pointing to my scarlet 
 breast, repeated several times the words, ' Ingles — 
 aniigo '; after which I snatched the sword from their 
 hands, leaving them only the scabbard. They began 
 to raise a clamour, but with an air at once amiable 
 and determined I offered them two of the English- 
 man's gold-pieces. They looked at them and seenred 
 to know their appearance. In truth, the repulsive 
 head of the tyrant of Great Britain makes it impos- 
 sible even for a child to confound English gold with 
 that of any other nation — least of all with that of 
 France, since the features of our Emperor make our 
 gold-pieces as beautiful as those of Alexander the 
 Great." 
 
 "Flatterer! Continue." 
 
 " Sapristi! These little brigands did not part will- 
 ingly with their sword, but they did not follow me, 
 which was fortunate, as they would have proved an 
 embarrassment. The sword once in my hand, I 
 walked transformed, no longer a pitiable fugitive, but 
 a Frenchman, and as such able to face without fear 
 a whole regiment of Spaniards." 
 
 The Emperor shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " I should think so. They are cowards all, and will 
 be peaceful enough when they have seen us drive 
 50,000 English into the sea." 
 
 Vidal accepted the " 50,000 " with gravity. He 
 believed he understood the method in the apparent 
 madness with which the Great Man invariably exag- 
 gerated the numbers of the army opposed to him. 
 
 " And you mean to tell me," continued the Em- 
 peror, " that these children had succeeded in murder- 
 ing one of my couriers ? " 
 
 [228]
 
 COLONEL VIDAL'S LUCKY STAR 
 
 " I think not, Sire. Will it please your Majesty to 
 hear how I did justice upon the real assassins ? " 
 
 " It will please me infinitely. The audacity of these 
 peasants deserves severe punishment." 
 
 " The upper portion of the path I descended runs 
 through a thicket of ilex. At a certain point the 
 bushes become thin and scattered, owing no doubt to 
 the steepness of the slope, which is covered with loose 
 stones. As I was about to emerge from the covert, 
 I fortunately perceived a little procession approaching 
 up the lower zig-zags. There were five persons, lead- 
 ing a horse. One was a monk, the others were evi- 
 dently peasants, although one of them had pulled on, 
 clumsily enough, a French uniform. I hesitated 
 whether to advance and meet them in an amicable 
 manner, proffering the gold of the Englishman in 
 exchange for the horse. But when I beheld the 
 stripped and bloody body of a man thrown across the 
 saddle, and reflected that it was only too certain to 
 be that of a Frenchman, I found it impossible to meet 
 them in any other attitude than that of an enemy. I 
 stood on the edge of a steep overhanging rock, from 
 which two very old ilexes grew out at right angles. 
 Behind them rocks and bushes assisted to make a 
 covert for me. The rock and the overhanging trees 
 sheltered the path beneath them from the snow, so 
 it luckily happened that the infamous procession came 
 to a halt immediately below me. I saw distinctly the 
 face, the red head of poor Michel, as he hung dead 
 from the horse. Imagine whether this sight inspired 
 me with a desire for vengeance ! " 
 
 Sympathetic exclamations of rage and concern in- 
 terrupted the speaker. 
 
 [229]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 " The monk, a short, thick-set fellow, had in his 
 hand a folded paper. He broke the seal, held it up, 
 and began deciphering the contents, reading out loud 
 — a strange jargon indeed, yet with a few recognis- 
 able words in it which proclaimed it to be French 
 and a despatch addressed to your Majesty. As I 
 looked down upon the blue tonsure in the middle of 
 his wiry black hair, and then at the white body of 
 poor Michel suspended just below, the sword thrilled 
 in my hand. Yet I waited to see what the others 
 would do, and fortunate it was that I did so. They 
 laid aside their arms, and occupied themselves with 
 emptying the saddle-bags, which contained among 
 other things some food and wine. In a few minutes 
 the monk joined them and all began eating and drink- 
 ing at a little distance from the spot where they had 
 placed their weapons. Here was my opportunity. I 
 had been crouching in the thickest of the covert, con- 
 scious that my confounded red coat was only too easy 
 to perceive ; now I felt that all must depend upon 
 my agility. Starting up, I flung myself on the pro- 
 jecting trunk of an ilex, and let myself down to the 
 ground, gingerly enough, lest my knee should give 
 way beneath me. Happily, no one is so quick as a 
 French soldier, and while they were still staring in 
 bewilderment at the apparition, I was among them. 
 Getting between them and their weapons, I instantly 
 ran on them with my sword. It was by no means 
 so effective a weapon as a cavalry sabre, yet the edge 
 was keen, the steel good, and I settled two of these 
 gentlemen, besides the monk — whose nose I sent to 
 kiss the holy medals on his breast — before they could 
 say " Caramba ! " One of them, a mere lad, ran off, 
 
 [230]
 
 COLONEL VIDAL'S LUCKY STAR 
 
 but whether out of fear or to get succour I could not 
 tell. The fifth succeeded, while I was otherwise oc- 
 cupied, in securing the only musket they had had 
 between them, and, in his turn climbing into the tree, 
 took a shot at me. He missed, and cutting the cord 
 which attached the body of Michel to his horse, I 
 sprung into the saddle and sped off down the steep 
 path at as great a pace as I dared, considering the 
 nature of the ground, which was rendered yet more 
 dangerous by the snow. The man with the musket 
 now came scrambling after me across the zig-zags, 
 and took aim at me from places beyond my reach. 
 Luckily he was not a famous shot, but it was annoying 
 for all that. Choosing a place where an accident of 
 the ground concealed me from my pursuer, I dis- 
 mounted and secured my horse. I then hurried up 
 with all the speed I could make, so as to meet him 
 when he should emerge from behind a hummock of 
 rocks and shrubs. But I was a moment too late. 
 When we met face to face I was not only out of 
 breath with my climb, but standing lower than he. 
 He clapped the muzzle of his gun to my head. It 
 was then that for the first time my life was in real 
 danger. I had, as has sometimes been the case even 
 with our great Emperor, only my star to trust to. I 
 heard the trigger snap, I thought myself already dead. 
 Nothing of the kind. The cartridge must have been 
 filled with sand instead of gunpowder, as they say is 
 the Spanish trick. I know not whether it was his last 
 or whether he was simply frightened, but, yelling to 
 all his saints and devils, the fellow took to his heels. 
 For my part I reflected that the sooner I was ofif 
 these confounded zig-zags the more tranquilly I could 
 
 [231]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 receive the attentions of any more bandits who might 
 happen to arrive ; so I continued my ride. Sure 
 enough, by the time I reached the bottom of the path 
 I saw a number of figures pouring down the moun- 
 tain above me ; but they caused me no anxiety, for 
 I know that your Majesty's courier service is always 
 admirably horsed, and in effect — here I am. I did 
 not forget to pick up the despatches which the rascally 
 monk had opened, and have now the honour to pre- 
 sent them to your Majesty." 
 
 ". Good," replied the Emperor, taking the papers 
 and running his eye eagerly down the larger of the 
 two. " I am pleased with what you have done, Vidal. 
 This despatch from Vienna is important and should 
 not have been sent to Madrid. But I suppose at that 
 distance one has not calculated on the speed of our 
 victorious campaign." 
 
 He continued reading with a studied impassivity 
 of countenance, though he let fly an oath at his horse 
 when it stumbled over a stone hidden in the snow. 
 The pace at which he was accustomed to travel from 
 one relay to another had been checked by his en- 
 counter with Vidal and the reception of the despatches. 
 Savary, Lannes, and several others rejoined the party, 
 men and horses out of breath. 
 
 " Sire," said Savary, saluting, " a courier from Paris 
 is in pursuit of your Majesty. He arrived at Bene- 
 vente soon after we had left, but the incomparable 
 speed at which your Majesty travels has prevented 
 him from catching us up." 
 
 " Ah ? " said the Emperor, and for a moment a 
 sharp anxiety pierced through the calm of face and 
 voice. He walked his horse on in silence, his chin 
 
 [232]
 
 COLONEL VIDAL'S LUCKY STAR 
 
 upon his breast ; then rousing himself, turned to 
 Lannes, who also had something to say. 
 
 "Well, Marshal?" 
 
 " Your Majesty instructed me to make enquiries 
 about the advance of the infantry. I have nothing 
 pleasant to say, because it is my duty always to tell 
 your Majesty the truth." 
 
 " What has happened ? " asked the Emperor. " Are 
 they engaged with the enemy ? " 
 
 " No, Sire ; but their sufferings are great. The 
 streams which we often ford with difficulty, even on 
 horseback, are terrible for men on foot. It is not 
 agreeable weather in which to strip and walk naked 
 through water up to the breast ; yet this is what 
 your infantry have done more than once already." 
 
 The Emperor shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " Is that all ? One has to do many things on a 
 compaign which would make those gentlemen of Paris 
 scream." 
 
 " That is not all. Your Majesty bade me enquire 
 why two muskets had been fired." 
 
 " Did I ? I don't know what's the matter with me 
 — I must be nervous to-day. Foolish recruits, no 
 doubt, letting off their guns by mistake." 
 
 " These muskets, Sire, were not fired by recruits — 
 they were fired by veterans of the Guard." 
 
 " They fired at game, I suppose. It is certainly 
 against discipline, but meat is scarce, and we must 
 not be hard on my old grumblers, Lannes." 
 
 " These veterans. Sire — men of Italy, of Egypt — 
 did not shoot game: they shot themselves. They 
 blew out their own brains." 
 
 "They — my Old Moustaches? Lannes! Ah, mow 
 
 [233]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 Dieu ! What can it mean ? " Tears started to the 
 Emperor's eyes. 
 
 " It means, Sire, that this forced march, in which 
 we have had but one encounter, and that unfortunate 
 — this march in terrible weather, when our men have 
 not known for an hour what it means to be warm 
 and dry, when to drop behind has meant certain and 
 horrible death — it has been more than even French 
 soldiers can endure, and two grenadiers, on coming 
 to another stream through which it was necessary to 
 wade, preferred, as I have told your Majesty, to blow 
 out their brains. They dared not remain behind, 
 while yet alive, to be tortured by the peasantry." 
 
 " Brigands ! " groaned the Emperor. " It is they 
 who demoralise my soldiers." 
 
 He had drawn Lannes aside. 
 
 " Listen, Lannes. If we relaxed our efforts now 
 we should lose all the fruits of our former sufferings. 
 We must continue — we must continue at whatever 
 cost. I will exert all my influence — I will myself go 
 among the soldiers when we reach Astorga and raise 
 the morale of the army, which has suffered so ter- 
 ribly. Yes, my friend, all will be well — all shall be 
 well." 
 
 They went on in silence, at a walking pace, under 
 the chill sleet which was once more falHng. Suddenly 
 the Emperor stopped and cried in a loud, impatient 
 voice : 
 
 " But where is this courier from Paris ? " 
 
 Everyone looked round ; no one could see more 
 than some distant bodies of cavalry. 
 
 They rode on till they reached a strange piece of 
 broken ground, which looked like a deserted brick- 
 
 [234]
 
 COLONEL VIDAL'S LUCKY STAR 
 
 field. A row of bee-hive shaped huts were built into 
 a bank of red clay. In patches the red earth was bare, 
 in patches the soft bluish snow had drifted deep. 
 Some of the huts were heaped with it; in others, 
 wooden doors had kept it out. 
 
 " I will wait here," said the Emperor. " I am cold." 
 He shivered. " Make me a fire in one of these huts." 
 
 They broke down doors, selected from them the 
 driest wood they could find, and with great trouble 
 kindled fires. Everyone except Vidal huddled into 
 the huts, round feeble and smoky flames. The Em- 
 peror was alone in his hut. Presently he called out: 
 
 " Open me this door. I am smothered — I cannot 
 
 see." 
 
 Vidal, caring nothing for shelter, impatient of the 
 smoke and of inaction, was walking about outside. 
 He set open the door of the Emperor's hut. The 
 Emperor was seated on a saddle, his cloak about him, 
 warming his hands at the blaze ; his despatches lay 
 open on the ground beside him. He looked bent, 
 yellow, old. He was scarcely more than forty — an 
 age at which some great men have not yet begun their 
 careers. These may achieve much by using to the 
 utmost the vital energy of their next fifteen years ; 
 yet surely never so much as this man had achieved 
 by crowding his life into the fifteen years of his fullest 
 bodily vigour and mental elasticity. There lay be- 
 hind him a whole lifetime of activity, and already the 
 weight of a whole lifetime lay heavy on his shoulders. 
 If Fortune loves the young, he had little more to hope 
 from her. 
 
 Presently he took up the smaller of the two papers 
 which had been taken from the murdered courier, 
 and beckoned to Vidal. 
 
 [235]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 " So Seraphine is English. Did you know that?" 
 he asked, his eyes on Vidal's face. 
 
 For a fraction of a second the young man's coun- 
 tenance was not under control, and conscious of that 
 and of the piercing eyes fixed upon it, he answered 
 instantly in the affirmative. 
 
 "And you loved her notwithstanding?" 
 
 " Sire, I have an international heart." 
 
 " That's a dangerous thing, Vidal." 
 
 " Dangerous — for foreign husbands. I admit it. 
 Sire. And if it does not please your Majesty, I prom- 
 ise you as soon as I reach a country where there are 
 no pretty women my heart shall become exclusively 
 French. I will even make love to the wives of the 
 marshals, if my Emperor commands it." 
 
 " Child ! I am not joking. With women in gen- 
 eral that is all very well, but these Englishwomen 
 never forget they are English." 
 
 " Sire, I can assure you that Mademoiselle Sera- 
 phine forgot it when she was in France. That Madrid 
 had a bad influence on her is certain, for it was there 
 she quarrelled with me. It was after this that I 
 learned, quite accidentally, her nationaHty." 
 
 " And you allowed an Englishwoman, attractive, 
 cunning, altogether dangerous, to go about among 
 my officers unmolested? " 
 
 " No, Sire, no — I repeat that I did not know she 
 was an Englishwoman till very lately. In any case, 
 Sire, your Majesty would not expect me to betray a 
 woman." 
 
 The Emperor made a gesture of impatience. 
 
 " Women, women ! What is this nonsense people 
 talk about them? When women attend to their own 
 
 [236]
 
 COLONEL VIDAL'S LUCKY STAR 
 
 business, which is to look after domestic concerns and 
 to bear children, I too can spoil them. When they 
 go outside their sphere, they must expect to suffer as 
 much as men and more, because they are weak. Why 
 should they be spared ? If a little serpent is venomous, 
 it must be crushed like a big one." 
 
 " Sire," replied Vidal, somewhat pale, " I do not 
 doubt that what you are saying is very just, very 
 reasonable. But your Majesty must pardon the weak- 
 ness of an ordinary man who is unable to rise above 
 ordinary sentiments — to whom woman is always 
 woman. Nevertheless, I implore your Majesty to be- 
 lieve that my loyalty, my adoration for my Emperor 
 is a sentiment so ardent, so profound that no woman 
 in the world has the power to impair it in the least 
 degree." 
 
 The audacious head of the beau sahrcur was humbly 
 bowed, the confident lip bitten to conceal its trembling. 
 Had it been a calculated effect, this spectacle of the 
 proud and dauntless young soldier thus humbled, thus 
 adoring yet timid in the august presence, could not 
 have been more nicely fitted to the Emperor's taste 
 and mood. He loved a man who feared him and him 
 alone ; nothing else, human or divine. In Hector 
 Vidal he saw personified before him the Army — the 
 vast, the magnificent military organism whose every 
 nerve thrilled to the electric impulsion of his own 
 bram. Soldiers like this would march through both 
 fire and water for him. He had been too absorbed, 
 he had but to rouse himself, and there would be no 
 more suicides of grenadiers. 
 
 " Enough, enough," he said, looking up at Vidal 
 with a very genuine and attractive smile. " I forgive 
 
 [237]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 you your tricks this time, you young rascal. You 
 are a good soldier and will go far. Only get rid of 
 that confounded red coat as soon as you can, for it 
 does not become you." 
 
 " I am exceedingly touched by your Majesty's 
 kindness. A good comrade has brought on my 
 horses and valise with the relays, and, if your Majesty 
 will give me leave to ride on immediately, I will en- 
 deavour before night to wash out in English blood 
 the shame of having worn, though but as a disguise, 
 a uniform which is the execration of the whole civil- 
 ised world." 
 
 " Good. Go away and do as you like. Here at 
 last is the courier." 
 
 There was a squishy thud of hoofs in the deep red 
 mud without, and an officer at the fag end of a gallop 
 drew his panting horse up short in the open space 
 before the huts. 
 
 " Where is the Emperor? " he cried. 
 
 " Here, Lieutenant. Why have you delayed so 
 long?" 
 
 " Sire, my horse dropped dead, I had to procure 
 another." 
 
 " The excuse is good. Give me your despatches ; 
 they are perhaps important." 
 
 " Sire, they are from Paris and of the highest im- 
 portance." 
 
 " Give them me." 
 
 The ofificer, who had already sprung to the ground 
 and saluted, saluted again and handed over, with an 
 air of deference, a large sealed packet. With a step 
 of compelled slowness, a face of frozen serenity, the 
 Emperor retired to his hut and closed the rickety door. 
 
 [238]
 
 XVI 
 
 ON THE ROAD TO VILLA FRANCA 
 
 IF on the last day of the year 1808 some airy ship 
 had sailed over the low banks of the oozy Esla 
 and to the wild mountains of Leon, as far north- 
 ward as Villa Franca, the aerial voyagers would have 
 watched beneath them during their whole journey the 
 ceaseless onward flow of a great stream of human 
 beings. Thus viewed from a distance it would have 
 appeared like one army, so small was the distance 
 which now separated the rear-guard of the British 
 from the van of the French. And if common miseries 
 could unite, these armies were indeed one. The 
 French were better shod and better fed than their 
 opponents, owing partly to circumstances and partly 
 to the genius of their commander ; but over both 
 alike hung the same relentless sky, falling in soft sleet 
 on the plain and in freezing snow on the craggy sum- 
 mits of Leon. The French soldiers were chilled and 
 exhausted with wading through deep mud and swollen 
 streams ; the British with wading, shoeless, through 
 the same mud, and tramping the drifted snow of 
 mountain roads. The French were demoralised by 
 the dread of the assassin dogging their heels, the 
 British by angry bewilderment at their General's 
 hasty retreat without giving battle, and at conduct in 
 their allies which appeared to them betrayal. The 
 wrongs under which they smarted were in truth only 
 the inevitable result of the normal state of Spain and 
 
 [239]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 the folly of British ministers. Money could not be- 
 stow on Spanish juntas the power of organisation, 
 while the long, disastrous traditions of Spanish gov- 
 ernment made them see no harm in pocketing the 
 large sums which had been entrusted to them for 
 public purposes. It was more surprising that the 
 British Ministry should have trusted to their prom- 
 ised supplies and transport for the army than that 
 these should not have been forthcoming. The peas- 
 antry, savagely brave, boundlessly ignorant, and hat- 
 ing all foreigners alike were long in realising the mean- 
 ing of an alliance, while the money offered them by the 
 English soldiers was doubtless of no value to them 
 compared to their store of food-stuffs, which they must 
 have been often quite unable to replace. 
 
 Till late in the afternoon, men of the British Rear- 
 Guard remained in Astorga destroying all that they 
 could of the stores which, in the wild confusion caused 
 by the inflow of Romana's flying army, it had been 
 impossible to distribute. The last column of the 
 British army was still withdrawing sullenly down 
 that straight road between spare poplars, which the 
 majestic mass of the Cathedral dominates at no great 
 distance, when a troop of French cavalry drew rein 
 under the low round towers of the ancient Roman 
 fortress. 
 
 Barrington was one of the officers charged with 
 the work of destruction, and was thus likely to be 
 among the last to leave Astorga. General Moore and 
 his Staff had left early in the morning, and, except for 
 the old couple, Miss Dillon was left alone in his quar- 
 ters. Gradually a stillness settled on the miserable 
 town ; a deathly stillness, unbroken save by an ex- 
 
 [240]
 
 ON THE ROAD TO VILLA FRANCA 
 
 plosion caused by the destruction of ammunition, or 
 the hurrying feet of some inhabitant who had stayed 
 behind the rest of his people and was now hastening 
 to rejoin them on their way to a mountain village. 
 Some, like the old servants left in the General's 
 quarters, elected to stay by their goods ; but most, 
 having seen or suffered the depredations of their com- 
 patriots and allies, concealed or took away what they 
 could and fled for their lives before the enemy. 
 
 Miss Dillon's pony, ready saddled and loaded with 
 her bags, was actually within the house, as she had 
 been warned to hide it from possible marauders. The 
 day was dark and lowering, with snow and sleet fall- 
 ing at intervals. In the kitchen the old couple had 
 lighted candles before the image of the Virgin, and 
 told their beads whisperingly or with a nasal drone 
 of prayer. Miss Dillon moved from room to room, 
 feeling lonely and vaguely frightened. She not only 
 wondered whether Hector Vidal had reached the 
 French army in safety — for that she had naturally 
 wondered a hundred times already — but sincerely 
 wished he could be her escort to Villa Franca instead 
 of the red-haired young man. She did not like Mr. 
 Harrington's manners, or rather absence of manners, 
 and would naturally have preferred being escorted by 
 a man to whom her company was an unfeigned pleas- 
 ure, to being under the care of one to whom it was 
 an undisguised bore. Yet it was only for the im- 
 possible she sighed. She did not for a moment regret 
 having left behind her the French army, even though 
 it might include Labourdonnaye. On the contrary, 
 she exulted to think how in a few hours the uniforms 
 with which she had so long been familiar would be 
 
 [241]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 pouring through these now empty streets, the very 
 room in which she had sat with General Moore 
 filled, it might be, with the detested presence of Na- 
 poleon — and she meantime not indeed far away, yet 
 far enough. 
 
 She stood at the window of this room and looked 
 out. The snow lay white on the floor of the Plazuela 
 and the narrow street opposite, covering over the foul 
 traces of the departed hordes. It lay white on the 
 pantiled roofs of the houses, clung to the grey carv- 
 ings of the doorways, and high above picked out with 
 lines of white the fretted stonework of the Cathedral. 
 An officer came riding to the house door. She saw 
 it was Mr. Barrington and went down to open it to 
 him. He saluted. His face was slightly blackened 
 on one side and he smelt of singeing. 
 
 " My Colonel is sending me forward on a message, 
 Miss Dillon, and I think it would be wiser for you 
 to come with me now. I shall come back here, but 
 you will be better ahead for the present. There are 
 some women marching with a battalion of High- 
 landers just in front of us. We shall be staying here 
 till the last and " — here he tried not to grin — " very 
 likely we shall have a brush with the Johnny Craps 
 before we're of¥. Are you ready to start ? " 
 
 Miss Dillon was ready — had been ready for hours. 
 She flew to find her pony, to say good-bye to the kind 
 old couple, who dismissed her with blessings and 
 prayers for her safety, and in a few minutes was rid- 
 ing by the side of her very unromantic knight. As 
 they passed through the melancholy streets the houses 
 were either shuttered and closed, or perforce open be- 
 cause the doors and windows were broken to pieces. 
 
 [242]
 
 ON THE ROAD TO VILLA FRANCA . 
 
 In one or two such houses they caught a glimpse of 
 poor fever-stricken wretches, the dying or the dead, 
 remnants of Romana's army. The straight high-road 
 lay left and right as they issued from the gateway of 
 the city. To the left the undisturbed snow had had 
 leisure to spread a deceptive smoothness over the rot- 
 ten surface, to the right wheel-marks, hoof-marks, 
 foot-marks showed, stamped in wild confusion on the 
 mud. To the right then lay their way. Heavy clouds 
 concealed the jagged mountain barrier ahead, but 
 through the now falling snow they mistily perceived 
 dark bodies of troops moving up a distant slope. On 
 the bare upland just without the town a crowd of 
 women and children were collected round some de- 
 serted farm buildings. The march of the British army 
 was everywhere hampered by this incredible mass of 
 human impedimenta. 
 
 The rapidity both of the advance and of the retreat 
 had already caused a good number to drop off, and 
 at the urgent wish of General Moore the greater part 
 of those who had remained were now staying behind. 
 Others there were whom fidelity to their mates, hardy 
 courage, or even sheer timidity drove still onwards 
 along the terrible road to Coruna. Mr. Harrington 
 and his companion rode through the busy throng of 
 women, intent on making themselves and their fam- 
 ilies as comfortable as might be in their temporary 
 lodging; and contrasting their robust and ruddy 
 aspect with the fairness and fragility of his damsel 
 errant he could not but reflect how much wiser she 
 would have been to remain behind with these other 
 females at Astorga. He did not express his opinion, 
 but Miss Dillon knew well enough what he was think- 
 
 [243]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 ing; and having been for several days fed with 
 agreeable compliments on her courage and resolution, 
 she felt mortified at the total absence of admiration, 
 even the tacit disapproval evinced by her present 
 cavalier. Her mind's eye beheld with astonishing 
 vividness the face of Hector Vidal, which the peasant's 
 bonnet had so well become, turned towards her full of 
 respectful adoration. And while she was bestowing 
 upon him certain absurd and inconsistent regrets, 
 Vidal himself was pushing on with the French van- 
 guard towards Astorga, and suffering those tortures 
 of Tantalus, which are never wholly unmingled with 
 pleasure, in the idea that he was about to enter a 
 place which had probably but a few hours since been 
 blest with the presence of Seraphine. 
 
 When she had succeeded in getting into conversa- 
 tion with the red-haired young man she did not feel 
 so aggrieved. It was not easy to do so, because he 
 was quite unused to ladies' society, but after awhile 
 they found themselves talking together with interest. 
 This was fortunate, because, owing to the balling of 
 the snow underfoot, they were obliged to ride slowly. 
 Yet they gained on the Highland regiment ahead of 
 them. It was marching in the teeth of the wind, and 
 the snow behind it showed stains of blood. 
 
 " They can't have any wounded with them," replied 
 Barrington, in reply to Miss Dillon's horrified enquiry. 
 " They have never been in action. I suppose they've 
 worn out their shoes, poor beggars, and their feet are 
 cut to pieces. And to think we're leaving behind and 
 destroying shoes by the score ! Defend us from our 
 friends, say I. The French have only got to beat the 
 Spanish army, which is easy ; but we have to co-operate 
 
 [244]
 
 ON THE ROAD TO VILLA FRANCA 
 
 with it, and that's a damned tough job. However, I 
 suppose dogged '11 do it, if we don't think too much 
 about the matter." 
 
 " I should have fancied, on the contrary, it would 
 take a great deal of thinking about." 
 
 " Oh, no. Thinking's the deuce and all. There are 
 some Scotch beggars in the 71st there who seem to 
 be doing a deal more thinking than's good for their 
 tempers. Our men don't do much of it, thank 
 Heaven; and we've got some big Irishmen and a 
 little sandy cockney whose tongues are worth a ration 
 of rum all round on a march." 
 
 " And which fight the best, Mr. Barrington ? Your 
 jokers or the solemn, ill-tempered fellows?" 
 
 " Why, fighting's a bit of fun we all enjoy, we're 
 all Britons there. It's this confounded running away 
 without fighting that turns our stomachs. I confess 
 it's galling — I can't understand myself why we mayn't 
 fight when we've come here to do it. But I have 
 confidence, perfect confidence in the General — what- 
 ever he does is sure to turn out to have been right." 
 
 Miss Dillon contented herself with applauding the 
 sentiment, for General Moore had desired her to be 
 secret as to the numbers of the vast army in pursuit 
 of his own little force. 
 
 They had by this time reached the bottom of the 
 long slope between the poplars, and were rising by a 
 road originally good, since it was the highway from 
 Madrid to the important harbour of Coruna, but now 
 broken up by the passage of artillery and troops. 
 The colours of the tartan began to emerge from the 
 dark mass of the Highlanders in front. Hastening 
 their pace they soon overtook the regiment. Barring- 
 
 [245]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 ton, having conferred with the Colonel on various mat- 
 ters, asked leave for Miss Dillon to accompany the 
 w^omen with it as far as Cambarros, which he expected 
 himself to reach that evening. The permission having 
 been granted, he rode away in the direction of the 
 city, whose walls and towers still crested the near 
 horizon. 
 
 After the first brief word of the Colonel, no one 
 spoke to Miss Dillon. Everyone was too absorbed 
 in his or her own share of suffering and effort. The 
 women, many of them accompanied by children, were 
 following behind or walking by the side of the road, 
 and all were carrying burdens. Miss Dillon took her 
 pony on to the stony hill-side, which was by this time 
 firmer under foot than the trampled road. A fitful 
 wind drove the sleety snow in the men's grim faces, 
 and they bowed their plumed bonnets to meet it. Few 
 words were spoken as they tramped heavily onwards 
 through the soft snow, but there was often heard a 
 deep sigh or a suppressed groan. It seemed to her 
 that men and women alike, so far as they noticed her 
 at all, eyed her grudgingly, as though asking them- 
 selves why she should be wrapped in furs and riding 
 on a pony while soldiers and their wives must trudge 
 afoot with torn garments and bleeding feet. 
 
 They were climbing, with a steady, gradual rise, 
 a lower spur of the mountains of Leon, whose unseen 
 Alpine summits lay before them, swathed in chill 
 cloud and vapour. Here, even in spring, but a few 
 brown sheep, and the brown shepherd who watches 
 them, find a scanty living on the bare hill-sides. Now 
 the little valley below them was all empty save for 
 the drifted snow, and the long slope of the ridge 
 
 [246]
 
 ON THE ROAD TO VILLA FRANCA 
 
 above swept immaculately white to its summit, where 
 a ruin of grey boulders shook the snow from their 
 steep walls, while its drooping masses roofed them 
 fantastically, till they appeared the rude dwelling of 
 some mountain giant. The furthest visible land- 
 marks were two conical hills, dark with brushwood ; 
 and, owing to the straight monotony of the road, 
 which deceived the eye, these two hills, while never 
 appearing very far ofif, also never appeared to grow 
 nearer as they marched. The women who accom- 
 panied the regiment were mostly of coarse and strong 
 appearance, but some there were more delicate of 
 limb and feature. One Miss Dillon particularly ob- 
 served. She must not long since have been a pretty 
 young creature, lightly built, black-haired, white- 
 skinned, and blue-eyed. She was now fearfully thin, 
 pale even to the lips, with a blue shade round her 
 eyes and mouth, and her face everywhere marked 
 with the lines of efifort and sufifering. She wore a 
 plaid over her head and wrapped about the thin baby 
 she was carrying on one arm. With the other hand 
 she guided the uncertain steps of a young High- 
 lander not more than sixteen years old, who seemed 
 from his likeness to her to be her brother. He was 
 evidently almost or quite blind, and the long strips of 
 rag wound round his feet in place of shoes were 
 soaked with blood. He was among those who often- 
 est groaned aloud as they went. The young woman 
 was carrying a bundle, not so large as some, yet too 
 much for her feeble strength. Miss Dillon relieved 
 her of this. Not far from her a subaltern was walk- 
 ing, his shoeless feet tied up like the blind boy's, and 
 scarcely in better case. He was a small, fair, femi- 
 
 [247]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 nine-looking youth, with traces of dandyism still 
 visible in the cut of his hair, the rings on his fingers, 
 and the spying-glass dangling from his neck ; but 
 he was tramping gallantly beside his men, betraying 
 neither by sound or sign the pain he must be feeling 
 at every step. Further ahead, another ofificer rode 
 on a limping horse. Presently he dismounted, and 
 when Miss Dillon passed him he was examining it in 
 company with a veterinary. In a minute the report 
 of a gun made everyone look round. The veterinary 
 stood with smoking musket beside the quivering body 
 of the horse, from which a slow stream of black blood 
 had begun to creep out into the snow. This was the 
 first to fall of the many hundred horses whose car- 
 cases were to strew the road to Corufia and further, 
 even to the edge of the Atlantic surf. 
 
 The ofificer, though encumbered with various small 
 articles, ran past her and soon resumed his former 
 place in the march. Then she heard a repressed 
 laugh, which grated, and a soldier spoke, in a low 
 voice : 
 
 " Eh, Donald, mon ! Did ye see Mclntyre skippin' 
 ower the snaw? It's no sae lichtsome as whirling the 
 lassies roun' to the deil's ain tune in the assembly 
 rooms, I'm thinking." 
 
 " Na, Tammas. And it gars me laugh to think 
 what the Edinburgh fine leddies wad say to Jamie 
 Gordon 'gin they saw him the noo, wi' yon durrty 
 bit rags aboot his dainty feet instead of his dancing- 
 pumps. He's got a spying-glass aroun' his neck yet, 
 the puir doited chiel ; but his currls, Tammy ! Eh, 
 do ye mind his currls? " 
 
 " Ay, ay, Donald. He's nae better afif than we the 
 noo, for a' his sax thousan' poun' per annum." 
 
 [248]
 
 ON THE ROAD TO VILLA FRANCA 
 
 " But he's marching as weel as ony, for a' he's got 
 nae shoes," put in another voice. " I didna ken the 
 lad Gordon had sae mickle spunk in him." 
 
 " Go, ay. He'll get a men in time." 
 
 Again a dismal silence reigned, broken only by the 
 heavy sound of the soldiers' feet and an occasional 
 deep groan. The young woman with the bHnd boy 
 had pressed on, and Miss Dillon, wrapped in her own 
 thoughts, had ceased to observe her, when a long, 
 wailing cry rang over the hill-side. 
 
 " Effie ! Effie ! Ye're no deid ! " 
 
 She raised her eyes and saw the body of a woman 
 stretched on the snowy bank at the edge of the road. 
 The Highland boy kneeled by the body, and, feeling 
 about it with uncertain hands, uttered wild and sob- 
 bing cries. Instinctively, forgetful of discipline, the 
 soldiers halted. The hard faces, set in selfish gloom, 
 were changed, softened in pity as they gazed at the 
 corpse. The young woman lay stretched out, motion- 
 less. Her plaid had fallen back and showed her white 
 young breast half bare, and the child groping there 
 with feeble hands while it screamed the weak yet 
 passionate scream of neglected babyhood. The blind 
 boy, crouching in the snow, rocked and wailed in- 
 articulately. 
 
 " Is she deid? " asked half a dozen horrified voices, 
 addressing a small group of women who stood close 
 together looking at the corpse. 
 
 " Ay, she's deid. Mrs. Patterson says she's deid," 
 they answered, almost in a whisper. 
 
 They were young, for the elderly women had mostly 
 fallen ofif from the march before now. Mrs. Patter- 
 son, who had stepped on to speak to an officer, was 
 
 [249]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 one of the exceptions. Donald stepped out of the 
 ranks and, glancing round anxiously, sneaked a small 
 bottle out of his bosom which he slipped into a 
 woman's hand. 
 
 " Try that," he whispered. " And mind ye dinna 
 forget to gi' it me back." 
 
 The woman, conscious of all the value of the treas- 
 ure committed to her, wasted but a drop or two on 
 the lips of the corpse, then with a shake of the head 
 slipped the bottle back to its owner. The young 
 officer they had called Gordon hurried up, and in his 
 turn endeavoured to pour brandy from his flask down 
 the dead girl's throat. 
 
 " Here ! " he cried out to the women, several of 
 whom were sobbing aloud, " can't you do something, 
 you women, instead of standing there gaping? " 
 
 " Happen we can close her een for her, puir lassie. 
 That's a' ony of us can do for her, Sir," answered 
 Mrs. Patterson. 
 
 " Where's the poor creature's husband? " 
 
 No one answered, but people questioned each other, 
 shortly, in low voices. 
 
 " He's no in the regiment, I'm thinking," said Mrs. 
 Patterson. " Yon's her brother." 
 
 " Ay, she's my seester," whimpered the boy. " I'm 
 Sandy Grahame o' the furrst battalion — piper." 
 
 " And where's her husband? " 
 
 " Deid — deid ! " moaned the boy, and rocked him- 
 self again. 
 
 There was a pause. The young officer looked round 
 on the laden women, many of them already carrying 
 children. He picked the baby up. 
 
 " I'll take charge of this," said he. 
 
 [250]
 
 ON THE ROAD TO VILLA FRANCA 
 
 Miss Dillon, who had remained till this moment 
 petrified with horror, now pushed her pony over the 
 bank, and, floundering in the drifted snow, rode up to 
 Gordon. 
 
 " You'd much better give it to me," she said. 
 
 The young man felt a momentary surprise, but not 
 having time to indulge it, handed over the infant with 
 a word of thanks. The child was happed in the 
 plaid of the unhappy mother, whose body must needs 
 be left unburied by the wayside, and the regiment 
 resumed its march in a silence yet gloomier than be- 
 fore, since the low weeping of the women rather 
 accompanied than broke it. 
 
 Gradually, amid the weeping, articulate woe and 
 lamentation became audible. 
 
 " Eh, lasses ! I'm thinking she had the best luck 
 of us a', for she's been the furrst to dee." 
 
 And a voice made answer : 
 
 " Maybe you're richt there, and we'll a' be deid or 
 ever we win hame." 
 
 And another voice sighed, shrilly: 
 
 " Ay, ay ; I doot we'll nane of us ever see auld 
 Scotland ony mair." 
 
 The soldiers answered with a groan ; and from be- 
 hind arose, first low, then swelling louder, the wild 
 funeral wail of the Highlands. 
 
 It reached the ears of the officers. 
 
 " Hold your damned tongues in the rear there ! " 
 someone shouted authoritatively. And all again was 
 silence. 
 
 As the whole procession, the marching soldiers and 
 the following women, passed on, the blind boy crouch- 
 ing in the snow seemed forgotten by all. He sprung 
 
 [251]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 to his feet and screamed after them, with outstretched 
 hands. Miss Dillon turned and rode back to him, 
 
 " Put your hand on the pony," she said. " That'll 
 help you along." 
 
 He- did as she told him, and hobbled slowly on, 
 stopping to groan at every few steps. Miss Dillon 
 saw with anxiety that they were getting further and 
 further behind the regiment. She endeavoured to 
 urge the boy more quickly forward. He let go of 
 the pony and flung himself down in the snow. 
 
 " Gang your ain gate and leave me to dee. What 
 for suld I no dee? I'll never be a soger laddie ony 
 mair. I'll be naething but Sandy, the blind piper." 
 
 They were not far from the first turn in the straight 
 road, where it doubled round a low point. When she 
 had exhausted cajoleries and admonitions in the at- 
 tempt to persuade Sandy to proceed, she looked up 
 and saw that the last of the soldiers, even the last of 
 the following women, had disappeared from view. 
 She was left alone between the immense desolation 
 of the snowy hill-side and the snow-laden sky with a 
 helpless boy, both blind and lame, and an infant — a 
 species of creature about which she knew as little as 
 the young man whom she had relieved of it. It 
 seemed more like a dreadful dream than anything 
 which could really be happening to her, and for a 
 few minutes she gave herself up to dumb despair. 
 Then, getting ofif her pony, she took Sandy by the 
 shoulders. 
 
 " Get up and ride," she said. " You can carry the 
 baby instead of me." 
 
 He did as he was told, and she began to tramp 
 through the snow beside the pony. The baby was 
 
 [252]
 
 ON THE ROAD TO VILLA FRANCA 
 
 crying itself to sleep, the tears were dripping down 
 the face of the blind boy, and it was only with diffi- 
 culty that she refrained herself from weeping as she 
 went. But she felt the necessity of keeping a good 
 hold on the little strength and courage she still pos- 
 sessed. At the turn of the road she looked back and 
 saw, in spite of the falling snow, a dark body of 
 troops coming up the long slope behind. After that 
 she tramped on, at once less hurriedly and more 
 cheerfully. 
 
 As the troops came near, Mr. Barrington put up 
 field-glasses and looked steadily up the road. He 
 knew that General Moore not only never used blas- 
 phemous language himself, but strongly objected to 
 its being used by his officers. Nevertheless, while 
 looking through his field-glasses, Mr. Barrington 
 said: 
 
 "Well, I'm damned!" 
 
 He applied to his Colonel for leave to go forward 
 and investigate what he saw. It was granted, and 
 with his long legs it was no great while before he 
 had caught up Miss Dillon, the pony, the Highlander, 
 and the baby. 
 
 " Now look here. Miss Dillon," he observed, some- 
 what annoyed ; " how do you suppose I'm to get you 
 to Villa Franca if you're going to give a mount to 
 every foot-store soldier you meet on this road ? And 
 where on earth did he pick up this baby? " 
 
 Miss Dillon explained. She asked him how she 
 could possibly have left the boy behind, or allowed 
 an officer to carry the baby. He acquiesced, but sur- 
 veyed the party ruefully. She now feU she had been 
 thoughtless and selfish to encumber this terrible 
 
 [253]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 march, this useful officer, with a person so feeble and 
 useless as herself. Far better had they all — she, the 
 blind boy, and his sister, and above all the baby — 
 remained with the other women and children at 
 Astorga. 
 
 The regiment caught them up, and Miss Dillon 
 observed that it was by no means so silent as the one 
 with which she had previously ridden. The groans 
 of the foot-sore were indeed heard, but more cheerful 
 sounds, even laughter, often mingled with them. The 
 men had got more wine and less food than was good 
 for them at Astorga, and though the greater number 
 were young and ruddy-skinned, their cheek-bones 
 showed, and their faces in repose put on a worn and 
 serious look, which must be deeply stamped upon 
 them before they saw Corufia — on such of them, in- 
 deed, as were destined to see it. Yet there were 
 jesters there whose fiame of rude wit was unextin- 
 guished and could still find fuel and run a crackle of 
 laughter through the marching ranks. Miss Dillon 
 felt an uneasy suspicion that she and Mr. Harrington, 
 whose arm was assisting her to face the scudding 
 snow, furnished food for some of this merriment ; and 
 he was not without the same uneasiness. A laugh, 
 he knew, was worth more to his men than a ration 
 of rum, but he was too young to be pleased when the 
 laugh was at his expense. Nevertheless he did his 
 duty manfully by the young lady his General had con- 
 fided to his charge. 
 
 The soldiers of the Rear-Guard were weary with the 
 work of destroying stores in Astorga, from which 
 they had retreated only when the walls began, as it 
 were, to shake to the tread of the advancing enemy. 
 
 [254]
 
 ON THE ROAD TO VILLA FRANCA 
 
 It was their intention to spend the night at the village 
 of Cambarros, leaving for the morrow the strenuous 
 climb over the frozen pass. At sunset the clouds 
 lifted and broke, and there, immediately before them, 
 rose the sheeted mountains, ominous, jagged, almost 
 ghastly in the fading day. 
 
 They found Cambarros deserted by its inhabitants 
 and not so full of soldiers but that quarters could still 
 be found. Just outside the village they passed a bake- 
 house, where some of the camp-following women had 
 already lighted fires and were baking cakes. Bar- 
 rington advised Miss Dillon to take up a position 
 there at once with the boy and the baby. To find a 
 place where she might speedily get warm and dry 
 was a piece of good luck which she would have been 
 better able to appreciate had it not been for the mis- 
 erable crying of the baby, which she knew must be 
 hungry. It was a wizen little creature, with a quan- 
 tity of dark hair and large dark-blue eyes. The blind 
 boy thought it was six months old, but from its size 
 it might have been but three. Leaving the baby with 
 him, she started ofif into the village to see if by any 
 means she might procure it some milk ; and presently 
 met half a dozen men of Barrington's regiment. They 
 were wandering down the village street, stopping 
 from time to time and listening attentively while one 
 of their number crowed and clucked in earnest imita- 
 tion of farmyard fowls. In the silence which followed 
 one of his performances, a rustic-looking youth ob- 
 served : 
 
 " I beared zummat." 
 
 All eyes fastened on him. 
 
 "Where, man? What?" 
 
 [255]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 " It weren't chicken ; it were — zummat." 
 
 He uplifted his voice and bleated. The others eyed 
 him anxiously, following where he went. He put his 
 mouth to a crack in a closed door and bleated again, 
 piteously. But as he leaned against the door it flew 
 open, and he tumbled head foremost into a room full 
 of Highlanders, amid a roar of laughter and a pelting 
 of witticisms from both sides. The rustic picked him- 
 self up, apparently neither amused nor annoyed by 
 the incident, but his mind entirely bent on his pur- 
 suit, like that of a dog with his nose on a trail. He 
 walked round the house, bleating at intervals, and at 
 length a melancholy subterranean voice replied. A 
 large pile of rubbish was removed, and beneath it was 
 found a kind of cellar containing a goat and two kids, 
 the last two almost dead of suffocation. 
 
 The goat had milk, and the soldiers good-naturedly 
 gave it to Miss Dillon and the child. The kids they 
 killed, and cooked in the bake-house, where their 
 proud discoverer sat glowing in the light of the flames 
 and of his success. 
 
 " I never thart when I did use to mock Passon's 
 old nannygoat in churchya'd, her'd do I such a right 
 good turn in a heathen land," he simpered. 
 
 " Haythen, Misther Clodhopper!" commented an 
 Irishman. " Sure your ignorance is surprisin' ! I'll 
 thank ye to kape a perlite tongue in your head when 
 you're spakin' of a good Catholic counthry. Ye can 
 call the Spaniards what ye loike — bad cess to them for 
 decavin' divils ! — but a counthry where there's a 
 Blessed Virgin at ivery strate corner and more is a 
 Christian counthry and maybe not so haythen as your 
 own." 
 
 [256]
 
 ON THE ROAD TO VILLA FRANCA 
 
 The impugner of Catholic Spain looked fixedly at 
 the Irishman, and might possibly, after the lapse of 
 fifteen minutes, have made some reply not devoid of 
 sense, had not Donald, who was helping some women 
 to carry away the cakes they had made, intervened. 
 
 *' Ye're just wrang, baith of ye," he said, with de- 
 liberation. " The country canna rightly be ca'ed 
 heathen, since the inhabitants dinna wurship Moloch, 
 Mars, Diana of the Ephesians, or the lave o' the pagan 
 deities: an' ye can no just ca' it Christian either, since 
 they hae no knowledge of the Scriptures, and bow 
 down and wurship bit saints and Vurgins and ither 
 graven images." 
 
 The theological dispute thus inaugurated might 
 have waxed warm had not an officer appeared at the 
 door, accompanied by two miserable looking Span- 
 iards, supporting a third between them. These were 
 more of Romana's flying army, of whom small de- 
 tachments continued to cross the retreat of the British. 
 Those who had just arrived at Cambarros were in 
 the last stage of misery, and sometimes disease ; and 
 the soldiers, no longer regarding them as rivals in the 
 struggle for plunder, treated them with kindness and 
 compassion. Room was made for the new-comers in 
 the already crowded bake-house, meat and wine were 
 given to two of them ; the third lay still in the torpor 
 of fever. His presence did not, however, prevent the 
 soldiers' meal being eaten to an accompaniment of 
 rough merriment and chaflf. The rustic and the Irish- 
 man were fixing up a screen of empty sacks, to give 
 Miss Dillon and the other women some privacy for the 
 night, when a sudden attentive silence fell upon all, 
 for a bugle sounded the assembly. In a minute an- 
 other echoed the summons. 
 
 [257]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 " D my sowl if the Johnny Craps aren't com- 
 ing boderin' afther a bit of lead for their suppers ! " 
 exclaimed the Irishman, gleefully. " Faith ! They 
 shall have it, the Podabeens, though maybe at this 
 hour it'll be cowld on their stomachs." 
 
 The men began to hurry out, and then, to Miss 
 Dillon's relief, Barrington appeared in the doorway. 
 He gave a few orders before speaking to her in a 
 low voice : 
 
 " Don't be frightened. Miss Dillon ; there's no oc- 
 casion, I assure you. Old Paget has taken it into 
 his blessed old head that the enemy is advancing in 
 force ; but it's all nonsense, you know. He's been 
 round pulling fellows out of bed by the legs and 
 swearing himself black in the face. Pm sent on 
 ahead to look after a path the French might turn us 
 by, but there's a place in a waggon you can have. 
 Paget smelt a buck of a captain malingering in it and 
 had him out in a hurry. He won't get back, I fancy, 
 so there's his place for you. You'll be glad of it, for 
 it'll be hard work getting over the mountains to Bem- 
 bibre to-night, for all the moon shines." 
 
 The clouds had broken and lifted, and a moon, 
 watery but full, showed the street of the village, al- 
 most empty a few minutes before, now black with a 
 hurrying crowd — infantry of the line, Highlanders, 
 dragoons, and camp-followers. Miss Dillon hastily 
 collected her goods, the pony, the blind boy, and the 
 baby, and followed to the edge of the village, where 
 the troops were falling in and a tilted waggon of the 
 country stood by the wayside without horses. It was 
 full of salt pork, unsavoury, yet she knew that the 
 corner Barrington had found for her in it was not 
 
 [258]
 
 ON THE ROAD TO VILLA FRANCA 
 
 to be despised. He left her there, the baby in her 
 arms and the bHnd boy on the pony outside, with an 
 assurance that the driver and the team would pres- 
 ently arrive. For some time the bustle, the strange- 
 ness of this muster and march on the snowy hill-side, 
 under the misty moon and the shadows of wandering 
 clouds, held Miss Dillon's attention. But when the 
 last dragoons had trotted ofif, and there passed only 
 a broken and motley crowd, she felt a sudden pang 
 of uneasiness at the continued absence of the driver 
 and horses of the waggon. She got down, the sleep- 
 ing child in her arms, and went to the top of the 
 village street. It was still full, but so far as she could 
 see there were no soldiers there, except drunken or 
 foot-sore stragglers of various regiments ; the rest 
 were women, children, and other camp-followers. 
 The high moon caught the street aslant, and, narrow 
 though it was, divided it with a line of black shadow. 
 While she stood and peered into the confusion of 
 light and darkness and moving shapes, suddenly, from 
 somewhere out of sight, there arose a wild and fear- 
 ful scream. It swelled, it rushed up like a wave, and 
 with it rushed up a frightened herd of human beings, 
 running this way and that, falling over each other in 
 their mortal haste, and in the midst, pursuing them 
 with fierce cries which mingled with their shrieks, 
 mounted men — riders ghostly and terrible as those of 
 the Apocalypse. For about these apparitions flew 
 cloaks as white in the moonlight as shrouds or wings, 
 their helmets glittered under the flowing of long 
 black plumes, and, most terrible of all, flashed and 
 whirled about their heads bright blades, which fell 
 with a horrid sound, cleaving through flesh and bone, 
 
 [259I
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 while their advancing hoofs fell with a dull thud on 
 men, women, children, the wounded, the dead, the 
 merely overthrown. For a minute Miss Dillon stood 
 paralysed with terror, staring almost vacantly at the 
 dreadful scene, the baby clasped in her arms ; then 
 she turned and fled, with feet not winged, but leaden- 
 weighted with terror. Other and swifter feet pattered 
 past her, and swiftest of all came the French cuiras- 
 siers, galloping up the village, slashing about them 
 to maim and slaughter the fiying herd as they passed ; 
 but not drawing rein, since they hoped to find a nobler 
 prey beyond it. They found but the open snowy 
 country and the remnants of the fugitive crowd scat- 
 tering before them. 
 
 The blind boy, putting the reins on the pony's neck, 
 was endeavouring to urge it up the road just in front 
 of Miss Dillon, when a cuirassier shot forward, and, 
 either recognising the uniform or in mere wantonness, 
 cleft him almost to the saddle. He fell without a 
 sound into the snow, and lay there, staining its white- 
 ness with a black rush of blood. With a fearful shriek 
 she flung herself down, crouching against the road- 
 side bank, the baby dropped behind her. The trooper 
 turned, and as he passed her, once more his bloody 
 sword was swung into the air. Instinctively she raised 
 her arms to protect her head, as though their feeble 
 barrier could for a fraction of a second have resisted 
 the fierce sweep of the sabre. Another, a firmer bar- 
 rier was interposed — a sword wielded by a strong and 
 skilful hand. It clashed across the cuirassier's blade. 
 
 " Enough, enough ! Mille tonnerrcs! I do not love 
 to see women killed ! " 
 
 She staggered to her feet and faced her preserver, 
 
 [260]
 
 ON THE ROAD TO VILLA FRANCA 
 
 wan in the moonlight, with wide eyes which saw 
 nothing and moving lips which said nothing, then 
 dropped backwards, senseless, into the drifted snow. 
 The small detachment of cuirassiers with their officers 
 now gathered at the top of the village street, debating 
 whether to go further that night. The man who had 
 saved her life — he wore the uniform of an officer of 
 chasseurs — paid no further attention to them. He 
 dismounted from his horse, and, slipping his arm 
 through the bridle, leaned over the unconscious girl. 
 His lips were dry and a cold sweat of horror stood 
 upon his brow. 
 
 " Seraphine ! " he whispered, hoarsely. " Speak ! 
 Art thou dead ? Ah, my God — my God ! Say — thou 
 art not dead ! " 
 
 He tried — it seemed to him that he tried for years 
 — to revive her, yet she would give no signs of life. 
 And beneath his breath he cursed like a trooper and 
 moaned like a woman. The pony, stained with the 
 blind boy's blood, after a frightened plunge and gal- 
 lop, came back and stood beside its mistress. The 
 baby, lying beside her in the snow, cried feebly ; but 
 in the anguish and tumult of his mind he did not at 
 first notice it. At length he heard the cry, and snatch- 
 ing the little creature up, scrutinised it in the moon- 
 light. A spasm of jealousy clutched at his heart, for 
 he fancied he saw a likeness to Seraphine in the tiny 
 large-eyed face, suddenly pacified, quiet with aston- 
 ishment, perhaps content at his strong grasp and 
 plumed head-gear. He could have dragged her back 
 to life by the throat to answer the intolerable ques- 
 tion ; but there she lay, motionless, silent, perfectly 
 indifferent. 
 
 [261]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 He had not been left quite unnoticed by the other 
 officers while thus engaged. One of them had ridden 
 up and told him they could not further pursue the 
 English unsupported, and purposed to quarter them- 
 selves in the village for the night. \'idal had got leave 
 to accompany the cuirassiers on their chevaiiche, but 
 he was not personally known to any of them, and they 
 regarded his conduct merely as an eccentric exhibition 
 of sensibility. He had heard and answered them 
 mechanically, and only afterwards realised what had 
 been said. He knew that for his part he must return 
 to Astorga that night, as the Emperor might at any 
 moment arrive there ; but without Seraphine he would 
 not return. But then there was the baby, which he 
 dared not leave behind, to be thought of. His in- 
 genuity of the old campaigner did not fail him. There 
 was a pannier on the pony, and in this he esconced 
 the baby, warmly enough, since it contained Sera- 
 phine's wardrobe ; then, taking a strap from some 
 harness hanging on the waggon of salt pork, he 
 attached the pony to his own horse. After this he 
 troubled himself no more about the child, which soon 
 cried itself to sleep. But taking Seraphine, who was 
 all this time in a deep swoon, in his arms, he mounted 
 his horse and rode with her thus, wrapped in his cloak, 
 down the village street. There the troopers, engaged 
 in breaking down doors to make fires with, laughed 
 immoderately at his appearance, with the girl held 
 before him and the pony, laden as they surmised with 
 booty, trotting unwillingly after. To him it mattered 
 nothing whether a thousand eyes beheld him or 
 whether he rode alone with his own shadow on the 
 white hill-side, under the pale vigilance of the moon, 
 
 [262]
 
 ON THE ROAD TO VILLA FRANCA 
 
 He held his beloved on his heart. Oh, joy ! Oh, 
 agony ! For all the warmth of his heart, his lips, his 
 arms could not recall her from this cold semblance 
 of death. Yet as in the wan moonlight he pored upon 
 her face, whispering again and again monotonous 
 words in all the varied accents of tenderness, anxiety, 
 passion, almost of despair, the white face answered 
 silently one question, assuaged one torment — the 
 child behind there was not Seraphine's ; it was not 
 itself more innocent than she. 
 
 At length, very slowly, consciousness returned to 
 her — she began to wonder where she was, how she 
 came there. Then suddenly the nightmare recollec- 
 tion of the trooper murdering the blind boy, the blood- 
 dripping sabre in act to descend on her own head, 
 rushed back upon her mind. She closed her eyes, 
 and was seized with a violent trembling. He soothed 
 her with little words, as a father might soothe a child, 
 telling her not to be frightened, since she was safe 
 with him. Like a child she shed some tears, and so 
 gradually regained her composure; but with it re- 
 turned anxiety. 
 
 " Where are you taking me? " she asked. 
 
 " To Astorga. Do not be afraid — I promise you 
 he shall know nothing about it. I will conceal you 
 well " — he ended with a whisper of " my treasure, my 
 love " — yet not so low but that she heard him. A 
 few days ago it would have surprised and ofifended 
 her that, even in an aside, Vidal should dare to utter 
 them : at this moment they awoke in her no emotion 
 of any kind. 
 
 " Where is the child? " she asked, abruptly. 
 
 She did not understand why he laughed before he 
 
 [263]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 answered. It was with satisfaction, with self-ridicule : 
 for, little as he knew of mothers, he had yet heard that 
 they never for a moment forget their infants. It was 
 plain that Seraphine had only just remembered the 
 baby. 
 
 He nodded his head in the direction of the pony. 
 
 " It is there, asleep in the pannier. Where did you 
 find it?" 
 
 She told him. 
 
 At first the comfort of the strong protecting arms 
 about her, of the friendly presence, was so great that 
 it did not occur to her to consider the propriety or 
 impropriety of her situation. But at length she ex- 
 pressed a wish to mount her own pony. 
 
 " Do you know that you are on the back of Fatmeh, 
 the gentlest and most beautiful mare in all the army? " 
 asked Vidal. " How can you wish to exchange her 
 for a peasant's pony ? " 
 
 But Seraphine was quietly obstinate, and with re- 
 luctance he placed her on her own animal. 
 
 So they rode on and passed the corner of the road 
 round which she had come with the blind boy. The 
 body of his sister still lay by the road-side, its outline 
 just visible under the watery moon and a thin cover- 
 ing of snow. All was now very still, except for the 
 fitful sighing of wind in the grey crags above. The 
 harsh-voiced crows that nested there would come 
 fluttering down to the body in the solitary dawn ; a 
 drift of night-black wings over the wan hill-side. 
 The straight road, which had been so interminable to 
 climb, seemed to have grown shorter, almost too 
 short, so soon the shadowy bulk of the Cathedral 
 loomed up against the sky. Even Vidal became 
 
 [264]
 
 ON THE ROAD TO VILLA FRANCA 
 
 thoughtful. That he had quarters in Astorga, com- 
 fortable and for the moment almost unoccupied, was 
 true ; but by the next morning thousands of troops 
 would be marching into the town, and how then could 
 he ensure Seraphine comfort and privacy? She on 
 her part thought at once of the Englishwomen left in 
 the homestead outside the city, but hesitated for a 
 while to speak of them, lest she should do wrong in 
 betraying their place of refuge to a Frenchman. But 
 she must needs trust him. He on his part agreed to 
 leave her with her countrywomen, unwilling though 
 he was to separate from her. The arrangement met 
 a difficulty for the moment, and beyond the moment 
 he, as an old campaigner, did not find it necessary to 
 look. Only she must permit him to bring her food 
 and wine, for he could not bear to think that she 
 might be suffering privation. To this she willingly 
 agreed ; and was in truth sorry to be obliged to leave 
 a protector grown familiar to her, and once more 
 plunge quite alone into rough and strange company. 
 The farmstead, with its rambling outbuildings, stood 
 on a bare upland without the gates. He left her out- 
 side what seemed the main entrance, and she watched 
 him ride away, a shadow on the snow, pass on and, as 
 it were, merge in the moving shadow of a cloud, 
 that, like some huge and fabled monster, had crawled 
 stealthily over the sleeping country, and presently 
 swallowed up, blotted out in blackness, the whole 
 walled and towered city of Astorga. 
 
 [265]
 
 XVII 
 
 AS BOADICEA BEFORE THE EMPEROR 
 
 THE Guard was mustering; chasseurs, grena- 
 diers, horse and foot, all the Old Moustaches , 
 and the young ones, too, were joyously mus- 
 tering on the open upland outside the city. Joyously, 
 because the word had gone forth that their march 
 was not to be forward into the freezing, inhospitable 
 mountains of Leon, but backward in the direction of 
 Valladolid, of France. This much was certain, and 
 besides, an exhilarating surmise was passed from 
 mouth to mouth. Austria, they said, was intriguing 
 against the Emperor and wanted war again. So much 
 the worse for Austria; but for the Grand Army, so 
 much the better. A fat land and a pleasant, Austria, 
 with plenty of plunder for the gallant soldier of 
 France, and no fierce ministers of death lurking by 
 roadsides, even by holy altars, to destroy him in his 
 first unguarded moment. And the Emperor, as he 
 rode along the lines, marking though he did some 
 cruel gaps in them, reflected on his face the general 
 look of satisfaction. It was true he had missed his 
 blow. The English General had attained his object 
 and slipped away. But that was a fact not on the 
 surface, easily disguised by grandiloquent bulletins, 
 describing the Emperor as driving a vast army of 
 British before him, " Vepee dans les reins.'' And after 
 all it was unimportant, for the resistance of Spain 
 could not last much longer. It was the threatened 
 
 [266]
 
 BEFORE THE EMPEROR 
 
 European coalition which gave cause for serious anx- 
 iety. Yet as he looked along the bronzed ranks of 
 his chosen veterans he smiled proudly to himself and 
 bade anxiety begone. 
 
 Having inspected the whole body of troops and the 
 waggons which were to accompany them, he an- 
 nounced that on the following morning he would put 
 himself at the head of the Guard and march with them 
 to Benevente. The cries of " Vive I'Empcreur! " with 
 which this announcement was received had hardly 
 died away on the snowy hill-side when another cry, 
 not so loud but much shriller and more lamentable, 
 assailed his ears, mingled indeed with laughter. The 
 laughter came from a crowd of soldiers, who were 
 gathering round a group of low buildings. 
 
 " What is it? " asked the Emperor. 
 
 The officer he addressed replied, with signs of 
 vexation : 
 
 *' Sire, it is some hundreds of these women and 
 children the English drag about after them. I can 
 well understand that their flight before your Majesty 
 has been too precipitate for these to follow. There is 
 nothing to be gained by taking them prisoners — quite 
 the contrary — and up till now we have preferred to 
 ignore their presence." 
 
 " The English are the stupidest, the most brutal 
 and perfidious people in the world, and as soldiers — 
 bah ! But I am curious to see what sort of creatures 
 they are, these Englishwomen who follow their hus- 
 bands round the world. Fichtre! there are some of 
 my officers who would find such wives doubly em- 
 barrassing. Let them all be brought out. General — 
 all, do you hear," 
 
 [267]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 The cries of the women and children gradually 
 ceased. The soldiers, many of whom would have cut 
 them down without mercy if they had found them 
 following the march of the British army, now assailed 
 them with nothing worse than rough chaff which they 
 did not understand. The more good-natured of the 
 men helped the women to carry out their children 
 and the poor possessions to which they clung; so 
 marshalled them in the open field. It was a novel kind 
 of review, and there was much laughter among the 
 onlookers, till the approach of the Emperor imposed 
 the usual hush. Vidal was among the officers on his 
 stafif. The young aide-de-camp's eye roamed swiftly 
 over the crowd of women, to rest on a small figure 
 holding a baby in her arms and standing by a pony. 
 An orange kerchief, such as the women of the country 
 wear, concealed her head and face. There was some- 
 thing sullen in his air as he looked that way. He had 
 seen Seraphine that morning and endeavoured to 
 persuade her to accompany him, concealed in a wag- 
 gon, to Valladolid. He had implored, promised, re- 
 proached, almost threatened — in vain. She had pro- 
 tested her gratitude, her faith in his honour, but firmly 
 refused to go with him. She preferred to encounter 
 horrible dangers, to endure privations and the com- 
 pany of coarse, unclean women rather than return to 
 France, rather than accept his protection. Had a 
 comrade confided to him such a dilemma he would 
 have counselled him, with a laugh, to carry off the 
 lady by force and trust to his powers of consolation. 
 But the case being his own — and Seraphine's — he 
 knew that by such a step he would get nothing he 
 cared to have. So he raged, impotent. 
 
 [268]
 
 BEFORE THE EMPEROR 
 
 The Emperor rode slowly from group to group. 
 He looked at the women with earnest curiosity, but 
 said not a word, though he sometimes acknowledged 
 by a gesture the terrified curtsies with which a minor- 
 ity among them greeted him. The greater number 
 stood upright, with their babies in their arms, their 
 unkempt children clinging to their skirts, disdaining 
 to yield obeisance to Boney. These ignorant women, 
 mostly of the humblest class, clothed for the moment 
 with something of the grandeur of a great nationality, 
 stood before the modern Caesar as unbending, almost 
 as savage in their pride as Boadicea before her Roman 
 conquerors. It was perhaps this indefinable dignity 
 of attitude which caused the laughter that had greeted 
 their first appearance to die away amid admiring 
 comments on their stature, their fresh colour, and the 
 blond and auburn shades of the long hair which many 
 of them in the self-abandonment of misery had left 
 streaming over their shoulders. The greater number 
 were young, and as, in spite of the sarcasms of sages 
 of uncertain valour, " the brave " will still be held to 
 deserve " the fair " by the parties most concerned, 
 they were in beauty above the average of their class. 
 Their ragged urchins seemed to have sucked from the 
 wild breast of the winter wind a nourishment that the 
 earth must often have refused, and rosy, sturdy, bright- 
 eyed, returned with a stare of innocent boldness the 
 meditative gaze of the Master of the World. 
 
 The Emperor at length broke his silence. 
 
 " Handsome women ! And what a swarm of chil- 
 dren — fine little fellows ! Let them be given some- 
 thing to eat and well treated." 
 
 He continued his tour of inspection, and after a 
 while said, abruptly, turning to the Due de Rovigo : 
 
 [269]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 " If French soldiers had English wives we could 
 dominate the universe, Marshal." 
 
 Savary exclaimed : 
 
 " You prefer these savages to our elegant Parisians, 
 Sire?" 
 
 " Yes, a thousand times yes ! " The Emperor struck 
 his saddle-bow with his clenched fist. " These women 
 fulfil their duty. They produce children — ours pro- 
 duce barren witticisms. Which are the most necessary 
 to a country? I tell you France has no enemies so 
 dangerous as these women who refuse maternity." 
 
 It was the prolificness, the high physical quality of 
 the " Island Race," which moved the admiration of 
 their great opponent. The spirit which held these 
 humble and captive women upright and defiant before 
 him he did not even observe. Here in Spain, and in 
 that island over the sea, he was face to face with a force 
 which in the disunited countries of Italy and Eastern 
 Europe had been comparatively little felt — the tre- 
 mendous force of national pride. And for all his 
 genius, his immense purview, the Corsican, the man 
 practically without a nationality, was unable to per- 
 ceive the supreme importance of this force as a factor 
 in his calculations. He missed it out, and the error 
 was fatal. 
 
 Now the Emperor had almost ended his inspection, 
 and his eyes had not once rested on the small woman 
 with the baby in her arms who stood by the laden 
 pony. He paused just beyond where she stood, to 
 give directions that the women and children should, 
 if possible, be returned to the English General. Mah- 
 moud should have been behind the Emperor, but the 
 Mameluke had misapprehended the meaning of this 
 
 [270]
 
 BEFORE THE EMPEROR 
 
 unprecedented review of women and children. He 
 concluded that, as they had been taken from the army 
 of the enemy, the Emperor intended to distribute 
 them among his own followers ; and under this im- 
 pression he was engaged in selecting a slave whom 
 he might, with some chance of success, ask of his Im- 
 perial master. The Emperor was about to enquire 
 what had become of him, when an incident occurred. 
 
 The baby which Seraphine held in her arms, excited 
 by the strains of a departing band and the bright uni- 
 forms around it, leaped and crowed, and finally, in an 
 access of joy, snatched the kerchief from her head. 
 At this a certain white-moustached Sergeant of Chas- 
 seurs, who was standing by, stared, struck an attitude 
 of amazement, and cried in a loud voice : 
 
 " What the devil ! Is it really you, Mademoiselle 
 Seraphine? Name of a pipe! How came you here? " 
 
 She laid her finger on her lip, but it was too late. 
 The Emperor's eye was already upon her. He turned 
 his horse, and, pushing it through a crowd of women 
 and children, stood opposite Seraphine, fixing on her 
 a cold, impassible regard. An ardent impulse almost 
 swept Vidal from the saddle, to stand at her side and 
 defend her even from the Emperor's self. But dis- 
 cretion, holding with hand of iron, told him that his 
 intervention could only bring down a storm of more 
 malign violence upon the fragile and beloved head. 
 
 The Emperor looked round, as though seeking 
 someone who was not there ; then catching sight of 
 the Sergeant of Chasseurs, whose face he remembered, 
 he pointed to Seraphine, and said, frigidly : 
 
 " Arrest me this woman. She is a spy." 
 
 Then he turned abruptly away. 
 
 [271]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 Seraphine had stood before him with drooping head, 
 as though crushed by this last blow of Fate, but at 
 the word she lifted it, and said, in a voice as cold and 
 as audible as the Emperor's own : 
 
 " That is not true, and your Majesty knows it. I 
 am an English detenue and I have escaped. There 
 is my whole crime." 
 
 The Emperor did not look back. 
 
 Seraphine handed the baby to a sturdy woman, 
 who, having lost her own, had been nursing it since it 
 arrived at the farmstead. 
 
 " I am going to prison, and I cannot take this child 
 with me," she explained. 
 
 The women round her had not understood what the 
 Emperor said, but they knew the circumstance of Miss 
 Dillon's escape from France, and had divined a sin- 
 ister meaning in his deliberate pause and the few stern 
 words he had spoken before her. 
 
 " To prison ? " questioned several voices. 
 
 " Yes — to prison in France. Do not be afraid. 
 Bonaparte loves to make a show of magnanimity ; he 
 will treat you well and send you back to the British 
 army. Some of you tell General Moore that I am 
 detained on the pretext that I am a spy. Say that 
 the accusation is vilely false — say that my only crime 
 is to have offended a tyrant who knows neither justice 
 nor honour." 
 
 Miss Dillon spoke with the eloquence of emotion, 
 and her voice carried far. Sympathy and deference 
 had already been yielded her by these rough women, 
 and as she stood before them, so weak in body, so 
 strong in a just pride, an indignant murmur went up 
 from their ranks. The Emperor riding away, turned 
 
 [272]
 
 BEFORE THE EMPEROR 
 
 in his saddle at the sound. The word " Shame ! " 
 passing from Hp to Up might in a minute more have 
 risen from a murmur to a cry. Seraphine was alarmed 
 at the consequences of her own utterance. 
 
 " Hush, hush ! " she cried. " For Heaven's sake do 
 not enrage him ! You can do no good to me, and 
 you may do harm to yourselves and your children." 
 
 This was good sense, and the women felt it. They 
 checked the outburst of their indignation to pour 
 forth such promises and consolations as they were able 
 to give. 
 
 The Sergeant, meantime, went up to Vidal to ask 
 him what in the world he was to do with this young 
 woman to whom the Emperor had insisted on making 
 him gaoler. Vidal told him that since his infernal 
 tongue had betrayed a poor girl innocent of every- 
 thing, except having inadvertently offended his Maj- 
 esty, he owed it to her to pay the greatest attention 
 to her comfort. The Colonel pointed out a house in 
 Astorga where she could be decently accommodated, 
 some ofificers of Soult's division having recently left 
 it. He recommended the Sergeant to send her to 
 Valladolid in a waggon, in charge of some trustworthy 
 person, and by all means to keep himself and her well 
 out of the Emperor's sight. His Majesty had many 
 more important matters on his mind, and was likely, 
 temporarily at least, to forget about the seizure of 
 this Englishwoman, unless it were recalled to his re- 
 membrance. If it were recalled he would probably 
 put her into rigorous confinement at Valladolid in 
 charge of the police — " And you know those police, 
 Sergeant." 
 
 Yes, the Sergeant had a prehistoric but unforgotten 
 grudge against the police. 
 
 [273]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 " Fichtrc, Sergeant ! " continued Vidal, " you have 
 played a very bad trick on this poor girl, who never 
 did you any harm, but on the contrary always spoke 
 of you with the greatest admiration." 
 
 " I know it, I know it ! " replied the Sergeant. 
 " Dear little woman ! How she enjoyed a dance with 
 me ! How she loved to listen to my stories of my 
 feats of arms ! She thought very little of yours in 
 comparison, if I remember. Colonel. But how the 
 deuce was I to know I should get her into trouble 
 by recognising her? Ah, bah! it's done now. So 
 much the worse. But it must be said that for the 
 present she is back among French soldiers again. 
 She must felicitate herself upon that, at any rate." 
 
 So he returned to where Seraphine stood, the cen- 
 tre of a group of indignant and compassionate coun- 
 trywomen, and having distributed a volley of killing 
 glances among the younger ones, without in the least 
 observing the lowering looks which were his only re- 
 turn, he politely assisted Mademoiselle to mount her 
 pony, and led her off in the direction of Astorga. 
 
 And the Mameluke, who had witnessed the whole 
 scene from a little distance, felt some surprise at the 
 Emperor's selecting for himself so insignificant a 
 prize. But the ways of the infidels were wonderful, 
 not to be understood. 
 
 Now was Seraphine once more in the hands of the 
 genial Sergeant. Not a fortnight had passed since 
 she had bidden him farewell under the archway at 
 Sanchidrian : to myriads of human beings but twelve 
 ordinary days, to her a space of experience equal to 
 twelve ordinary years. She seemed to herself no 
 longer the same girl who had danced with him on the 
 
 [274]
 
 BEFORE THE EMPEROR 
 
 Guadarrama ; for she had now learned to despair. 
 Yet her despair had in it an element of calm. During 
 the long nights and days she had spent in the stable 
 of the farmstead there had constantly passed before 
 her eyes an endless procession ; rank upon rank of men, 
 blue coats and red, French and English, marching, 
 marching with bowed heads, with faces worn and set 
 against the bitter wind, the merciless downpour, the 
 fluttering white or driving grey with which the low 
 heavens continually obscured themselves and the sod- 
 den earth. The tread of innumerable feet tramping 
 through mud and snow haunted her ears, moved to the 
 beat of foolish tunes in her brain. She saw, like shapes 
 that return again and again in a revolving Wheel of 
 Life, the French soldier, a dark shadowy shape, falling, 
 lying in the road at the edge of the gleaming pool ; 
 the young Scotch mother stretched on her back, with 
 dead eyes regarding Heaven, or lying on a little mound, 
 shrouded in snow and the dimness of the moon. The 
 spectacle of the slaying of the blind boy, and the cui- 
 rassier with his blood-dripping sabre, was bitten into 
 her brain. And, having all these things vividly present 
 with her, she was able, if only very temporarily, to 
 feel herself what she actually was — only one among 
 thousands of atoms which Destiny was steadily sweep- 
 ing, as on the current of some mighty stream, to 
 thousands of unhappy dooms. Destiny? Ay, but 
 Destiny had another name — Napoleon. 
 
 [275]
 
 XVIII 
 
 THE GOLD SIDE OF THE SHIELD 
 
 IN the pine-woods of Castile the sand is fine and 
 white under foot, like the sand of the sea-shore. 
 Delicate going after the weltering slush of the 
 cereal plain, yet even of this, when it is deep-ploughed 
 by hoof and wheel and marching feet, one may cry 
 " enough." When the sun shone red on the boles of 
 the sullen pines and barred with shadows a mile of 
 straight white road, some hundreds of the Guard, 
 horse and foot, were trampHng that silent floor on 
 their way to Valladolid. The streaks of red sunlight, 
 the bars of bluish shadow seemed to flicker, to rise 
 and fall, as the regiments in loose marching order, 
 their weapons this way and that, shouldered or jogged 
 onwards. Weary they might be, but the light of 
 France was in their faces, and if their feet fell noise- 
 lessly, their tongues were not hushed. Where the 
 road took a turn, a thicket of brushwood growing 
 under the trees made a wall of shade, and at a certain 
 point the glowing masses of colour, the glitter of 
 steel were suddenly put out, turned to sombreness. 
 One after the other the marching columns passed 
 into this shadow, grew dim, and presently vanished 
 out of sight ; and it seemed that, with a long sigh, 
 the forest reassumed its solitude. Yet this solitude was 
 not perfect. Far away, at the remoter end of the straight 
 mile of road, a waggon toiled painfully through the 
 ploughed sand. It was no more than a long box, 
 
 [276]
 
 *THE GOLD SIDE OF THE SHIELD 
 
 the arched Hd of which was held up by a spring, 
 placed upon wheels and drawn by two bullocks and 
 a mule. In the centre was piled some baggage, at the 
 back a ghastly man pillowed his head on the packages, 
 groaning at every jolt ; in the front sat two other 
 wounded soldiers, one without a leg. Besides a black- 
 browed driver, three other persons, originally seated 
 in the cart, had one by one descended from it. One 
 was an elderly commissariat officer, another a soldier 
 with his wounded head tied up, Turk-fashion, in a 
 large red handkerchief, the third a young lady in a 
 travelling-cloak. The commissariat officer, who was 
 stout, toiled through the deep sand, mopping his 
 brow and cursing both driver and team — not loud, 
 because his breath was short, nor deep, because his 
 disposition was amiable. The other soldiers in turn 
 supplemented his performance with greater vigour, 
 with the exception of the unfortunate wretch at the 
 back of the waggon, who was insensible to everything 
 except his own anguish, as the springless vehicle 
 jolted under him. Thus with extreme slowness they 
 advanced. 
 
 As the brazen helmets of the last cuirassiers dipped 
 into the shade, the red ball of the sun touched the 
 horizon, which rapidly engulfed it ; and a gloomy 
 chillness fell upon the woodland ways. For a while 
 the western sky glowed through the dusk foliage of 
 the pines, green as chrysoprase and flecked with 
 clouds of burning crimson, which, deepening to blood- 
 red, faded soon into purple and were lost in the shadow 
 of approaching night. The wood thickened about the 
 travellers and their waggon as they crept along the 
 pale road, on which the padded fall of their feet was 
 
 [277]
 
 jSONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 scarcely audible. At length there was a heavy jolt, 
 and the waggon came to a standstill. It had sunk 
 into a deep hollow in the sand, out of which the wheels 
 refused to rise. The weary cattle tugged, the driver 
 cracked his whip ; but to the anxious and irritable 
 soldiers it seemed that none of them were doing their 
 best. They threatened the driver with their muskets, 
 and he, handing his whip to one of them, said to the 
 lady in Spanish : 
 
 " Tell them that I will push behind. Let them whip 
 the creatures themselves." 
 
 So the one-legged man whipped, he of the turban 
 and the commissariat officer tugged at the mule, and 
 at length the waggon lifted ; but only to roll back 
 again. They looked round at the back for the driver 
 — and he was gone. His disappearance was disquiet- 
 ing, not so much because they had now no guide to 
 Valladolid — for they supposed the city could not be 
 far distant — as because it was probable that he had 
 gone to summon those whom they called " the brig- 
 ands " to their destruction. Daylight yet faintly 
 filled the hollow sky above and glimmered on the 
 white track before them ; but in the wood on either 
 hand it was already night. The young lady, unable 
 to give any help with the waggon, ran up the road 
 to see if by chance the lights of Valladolid were any- 
 where visible. When she had run some way up, she 
 thought she perceived the driver, standing sulkily 
 with bent head among the brushwood, under a stunted 
 tree. To her he had always been courteous, and im- 
 petuously she skipped over the roadside rut, and, 
 going quickly towards him, touched him on the shoul- 
 der, crying: "There you are, Manuel!" 
 
 [278]
 
 THE GOLD SIDE OF THE SHIELD 
 
 There was no reply, but the ice-cold thing she had 
 touched swung a little from her hand, swung back 
 upon it and quivered. There was an awful whiteness 
 about the black-whiskered averted face, just showing 
 in a merciful dimness under a shock of black hair. 
 While she yet stood frozen to the earth with horror she 
 saw two glowing points of fire shining beyond, and 
 stared at them stupidly, till a low savage growl aroused 
 her. Springing hastily back into the road, she returned 
 to her companions as fast as her trembling limbs could 
 carry her. They were discussing what part of the 
 baggage could most conveniently be left behind. Her 
 appearance of terror frightened them in their turn. 
 
 " What is it? " asked he of the turban, sharply. 
 
 " In the bushes there — I thought it was Manuel." 
 
 "What? Who, then?" 
 
 " A dead man — hung." Breathless horror was in 
 her voice. 
 
 " A Frenchman ? " 
 
 " No, a Spaniard — a peasant." 
 
 There was a burst of harsh laughter, of relieved ex- 
 clamations : 
 
 "Hung? All the better!" 
 
 " Our comrades have been beforehand with the 
 accursed brigands." 
 
 " Only one ! What a pity they did not hang all." 
 
 " One will do for a scare-crow." 
 
 " The rest may come to avenge him." 
 
 On that fell a pensive silence. 
 
 " There was a wolf, too," she almost whispered. 
 
 " Bah ! The wolves have plenty to eat without 
 troubling us. If there were only wolves over there ! " 
 
 And the silence fell again. 
 
 [279]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 The man in the back of the waggon had fainted 
 with pain, and they began Hfting him out in order to 
 remove the baggage. While they were doing this, 
 four dark figures emerged one by one from the pine- 
 wood on to the road about a hundred yards behind 
 them. The two men dropped their unconscious com- 
 rade back among the baggage, and in complete 
 silence, with a certain deliberation, went to the front 
 of the cart and took out their weapons. The one- 
 legged soldier and the other looked to theirs also. 
 The four persons coming towards them were on 
 horseback. The shades of the night wrapped them 
 in mystery, and there was something ghost-like in 
 their slow and silent advance. When they were near 
 enough for the soft sound of their horses' hoofs to 
 be just audible, the turbaned soldier, relaxing his 
 grasp of his musket, allowed the butt to slide and 
 rest upon the ground. 
 
 " Good ! " he exclaimed, in a low tone. " They are 
 Frenchmen." 
 
 The commissariat officer wiped his brow. 
 
 " Tonnerre de Dieu! All the better for everyone." 
 
 The same kind of uncertainty must have prevailed 
 amongst the horsemen, for they, too, had come on in 
 silence until now, when one who rode in front of the 
 others called out, with alacrity : 
 
 " Hola, comrades ! Is this the road to Valladolid? " 
 
 " We hope so. Officer," replied the commissariat 
 officer, saluting. " Whether we ever arrive there is 
 another matter." 
 
 " Here are three mortal hours," continued the 
 mounted man, " we have been wandering about the 
 country through these infernal woods. Our con- 
 
 [280]
 
 THE GOLD SIDE OF THE SHIELD 
 
 founded little guide — a mere child, one would have 
 supposed incapable of playing such a trick — pretended 
 to take us by a short cut, and left us in the lurch in the 
 forest." 
 
 " Ours also has taken the key of the fields and be- 
 queathed to us his abominable team, which will not 
 move one way or the other. If he does not come 
 back with seven devils worse than himself we shall be 
 lucky." 
 
 It was the turban who spoke, and the mounted 
 officer answered : 
 
 '* Well, comrades, we cannot leave you on the road 
 to be assassinated by these rascally brigands. Du- 
 plain " — addressing one of the two troopers behind 
 him — " dismount and do your best to make this 
 waggon move on." 
 
 The fourth figure, wearing a wide feathered hat and 
 muffled in a cloak, was evidently not that of a soldier, 
 yet in the gloom it must have passed for that of a 
 man if the officer had not said, turning in that di- 
 rection : 
 
 " Excuse our delay, Mademoiselle. You must al- 
 ready be horribly tired ; but we cannot leave wounded 
 comrades and a woman also to the mercy of the 
 brigands." 
 
 The full, somewhat petulant voice made the young 
 lady with the waggon, already attentive to the con- 
 versation, almost start. 
 
 " I am completely exhausted. Major ; but we must 
 wait — I see there is no help for it. As to the woman, 
 allow me to tell you it is not Spaniards who kill or 
 insult women." 
 
 " Forgive me, Mademoiselle Carmona " — and there 
 
 [281]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 seemed to be a smile about the answering voice — " I 
 did not know you were patriotic." 
 
 " Always, Major, when I am ill or out of temper." 
 In a flash the other woman stood at her horse's head, 
 and, grasping the Carmona's slender foot convulsively 
 with ice-cold fingers, gasped: 
 
 " Elisa! It is I. Don't you know me?" 
 " Purest Virgin ! Jesii ! Maria and San Jose ! No ! 
 It is not possible ! " 
 
 " Yes — it is I — Seraphine — Angela Dillon." 
 " Hush, imprudent ! " The Carmona spoke in 
 Spanish, and Seraphine replied in the same language : 
 " It does not matter. They know who I am." 
 "Ah — ?" There was personal disquiet as well as 
 sympathetic regret in the Carmona's exclamation and 
 subsequent pause. But she continued, kindly : " How 
 come you here, my poor dear Seraphine? It is but a 
 few days since I heard of your escape." 
 
 " I did escape, thanks to your brother. I rejoined 
 the English. But I was recaptured, and the Emperor 
 is sending me to prison. My only hope is that he 
 may forget all about me, for the Sergeant who has 
 charge of me has received no instructions except to 
 take me to Valladolid. But you, Dofia Elisa? What 
 are you doing here?" 
 
 Dona Elisa lowered her voice. She looked round 
 and saw that the soldiers were all busily engaged in 
 taking the oxen out of the waggon and harnessing 
 the troopers' horses to it instead. 
 
 " Let us go a little further off," she said, moving 
 her horse, which she rode astride, being apparelled in 
 a semi-masculine riding-dress. " The Emperor has 
 summoned me to meet him at Valladolid, in order 
 
 [282]
 
 THE GOLD SIDE OF THE SHIELD 
 
 that I may tell him all I am supposed to have found 
 out for him about the Madrilefios. My brother, who 
 is at no great distance from that place, will on his part 
 be glad to know the very latest news of the Emperor, 
 which you may be sure I shall not fail to give him. 
 But what I shall invent to excuse my conduct in help- 
 ing an English detemie to escape is more than I can 
 at present imagine." 
 
 " The truth should be enough." 
 
 " Mujer! " There was infinite scorn in the ex- 
 clamation. " But it will at any rate serve as a good 
 foundation." 
 
 The horses were harnessed and, with the reluctant 
 co-operation of the mule, gallantly hauled the waggon 
 out of the sandy hole in which it had sunk. The 
 soldiers called to Seraphine to resume her place in it. 
 She demurred, alleging a preference for walking. 
 
 '* You will be safer from the brigands in the wag- 
 gon, Mademoiselle," said the Major. 
 
 " I thank you, Major Labourdonnaye, but I am not 
 so much afraid of the brigands as of being shaken 
 into a thousand pieces by the jolts of that abominable 
 waggon." 
 
 " Mademoiselle, since you call me by my name, 
 allow me to claim the privilege of an old acquaintance 
 and invite you to share my horse. He is strong, and 
 should you mount behind me he will but think a bird 
 has lighted on him." 
 
 So Seraphine was presently riding through the wood 
 alongside of Dofia Elisa and in the closest companion- 
 ship with Major Labourdonnaye. It must be con- 
 fessed that the romantic admiration which she had 
 felt for Labourdonnaye had been thrust into the back- 
 
 [283]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 ground of her mind by the serious scenes through 
 which she had lived since her brief acquaintance with 
 him. But the tones of his voice, which had in them 
 something particularly harmonious and agreeable, re- 
 vived the tender sentiment in her bosom. 
 
 Innumerable stars sparkled and shone, height be- 
 yond height, up the deep-blue gulf of immensity ; 
 under foot the sandy road lay before them, a white, 
 silent causeway through the profound shadows of 
 night. Romance could not have better fitted the scene 
 to her mood ; yet the groans of the oxen, which the sol- 
 diers had killed in order to punish their driver, lin- 
 gered in her ears, and she shuddered as she passed 
 the place where the peasant's body hung, although 
 she could not now perceive it. 
 
 When they had ridden for half a league, the forest 
 ended, and they saw in the distance the yellow lights, 
 the dim towered silhouette of a city. At this they 
 congratulated themselves on being comparatively out 
 of danger, for if the brigands had intended to attack 
 them it would surely have been done in the forest. 
 Nor were they alarmed when, having ridden another 
 half league, they saw a small party of mounted men 
 coming towards them at a brisk pace ; for they 
 guessed them to be comrades sent to find and assist 
 the belated waggon. The guess was presently turned 
 into a certainty, and among the rescue-party was our 
 Sergeant of Chasseurs, anxiously seeking his charge. 
 He had a genuine liking and admiration for Madem- 
 oiselle Seraphine, and would have sincerely regretted 
 it if any harm had come to her; also he had a genuine 
 fear of the Emperor, and felt sure that however much 
 the great man might appear to have forgotten about 
 
 [284]
 
 THE GOLD SIDE OF THE SHIELD 
 
 his prisoner, some day he would remember — and woe 
 to the Sergeant if she could not be produced. 
 
 There was another person with the party who was 
 interested in the fate of Mademoiselle Seraphine. Not 
 immediately perceiving her where she sat perched 
 behind Labourdonnaye, he asked after her by name, 
 not only with anxiety, but with an air of proprietorship 
 which made her blush with vexation. But if it dis- 
 pleased, it did not particularly surprise her to meet 
 Hector Vidal, for she knew that he had been sent on 
 to organise the Emperor's posting stations, his Maj- 
 esty expecting to ride from Benevente to Valladolid 
 on the morrow. She might even have been grateful 
 to him for his solicitude on her account if he had 
 found her still stuck in the forest, and unaccompanied 
 by Labourdonnaye. But Dan Cupid is notoriously 
 deaf to the sober demands of friendship and the beg- 
 gar's whine of gratitude. For Labourdonnaye, so 
 faint was the impression that Mademoiselle Seraphine 
 had made upon his mind, that he merely recalled his 
 idea that she had had a liaison with Vidal, without 
 recalling the slenderness of his reasons for thinking so. 
 
 Hector Vidal lost no time in suggesting that La- 
 bourdonnaye's horse appeared tired with its long 
 journey, and that his own was better able to carry a 
 double weight. A fact not to be denied, since he was 
 riding the renowned Selim, recovered by good luck 
 and cured of his lameness. Before Seraphine could 
 invent any reasonable objection to the transfer, her 
 cavaHer had accepted it, with an alacrity born of a 
 desire to please two persons whom he mistook for a 
 pair of reconciled lovers. Seraphine was exceedingly 
 mortified, and so selfish is human nature that she 
 
 [285]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 found no consolation in the belief that she was be- 
 stowing on Hector Vidal a gratification similar to 
 that of which she was deprived. Truly an erroneous 
 belief, since the sentiment she cherished for Labour- 
 donnaye, compared with the singular passion con- 
 ceived for her by Hector Vidal, was " as moonlight 
 unto sunlight and as water unto wine." Neither did 
 the flutter with which she had leaned upon the hero 
 of her maiden fancy at all resemble the fierce rush of 
 delight that shook the pulses of her lover when he 
 stooped and, catching her from the Sergeant's arms, 
 lifted her lightly as a feather to his horse's croup. 
 As they rode on through the starlit night, he threw 
 back his head, sometimes closing his eyes for very 
 bliss, and softly kissing the air. But he kept silence 
 lest he should break out in triumphant laughter, tell- 
 ing Seraphine it was in vain for her to struggle any 
 more, since triple Fate had given her to him — Fate 
 and the strength of his own right arm. 
 
 Altogether there was now little talk as they went, 
 for the whole party were weary and the frosty air 
 made the wounds that several of them bore very pain- 
 ful. But when they had passed the gate of the city. 
 Major Labourdonnaye asked the Carmona to what 
 lodging he might have the pleasure of escorting her. 
 She replied that she should accompany Mademoiselle 
 Seraphine, for whom the Sergeant had already found 
 excellent quarters in the Convent of San Ildefonso. 
 
 " The Convent of San Ildefonso ! " exclaimed the 
 Major, after a very slight pause. " Pardon me, but I 
 think the quarters there are already engaged. Can 
 you not find these ladies room at the English or 
 Scotch colleges, Sergeant ? " 
 
 [286]
 
 THE GOLD SIDE OF THE SHIELD 
 
 " I think not, Major," replied the Sergeant stiffly. 
 " My own billet is at the Ildefonso, and I see no rea- 
 son to change. As for Mademoiselle here, she is, I 
 regret to say, a prisoner, and I am responsible for her 
 to the Emperor." 
 
 Labourdonnaye said no more on the subject, but, bid- 
 ding the party good-night somewhat abruptly, went 
 to find the quarters of the Spaniards whom he was de- 
 puted to form into a regiment in the service of King 
 Joseph. 
 
 The Sergeant, who had no mind to brook interfer- 
 ence from any officer out of his own regiment and 
 under the rank of a General, twisted his moustaches and 
 muttered an opinion of the Major in strong language, 
 as he jogged further into the city of Valladolid. It 
 was a town which, though Seraphine had spent a night 
 there less than a month ago, she remembered only for 
 its inferiority to Burgos. The streets were regularly, 
 if faintly, lighted by small lamps placed before images 
 of the Virgin which surmounted most of the doorways. 
 Pious lamps, which for reasons of prudence rather than 
 piety, the French authorities did not suffer the inhabi- 
 tants to neglect. They scarcely did more than make 
 the darkness of the streets visible, but presently the 
 ladies, escorted by the Sergeant and Vidal, reached a 
 plazuela lighted much more prodigally. The strong 
 red glare of a bonfire illuminated the ruin and desola- 
 tion of the surrounding houses and a mingled crowd 
 of French soldiers gathered about it. Some stooped 
 to drink out of open casks of wine, others dragged 
 sullen-looking women round in a tipsy dance, others 
 contented themselves with piling furniture, books, 
 stuffs, on the flames and laughing at the antics of a 
 
 [287]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 grand piano which was burning a-top of the bonfire, 
 its strings bursting from the wood and writhing up- 
 wards like fiery serpents in the blaze. Meantime, from 
 the height of a half-ruined balcony, there looked down 
 upon the scene a group of citizens, unnoticed by the 
 revellers below ; shapes black on the red glare, sinis- 
 ter in their brooding immobility. Each fragment of a 
 Spanish home piled with shouts and laughter on that 
 flame, was fuel to more dreadful fires, which should 
 burn by mountain ways and in solitary woods. Then, 
 blood crying out for blood, gaunt rows of gallows, 
 laden pell-mell with innocent and guilty, would make 
 hideous suburbs to cities, the corpses of prisoners shot 
 down beside country roads, of women and children 
 butchered in lonely cottages or in village streets would 
 mark with a crimson trail the passage of men to whom 
 the long habit of bloodshed had rendered easy the cross- 
 ing of that line which separates War from Murder, 
 
 Seraphine observed with amazement that men whose 
 uniform showed them to be officers of high rank, stood 
 by laughing at this scene of destruction. She made an 
 indignant comment, addressing herself to Dona Elisa, 
 but speaking in French. The Carmona did not trust 
 herself to reply. In Madrid strict order had been pre- 
 served; here for the first time she saw the spoiler at 
 his work, and for the first time truly felt herself to 
 be not merely a hater of Napoleon, but a daughter of 
 Spain. Vidal made answer, with a shrug of the shoul- 
 ders. 
 
 " In effect it is very foolish of them to encourage 
 disorder, when they know well how it annoys the Em- 
 peror." 
 
 " What ? That annoys him ? " exclaimed the Ser- 
 
 [288]
 
 THE GOLD SIDE OF THE SHIELD 
 
 geant incredulously. " Noni d'un chien! What then 
 has happened to our Emperor ? He used not to be an- 
 noyed for so little. Does he expect us to fight for him 
 like men and to amuse ourselves afterwards like little 
 girls out of a convent? Fichtre! If he does he will 
 find himself prettily mistaken." 
 
 Vidal began an argument with the Sergeant, the one 
 setting forth the imprudence of irritating people so 
 proud and so vindictive as the Spaniards, the other con- 
 tending that for their obstinacy and ferocity they de- 
 served much worse punishment than they had as yet 
 received, while as a matter of prudence they must be 
 shown that the French were the masters, and must be 
 conciliated in order to induce them to show considera- 
 tion for the inhabitants. This argument was still pro- 
 ceeding noisily when the clangour of the convent 
 gate-bell, pulled by the Sergeant, mingled with it. A 
 soldier opened the gate, which was in a very high brick 
 wall, surrounding the spacious gardens of the convent. 
 The rooms of the building were mostly cells on each 
 side of a narrow passage, but the Sergeant trium- 
 phantly ushered his ladies into a fair-sized parlour, 
 where a bright fire burned. He pushed Seraphine 
 down in an old chair covered with stamped leather 
 and rubbed his hands before the blaze. 
 
 " Aha! " he chuckled, " Is it fine, this room? Is the 
 fire nice? Let me tell you, ladies, it is more agreeable 
 to be the prisoner of a good soldier who knows his 
 business than the sweetheart of a quill-driver. I bil- 
 leted you in this room and in it you are. As I said to 
 the miserable Spanish official who attempted to oust 
 us — I have taken these quarters and I keep them. Your 
 lady, said I, may be a cousin of the Prince de Berg, 
 
 [289]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 what is that to being a prisoner of State, as mine is? 
 I told him I did not myself know exactly what Madem- 
 oiselle here was, but from the importance the Em- 
 peror attached to her safe custody, it was evident she 
 was a person of high rank, probably a princess. And 
 so you are, my little young lady, if I choose to make 
 you one. I am a man of the Revolution and mock my- 
 self of their titles, new as well as old." 
 
 " A cousin of the Prince de Berg ! " exclaimed Doiia 
 Elisa, who had seated herself and was warming her 
 feet. " Was her name by chance the Countess G'Hara 
 de Herrera ? " 
 
 " Precisely. That was it." 
 
 Doiia Elisa laughed. 
 
 " This good Labourdonnaye ! " she exclaimed. 
 
 But Seraphine was too proud to ask her what she 
 meant. Beds were prepared for the ladies and an ex- 
 cellent supper of roast turkey and red wine provided 
 for them. 
 
 It was uncertain how long the Sergeant's regiment 
 would remain at Valladolid. There was no longer any 
 doubt that the Guard was being marched northwards 
 with a view to a war with Austria^ but it was reported 
 that the Emperor would make some stay in Valladolid, 
 to settle the affairs of Spain before leaving the coun- 
 try. Under any circumstances Seraphine gave the 
 Sergeant her word to remain within the precincts of 
 the convent. She was tired out in body and spirit, 
 incapable for the moment of making any further effort, 
 and thankful for the half-forgotten luxuries of rest, 
 warmth, and regular meals. 
 
 It was to be expected that Vidal would call on the 
 morrow, for he had missed no opportunity of seeing 
 
 [290]
 
 THE GOLD SIDE OF THE SHIELD 
 
 and watching over Seraphine during the few days 
 which had passed since her recapture. She forced her- 
 self to confide in Doiia EHsa, who was of course sur- 
 prised at the terms on which she now found two per- 
 sons lately at daggers drawn; and the cantatrice did 
 not spare to warn her young friend of the perils of 
 the situation. Rather she warned her too much. For 
 there is a certain shield of which one side is made of 
 the finest gold and the other of base brass ; and the 
 peculiarity of it is that those who have looked first on 
 the golden side can afterwards perceive the brazen one, 
 and note with an impartial eye the two-fold nature of 
 the whole. But those who have seen first the base 
 metal are only enabled by some rare personal experi- 
 ence to behold the pure gold ; yet the more complete 
 has been the limitation of their view, the deeper the 
 more contemptuous their conviction of their superior- 
 ity in eyesight to those who have seen the whole. Now 
 these two women stood on opposite sides of the shield ; 
 and great as was Seraphine's need of prudence and 
 discretion it was a just instinct which made her reject 
 the Carmona's definition of Hector Vidal's love as but 
 another added to his list of passing passions, his devout 
 respect for his lady as but one of the ruses of the male 
 in pursuit of his prey. Seraphine thought to herself 
 that she knew Colonel Vidal better than Dofia Elisa 
 did, and she was right. 
 
 Accordingly on the following morning Colonel Vidal 
 came, but his visit was not very long, for the Emperor 
 was hourly expected in Valladolid. Yet it was long 
 enough to leave a poisoned dart quivering in the bosom 
 of his Seraphine, and perhaps also in his own. For 
 Dona Elisa happened to observe in the midst of some 
 other idle chatter : 
 
 [291]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 " For example ! I have discovered why the little 
 Labourdonnaye was so anxious to keep us out of these 
 excellent quarters. It appears that the Countess 
 O'Hara arrives here to-day." 
 
 " At the very moment Labourdonnaye is staying in 
 Valladolid ! " smiled Vidal. " What an extraordinary 
 accident. Nevertheless the Sergeant must not allow 
 you other ladies to be turned out of your room." 
 
 " Who is this Countess O'Hara? " asked Seraphine, 
 with a petulant air. " Is she a person of such impor- 
 tance ? " 
 
 " She belongs to the family of de Beauharnais," re- 
 plied the Carmona. " But her parents were silly 
 enough to marry her at fourteen to an obstinate old 
 emigre who happened to have a little fortune abroad, 
 so it is only since his death she has been able to live 
 in France. However, she has made the best use of 
 her time there. She is clever and seductive^ without 
 being handsome, and the Emperor values her highly. 
 He married her more than a year ago to one of your 
 Irish Spaniards, a handsome man high in the favour of 
 the Queen, and regards her as having been extremely 
 useful to him in Madrid." 
 
 " But what has that to do with Major Labourdon- 
 naye ? " 
 
 " My dear, when a young woman is a dutiful wife to 
 a man old enough to be her grandfather, she falls into 
 dotage with him, and at whatever age she gets her 
 freedom, she always does something childish — so take 
 care not to marry an old man." 
 
 " The young ones will take care of that," interposed 
 Vidal lightly. 
 
 " Well^ after all the O'Hara did nothing worse than 
 
 [292]
 
 THE GOLD SIDE OF THE SHIELD 
 
 fall in love with an excellent young officer, neither 
 handsome nor rich. Everyone to her taste ! " 
 
 " And he, Major Labourdonnaye ? He did not then 
 love her ? " Seraphine put enough indifference into 
 her voice to deceive Doiia Elisa, but Vidal, leaning 
 with his elbow on the chimney-piece, shot a look at 
 her from under his hand, and his jaw set as though 
 he had seen an enemy. 
 
 " On the contrary," answered the Carmona. " The 
 virtuous young man adored the virtuous young 
 widow." 
 
 " Why then did she not marry him instead of this 
 Count O'Hara?" 
 
 The Carmona laughed. 
 
 " Child ! It is only an Englishwoman who would be 
 such an egoist as to ruin the future of her son and 
 her entire family in order to gratify a romantic passion. 
 For the rest it is said that since her marriage with 
 O'Hara, who is a detestable husband, the Countess 
 has not been obdurate to her lover. It is certain that 
 Labourdonnaye knew she was expected here to-day." 
 
 " I know nothing about the Countess/' cried Sera- 
 phine, " but I will not believe that Major Labourdon- 
 naye carries on an intrigue with a married woman." 
 
 " O blessed Innocence ! But we, Colonel Vidal, we 
 know men, do we not? And we do not believe in dis- 
 interested adorations and platonic loves." 
 
 Vidal shifted his position and paused a moment be- 
 fore answering. Then he spoke, looking at neither of 
 the two women but at a point in the rush carpet be- 
 tween them. 
 
 " In the case of an ordinary woman no doubt such 
 a relation begins by being ridiculous and ends by being 
 
 [293]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 tiresome. But it happens sometimes that a man loves 
 an angel and then — why then it results quite naturally 
 that he loves her rather with the soul than with the 
 senses." 
 
 The Carmona laughed scornfully. 
 
 " Ah 9a ! I have heard that is how these gentlemen 
 often begin — Little saints with folded hands ! But tell 
 me, how long does that last ? " 
 
 Vidal was not listening. He threw back his head 
 and brushed his glossy moustache upwards, smiling 
 haughtily. 
 
 " As to the Countess and Labourdonnaye, it is prob- 
 ably only one more invention of those nasty tongues 
 of Paris. For though it is likely he is in love with 
 her, it is far from likely she occupies herself with him. 
 Why should she? It is true she is not exactly hand- 
 some, but she has had plenty of admirers, and Labour- 
 donnaye. although an excellent comrade, has never had 
 success with women. Decidedly it would be odd if a 
 woman who knew how to attract others fell in love 
 with him." 
 
 Just then the clocks of the city began to chime. He 
 started and exclaiming: "What! Is it possible that 
 the time has passed so quickly! The Emperor may 
 even now be arriving — " he caught up his busby and 
 bade the ladies adieu. 
 
 As soon as his back was turned, " I ask myself," 
 observed Dona Elisa, " where this dear Hector picked 
 up his fine sentiments. They amuse me immensely; 
 but I hope, my little one, you will not put your trust 
 in them. Men are all hypocrites and know by instinct 
 how to bait their hook to suit the taste of the particular 
 fish they want to pull out of the water." 
 
 [294]
 
 THE GOLD SIDE OF THE SHIELD 
 
 Seraphine had leaned back and closed her eyes. It 
 seemed to her that she had an ache either in her head 
 or her heart, but she was not sure which. So she an- 
 swered wearily: 
 
 " What does it matter whether I trust Colonel Vidal 
 or do not trust him? You forget that my fate is not 
 in my own hands. I am a prisoner." 
 
 ** We have set you free once and we may do so again. 
 Listen ! What if we made Napoleon prisoner in his 
 turn ? How amusing that would be ! " 
 
 A gun boomed out above the noises of the city, an- 
 other and another. The smile died on the Carmona's 
 lips. 
 
 " Hark ! There he is. He has arrived." 
 
 The guns continued to roar; a peal of bells broke 
 out and danced trippingly over their sullen base. The 
 two women listened with ears, even eyes, attentive ; 
 Elisa suddenly as pensive and almost as pale as her 
 companion. 
 
 [295T
 
 XIX 
 
 A DUEL AND A PROPOSAL 
 
 CAMILLE LABOURDONNAYE was losing 
 his temper. 
 " Tonnerrc de Dien, insolent ! You refuse, 
 then, to obey my orders? You refuse, Sergeant, 
 to turn these women out of the room you have taken 
 for them? " 
 
 " I have the honour to make you remark, Major, that 
 you have not the honour to belong to my regiment, 
 which has the honour to serve the Emperor of the 
 French, while you I believe, Major, are now in the 
 service of the King of Spain." 
 
 " Take care what you are doing, Sergeant. This 
 lady, to whom the room you have taken should rightly 
 belong, is a cousin of the Empress." 
 
 " Ah, bah ! Then if all tales are true she will not 
 have an Empress for her cousin very long. At any rate 
 when I hear the Emperor desires it, it will be time 
 enough to turn my ladies out of their quarters. Even 
 if Colonel Vidal here, aide-de-camp to his Majesty, de- 
 sires it, I will instantly take my prisoner elsewhere." 
 
 Vidal was coming along the stone corridor in which 
 they stood, in full gala uniform, because there had been 
 a review in the Place d'Armes, a short furred cloak 
 over one shoulder, his gloves very white, his sabre trail- 
 ing. 
 
 " Good day, Labourdonnaye. What did you say 
 there, Sergeant ? You are speaking of your prisoner ? " 
 
 [296]
 
 A DUEL AND A PROPOSAL 
 
 " Yes, Colonel. The Major here wishes me to make 
 my ladies leave the room where they are so well in- 
 stalled, in favour of a lady called the Countess O'Hara. 
 But I see no reason why they should do so." 
 
 " Nor I, parblcu ! I am sorry, Labourdonnaye, the 
 Countess does not find her apartment to her taste, but 
 when ladies choose to follow the Army they must take 
 their luck as we soldiers do. The first comer is always 
 best served." 
 
 " Pardon me. Colonel, that is not altogether so. Pri- 
 vate soldiers whenever they arrive, do not appropriate 
 the best rooms in the house and leave the worst for a 
 General." 
 
 " Perfectly true. But I do not see the application." 
 
 " I say that the Countess O'Hara de Herrera has a 
 cell under the roof, she is suffering from the cold; 
 and the only room in the house where there is a fire- 
 place is occupied by the Carmona and her little friend." 
 
 " Mademoiselle Dillon — to whom I think you allude 
 — is a very amiable young lady. She would doubtless 
 be charmed to permit the Countess to spend the day in 
 her room beside the fire." 
 
 " And you consider it proper, Vidal, that a little 
 actress should occupy the best room in the house and 
 amiably invite the cousin of the Empress to sit by her 
 fire?" 
 
 " You do not know of whom you are speaking. 
 This young lady belongs to an Irish family in Spain 
 as distinguished as that of O'Hara. Her uncle is a 
 General highly considered in the Spanish Army." 
 
 " Bah ! Her family may be what it likes. Pardon 
 me, my dear Vidal, I do not in the least believe Madem- 
 oiselle Seraphine to be an English spy, and I can 
 
 [297]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 even guess why the Emperor has taken a spite against 
 the unfortunate girl. She is in effect a very pretty, 
 very intelligent little person, and I congratulate you 
 on the possession of a mistress so charming. But 
 with all that you must admit she is scarcely a suitable 
 companion for the Countess O'Hara de Herrera." 
 
 " Listen, Labourdonnaye. When you say that a 
 virtuous young girl such as Mademoiselle Dillon is my 
 mistress, you lie — yes, I repeat it, you lie. But 
 Sapristi, if she were she would be good enough com- 
 pany for yours." 
 
 " Of whom are you speaking. Colonel? " 
 
 Vidal laughed stridently. 
 
 " I am better bred than you. Major. Where ladies 
 are in question I do not mention names." 
 
 " Let us finish this conversation elsewhere," said 
 Labourdonnaye. He was white with rage and tucked 
 his sword, scabbard and all, under his arm with a sav- 
 age jerk^ haughtily regarding a group of soldiers at 
 the other end of the corridor who, without having heard 
 precisely what had been said, were pricking their ears 
 and scenting battle from afar. 
 
 " With all my heart," returned Vidal. " Or rather 
 let us finish it at once, for I cannot command my own 
 time. There is a fine garden close by ; let us walk in 
 it." 
 
 " Certainly," replied Labourdonnaye ; and turning 
 to the Sergeant : '' What officers have you here ? " 
 
 The Sergeant puckered his brow. 
 
 " None, Major, at this moment except the little de 
 Chevreuil — a child " 
 
 >> 
 
 That is one. But for the other ? 
 
 Take de Chevreuil," interposed Vidal impatiently. 
 
 [298]
 
 A DUEL AND A PROPOSAL 
 
 " For my part I waive etiquette, and if the Sergeant 
 will be good enough to be my second, I ask no better." 
 
 " Too much honour. Colonel. Yet I am certainly 
 superior to a child who has been made an officer merely 
 because he is the son of a ci-devant. To think such a 
 thing can happen in the French Army ! " 
 
 " Whatever he may be he will serve our purpose to- 
 day. Show us to the garden, my friend." 
 
 The convent garden was completely surrounded by a 
 high wall and divided into two parts. That nearest the 
 building was sunk and filled with an elaborate design 
 of flower-beds, edged with small box hedges and hav- 
 ing a fountain in the centre. Clipped trees stood at 
 each corner and a solid hedge divided it from the other 
 part of the garden, where was an oblong enclosure of 
 clipped box hedges pierced with arches, making as it 
 were a green and roofless cloister. At each corner 
 within it was a fitted marble bench and without a small 
 marble fountain. There were, in all the garden, but 
 two doors, one at either end, which were now kept 
 locked. The further one opened into the grounds of 
 another and much smaller religious house, occupied for 
 the moment by Marshal Lannes, the other into the 
 Convent of San Ildefonso. Of the latter door the Ser- 
 geant by permission of his superior officer, kept the 
 key, as the garden was reserved for the use of the 
 ladies. Vidal strode to this door in silence followed 
 by Labourdonnaye and the Sergeant. The Sergeant 
 endeavoured to imitate their air of decent gravity, but 
 joy in the prospect of the coming encounter beamed 
 from every wrinkle of his face and bristled in every hair 
 of his moustache. 
 
 " Mille tonnerres! What have I done with the key ? " 
 
 [299]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 He clapped himself all about the body, thinking to 
 find it somewhere in the seclusion of his uniform. 
 " Fie lit re! Where, then? — Ah, there! I remember." 
 
 He was about to start in search of the missing key, 
 when Vidal caught him by the arm. 
 
 " Look at that sword. Sergeant," he said, pointing 
 to Labourdonnaye's. " I want one just like it. There 
 must be one in the house. Say we are going to run 
 several times round the garden — it is a wager you 
 understand — and this great sabre of mine may get be- 
 tween my legs." 
 
 The Sergeant burst into a delighted chuckle. 
 
 " Very good, Colonel." And he started off at a run. 
 
 He had left the key in the ladies' room. The Car- 
 mona had gone into the town, and Seraphine was alone 
 when he burst in, simultaneous with his own knock. 
 
 " The key ! The key of the garden, Mademoiselle ! " 
 he yelled. 
 
 " Dieii! What is the matter? " cried Seraphine, ris- 
 ing to find the key. 
 
 ** I cannot tell you — it is a secret. But take my ad- 
 vice. Mademoiselle ; in ten minutes' time go up there 
 to the balcony, and you will see something fine. Yes, 
 I promise it's going to be something magnificent. 
 Thank you. Mademoiselle." 
 
 He took the key and flew down the corridor; yet 
 did not forget to fetch a key out of one cell and the 
 young officer, who was not more than eighteen, out of 
 another. 
 
 He found Vidal and Labourdonnaye as he had left 
 them ; each contemplating attentively and in silence a 
 different portion of the garden-door's inner surface. 
 They now passed through, leaving the young de Chev- 
 
 [300] .
 
 A DUEL AND A PROPOSAL 
 
 reuil to close it behind them, and Vidal led the way 
 to the further end of the garden. 
 
 " There is here a very convenient place for our af- 
 fair/' he said, passing through the hedge and point- 
 ing to the gravel space enclosed by the arches of box. 
 " We shall have quite enough room and no one will 
 come to interrupt us." 
 
 Quickly he despoiled himself to the upper part of 
 his gaudy uniform, throwing it in a blue and scarlet 
 heap on one of the marble benches. Labourdonnaye as 
 quickly threw aside his more sober attire^ and the two 
 men stood opposite each other in their white shirts. 
 With a rasping sound the swords flew from their scab- 
 bards and they gave the salute. 
 
 " En garde, Messieurs! " crowed the Sergeant. 
 
 " Attack, Colonel," said Labourdonnaye. 
 
 " Attack the first, Major." 
 
 And Labourdonnaye attacked. He was an excellent 
 swordsman, but he stood opposed to one of the best in 
 an army renowned for its swordsmanship. For some 
 time his attack was not returned, Vidal defended him- 
 self easily, with half-closed eyes, and a little smile, like 
 a man thinking of something else. 
 
 " What's he doing there ? Does he suppose he is 
 giving the fellow a lesson in a Salle d'armesf " mut- 
 tered the Sergeant impatient. 
 
 At that moment there was a slight tearing noise, 
 Labourdonnaye's blade had caught and ripped Vidal's 
 shirt sleeve. The Sergeant started forward. 
 
 " Get out of the way/' roared Vidal. " He has not 
 touched me — he will not touch me." 
 
 And suddenly the attack began. It was fierce, rapid, 
 unremitting; steel clashed upon steel swifter and 
 
 [301]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 sharper than hammer on anvil, while step by step 
 Labourdonnaye retreated, his whole being concen- 
 trated on the flying movements of the blade by which, 
 as it seemed to him by a succession of miracles, he 
 continued to protect himself from destruction. The 
 young officer, who had never before seen a duel, fol- 
 lowed the encounter breathless, absorbed; the Ser- 
 geant, forgetting mere personal partialities in profes- 
 sional pleasure, leaned with both hands on his sword, 
 giving his approbation alike to the brilliant attack and 
 the defence almost as meritorious. 
 
 " Very good ! " he cried at intervals. " Magnificent, 
 Colonel! Well done, Major! Superb! Well cut! 
 Mille tonnerrcs! Well parried! " 
 
 But these two were not the only spectators. The 
 balcony to which the Sergeant had alluded was under 
 the eaves of the roof, facing the garden. Thither Sera- 
 phine, urged by curiosity, climbed no long while after 
 the Sergeant had shot like a meteor across her solitude. 
 She perceived from her point of vantage two men in 
 white shirts with swords in their hands, facing each 
 other at the far end of the garden. Evidently a duel was 
 forward. This was exceedingly interesting, and she felt 
 obliged to the Sergeant for telling her of it. For several 
 minutes, leaning on the antipecho, she watched the af- 
 fair, the two dark heads, the white-sleeved arms, the 
 flashing blades, as though it were some performance on 
 the stage. Suddenly it broke upon her that these brown 
 heads belonged to no abstract soldiers but to real men, 
 to two men in whom she felt a very keen interest, and 
 that the bright steel flashing about them was of as 
 mortal keenness as that which shore in two the body 
 of the Highland boy at Cambarros. All this appears 
 
 [302]
 
 A DUEL AND A PROPOSAL 
 
 simple enough ; yet it took her some minutes to realise 
 it. Having realised it she clasped her hands and gave 
 vent to a faint " Oh ! " of horror. A lady had opened 
 a door at the side of the balcony ; not very young, tall, 
 elegantly dressed in the height of Parisian fashion, 
 with fine dark hair and eyes. A woman whose strik- 
 ing appearance left one in doubt whether she were 
 handsome or ugly. Seeing the shabby childish figure 
 there, she was about to withdraw with a look of 
 haughty annoyance, when Miss Dillon's slight ex- 
 clamation made her pause. She followed the girl's 
 horrified gaze; then grasping the antipecho leaned 
 over it and fixed on the combatants her large short- 
 sighted brown eyes. In a minute she caught Sera- 
 phine by the arm as familiarly as though she had been 
 a chosen companion and cried, her utterance rapid with 
 anxiety : 
 
 " Tell me, who is that — the one to the left ? " 
 
 " It is Major Labourdonnaye." 
 
 "And the other?" 
 
 " Colonel Vidal." 
 
 "Ah moil Dieii, mon Dieu!" The Countess 
 clenched her hands and screamed far more loudly than 
 Seraphine had done. " Why are they fighting? Look 
 at that devil of a Vidal ! " It was at this moment that 
 Vidal changed his defensive attitude and began his 
 fierce attack on his opponent. "Seigneur mon Dieu! 
 He is going to kill him. Camille, art thou mad to get 
 thyself murdered by this horrible man ! No, no, I 
 will not permit it. Show me the way to the garden." 
 
 " Alas, I fear the door is locked ! " 
 
 " No matter. I will have it broken in. Show it me 
 quickly." She seized Seraphine by the hand and 
 dragged her out of the balcony. 
 
 [303]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 " You are right. Let us save him. Quick ! " echoed 
 Seraphine. 
 
 And in a moment it was she who was dragging the 
 Countess O'Hara down the corridor and two flights 
 of stairs at a run. The soldiers were mostly out of 
 barracks and they met no one. Seraphine flung her- 
 self against the garden door. It resisted momentarily, 
 then burst open ; for the youth in his flurry had but 
 half turned the key in the lock behind him. The two 
 women rushed into the garden together with a simul- 
 taneous cry of relief. As they advanced the sharp 
 unremitting ring of the swords excited them to agony. 
 The Countess was out of breath and quite unable to 
 run further, and Miss Dillon taking her arm, pressed 
 her up the path at a sharp walk. Thus linked to- 
 gether, each with a hand convulsively clasped in the 
 hand of the other, the two ladies appeared in a green 
 archway of the cloister just as the last, the fatal stage 
 of the duel was about to begin. For Labourdonnaye 
 had been beaten back to within a few feet of the box 
 enclosure, his face was of an earthy pallor, the sweat 
 rolled from his brow, and he showed by the slackened 
 vigour of his movements that the extraordinary burst 
 of energy which had enabled him so far to resist the 
 terrific assault of Vidal, was all but exhausted. In 
 another moment he must fall a helpless victim, under 
 that death-dealing sabre. For Vidal meant death ; he 
 had not meant it at first, but the blood-madness was 
 now upon him. In him was no slackening; rather he 
 pressed relentlessly on his victim, as fresh and a thou- 
 sand times more fierce than when the fight began. 
 Young de Chevreuil stared pale from a corner. The 
 Sergeant had ceased to cry ovit encouragements ; ab- 
 
 [304]
 
 A DUEL AND A PROPOSAL 
 
 sorbed in the interest of the struggle he watched, lean- 
 ing on his sword. 
 
 The two women, who had hurried thus far with no 
 thought but to throw themselves between the com- 
 batants, paused in their turn. It was not fear of the 
 flying swords which thus arrested them; it was the 
 mesmerism of a presence. Two men had advanced al- 
 most simultaneously with them to an opposing arch- 
 way, and stopped a little further back, in the shadow 
 behind it. The foremost was Lannes, the other was 
 the Emperor. 
 
 The Emperor's look was cold, enigmatic ; yet there 
 seemed to be a gleam of triumphant satisfaction in 
 his eye when it rested on Vidal, as though he must 
 reflect that the magnificent fighting animal so fool- 
 ishly unchained there, was after all his own to use when 
 he needed it. 
 
 " Stop that madman at once, Duke," he said to 
 Lannes. 
 
 The Marshal started forward and laid vigorous 
 hands on Vidal, dragging him back by the shoulders. 
 But Vidal with a violent movement, supposing this in- 
 terruption to come from the Sergeant, sent the Marshal 
 reeling a yard or two backwards. 
 
 " Otes-toi — que je le tue! " he shouted hoarsely ; and 
 again darted upon his adversary. But the Countess 
 had rushed into the enclosure, closely followed by Sera- 
 phine, and with uplifted hands threw herself before 
 Labourdonnaye, screaming with all her might. 
 
 " Monster ! Assassin ! " she articulated, while Sera- 
 phine's trembling lips framed only, " No, no — you 
 must not kill him — I beg you. Colonel Vidal." 
 
 " Ladies," said Vidal hoarsely, clutching his sabre, 
 " we do not want you here. Go away." 
 
 [305]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 " Imbecile ! " panted Seraphine. " You do not then 
 see the Emperor ? " 
 
 Vidal brought to a sudden and complete pause by 
 these words, turned round and lowered the point of his 
 sword and his head in profound humility, as the Em- 
 peror stepped forth from the green archway which had 
 concealed him, and with a countenance perfectly cold 
 and expressionless^ looked from one to the other. 
 
 " Well, gentlemen? " he said at length. 
 
 There was a silence ; the Sergeant saluted, but no 
 one else stirred. 
 
 " You consider it apparently a good moment to set- 
 tle your differences," continued the Emperor. " I do 
 not think so. Kill Spaniards, kill Russians, kill Aus- 
 trians, but remember that for the moment I count him 
 a traitor who robs me of a single Frenchman. I have 
 enough of them to conquer the world — but not too 
 many." 
 
 There was again silence. 
 
 " Come ! Have you all lost your tongues ? " he cried 
 impatiently. " Why are you fighting? You are neither 
 of you conscripts. A sword like yours, for example, 
 Vidal, can afford to rest in its scabbard when it is not 
 serving your Emperor." 
 
 " Sire, the sword which did not leap of itself from 
 the scabbard to avenge an insult, would serve my Em- 
 peror but ill." 
 
 " Ah ! It was then you who were the challenger. 
 That was silly, cowardly even." 
 
 " But it was not he, Sire " — Labourdonnaye spoke 
 faintly, for everything swam before his eyes — " It was 
 I." 
 
 " I purposely provoked Labourdonnaye — yet I was 
 more polite than he." 
 
 f306]
 
 A DUEL AND A PROPOSAL 
 
 " I do not like mysteries. I insist upon knowing 
 what all this is about. You will not answer, gentle- 
 men ? Madame the Countess, while expressing my as- 
 tonishment at finding you here, I ask you whether you 
 are concerned in this ridiculous affair." 
 
 The Countess, who had wished the Emperor to be 
 unaware of her presence in Valladolid, was too much 
 terrified to answer. Labourdonnaye also was silent, 
 and Vidal replied with an assumption of lightness, but 
 glancing at the ladies : 
 
 " Let me assure you, Sire, the Countess knows noth- 
 ing about our quarrel. After all it was only a ques- 
 tion of detail." 
 
 " It was not then a question of women ? " 
 
 The Emperor was actuated by the merest curiosity, 
 but he was determined to find out. Vidal shrugged 
 his shoulders, smiled, and glanced at Seraphine, this 
 time involuntarily. The Emperor, whom nothing es- 
 caped, observed the look. 
 
 " I imagine Labourdonnaye has supplanted you in 
 the favour of your Englishwoman/' he said with a dis- 
 agreeable smile. 
 
 The shaft struck home. Both women started and 
 flushed with indignation. 
 
 " Not at all. Sire." Vidal looked the Emperor firmly 
 in the face. " Labourdonnaye asserted this young lady 
 to be my mistress. It was a lie and I have punished 
 him for it." 
 
 " Is this really the truth, Labourdonnaye ? " 
 
 Labourdonnaye bowed and muttered assent, anxious 
 above all to avoid compromising the Countess O'Hara. 
 
 The Emperor laughed his rare laugh. " What a 
 singular reason for a duel ! Yet I am glad to hear, 
 
 [307]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 Colonel, that vou have abandoned this woman. I have 
 already warned you against her." 
 
 " I could not have abandoned Mademoiselle Dillon, 
 Sire, for the simple reason that she has never been mine. 
 It is true I made love to her in Madrid^ but she repulsed 
 me not too politely. I am no more accustomed to de- 
 feat in love than in war, and in a first burst of rage 
 and surprise I committed follies for which I can never 
 pardon myself. Yet I have not ceased to respect and 
 admire this young lady^ although she has had the mis- 
 fortune to fall under your Majesty's suspicion, and 
 while I am here, neither Frenchman nor foreigner shall 
 insult her with impunity." 
 
 The Emperor was even more astonished and puzzled 
 than angry. That Vidal of all men should publicly 
 acknowledge a rebufif from a woman was amazing. He 
 wondered in vain what could be his aide-de-camp's mo- 
 tive. Meantime he observed : 
 
 " You have done a silly thing, Colonel ; so silly that 
 if one of your enemies had told me of it I should not 
 have believed him. The next time you desire to de- 
 fend the honour of your Dulcinea, I counsel you to 
 sabre a windmill instead of endeavouring to kill me a 
 valuable officer. Put on your uniform again and con- 
 sider yourself under arrest. You also, Labourdonnaye, 
 return to your quarters until further orders." 
 
 Labourdonnaye was too exhausted to think clearly 
 of anything, but such attention as he could command 
 was given to his anxiety for the Countess O'Hara, 
 whose visit to Valladolid without the knowledge of 
 the Emperor, would, he knew, be reckoned no small 
 offence. Vidal's resentment at his imputation on the 
 character of a person he assumed to be as other ac- 
 
 [308]
 
 A DUEL AND A PROPOSAL 
 
 tresses of his day and country, was a complete mystery 
 to him, and nothing was further from his mind than 
 to suppose that he himself was the object of the young 
 lady's affection. But the feelings of Miss Dillon were 
 inexpressible. In her simplicity she had not under- 
 stood that a man who did not respect a woman could 
 yet treat her with kindness and courtesy. That one 
 so well-bred, so intelligent as Labourdonnaye could 
 so grossly mistake her character was shocking enough, 
 but besides that he appeared to her to have been guilty 
 of the most abominable perfidy. Her wrath was not 
 of the kind which calls for the assuagement of tears. 
 White, with blazing eyes she glared upon the traitor 
 like a basilisk. His pallor, his evident exhaustion no 
 longer moved her pity ; far from it. The eternal 
 Woman in the depths of her arose and turned with an 
 enthusiasm, an admiring gratitude which was almost 
 passion to the virile figure of the man who had known 
 so well how to resent and how to punish an insult to 
 the woman he loved. An insult the more cowardly be- 
 cause it had doubtless taken the form of a compliment 
 to himself which the traducer had little expected to be 
 paid for in coin so hard. She knew the Emperor well 
 enough to appreciate the courage Hector had shown 
 in telling him the truth, if she did not appreciate how 
 great a sacrifice of vanity the confession had involved 
 to this professed conqueror of woman. 
 
 Having pronounced judgment on the men, the Em- 
 peror, still ignoring Seraphine, beckoned the Countess 
 O'Hara forward. Vidal turned away towards the 
 marble bench where his uniform lay. Seraphine moved 
 in the same direction. He stole a questioning glance 
 at her, the answer to which was apparently satisfactory, 
 
 [309]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 for he smiled till he showed two rows of white teeth. 
 As the Sergeant took up his uniform to help him on 
 with it, a little handkerchief fluttered to the ground. 
 She picked it up and saw with surprise it was one of 
 a set which a friend at Fontainebleau had embroidered 
 with her name "" Scraphine." Yet it had certainly fall- 
 en out of Vidal's clothes. This was the handkerchief 
 which he had removed from the face of the dead Eng- 
 lishman. She could not guess how it had come into his 
 possession, but evidently it was not the moment in 
 which to demand it back. She handed it to him. 
 
 " Thank you. Mademoiselle," he said. 
 
 " It is rather I who owe you thanks, Colonel." 
 
 " You are pleased that I beat the impertinent fel- 
 low?" 
 
 She assented with a motion of the head. 
 
 " It was magnificent, it was enormous," murmured 
 the Sergeant, still inclined to beam, but his brilliancy 
 a little dimmed by an uneasy consciousness that he and 
 his prisoner had not altogether escaped the Little Cor- 
 poral's notice. 
 
 Meantime the Emperor had taken the Countess out- 
 side the enclosure and was speaking to her in a severe 
 but lowered tone. 
 
 " I was just coming to visit you, Cousin. It was a 
 great surprise to me to hear that you had already been 
 several days in Valladolid. How does it happen that 
 you have not come to salute me? " 
 
 " Sire, I knew you to be much occupied, I was only 
 here in passing." 
 
 " And your husband ? " 
 
 " He is on his estates." 
 
 " Why have you left him ? " 
 
 [310]
 
 A DUEL AND A PROPOSAL 
 
 The Countess began a tale of wrong. He stopped 
 her. 
 
 " Ah bah ! I do not want to hear the complaints 
 of a jealous wife, I hate jealous women. What harm 
 does it do you if O'Hara amuses himself? Listen to 
 me, Madame. I have treated you as a person belong- 
 ing to the Imperial family. I have always insisted that 
 the ladies of that family should be above reproach, yes, 
 above the least breath of scandal. You understand me. 
 Retire to your apartment, Madame, and rejoin your 
 husband as soon as possible." 
 
 The Countess bit her lips, possibly because a retort 
 rose to them, but if so she did not dare to utter it. 
 Curtseying deeply, she obeyed. 
 
 The Emperor re-entered the enclosure, and this time 
 he spoke in no modulated tone. 
 
 " You, Sergeant, come here." 
 
 The Sergeant approached. 
 
 " Why is that girl, that English spy, here instead of 
 in the municipal prison? " 
 
 " Because I have had no instructions. Sire, and be- 
 cause the prison in this devil of a place is not fit for 
 a dog, still less for a young lady." 
 
 " I am the best judge of what this woman merits." 
 
 " You will admit, Sire, that I am the best judge of 
 the prison, since it is I who have seen this prison and 
 not your Majesty." 
 
 " Take care — you are becoming insolent." 
 
 " I do not mean to be so, my Emperor, I do not 
 know how to speak to you like an aristo — like a courtier 
 I should say. I can only speak to you like what I am : 
 that is an Old Moustache, who has served you not 
 without glory " — he pointed to the Cross upon his 
 
 [311]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 breast. " In every campaign you have fought from 
 Italy, from Egypt to Madrid." 
 
 The Emperor smiled charmingly. 
 
 " And I would not give one of my Old Moustaches 
 for all the courtiers in the world. But, my brave fellow, 
 you are interfering in an affair you do not understand." 
 
 " On the contrary^ Sire. Here is a young woman — 
 you believe this young woman to be a spy." 
 
 " Assuredly." 
 
 " I understand all about spies ; I caught them by 
 batches under the Republic. As for women, a French- 
 man and a soldier, I have not reached my age without 
 knowing all there is to know about them. Believe me, 
 Sire, this girl is not a spy. It was only natural that 
 she should seek by any means to rejoin her father, 
 who, although an Irishman, is for the moment em- 
 ployed on the English Commissariat. Figure to your- 
 self, Sire, the position of a young girl left alone with- 
 out a legitimate protector." 
 
 The Emperor interrupted him with a movement of 
 impatience. 
 
 " Perhaps, Sergeant, like the Colonel here, you desire 
 to make yourself her protector, legitimate or illegiti- 
 mate. But, fie! You are of an age to marry." 
 
 The Sergeant drew his eyelids together till his eyes 
 became mere slits and pulled his nose down over his 
 moustache with his fingers. Thus he presented a 
 picture of anxious cogitation and misery. 
 
 " That's rather hard, my Emperor ! — Ah, malheiir! " 
 he groaned. " Perhaps it is the duty of every man when 
 he is no longer young to marry, to become the father 
 of a family, but it is one to which up till now I have 
 always refused myself. Yet I admit it, one should 
 think of others; and in the long run one gets old, one 
 
 [312]
 
 A DUEL AND A PROPOSAL 
 
 wants a home. It is true I have a Httle money, quite 
 enough to keep a wife ; and my old mother is still there 
 to look after her for me while I am campaigning. But 
 yet, Sacre Norn! The longer one waits the more dif- 
 ficult it is to bring oneself to it." 
 
 Seraphine had heard the Sergeant's courageous de- 
 fence of her and was now listening to his speech in 
 a bewilderment which quickly gave way to amusement. 
 He wheeled round in her direction and presented to 
 her a visage more resembling that of the Knight of the 
 Dolorous Countenance than of a joyous Sergeant of 
 Chasseurs. 
 
 " Mademoiselle, you hear what the Emperor has just 
 said ? I cannot see an honest and pretty young girl sent 
 to a dog-hole of a Spanish prison. No, I will not ! I 
 prefer to marry you." 
 
 " Sergeant, your kindness is really too great — but I 
 could not accept from you so terrible a sacrifice." 
 
 There were two dimples in her cheeks as she spoke 
 which enabled Vidal to smile, although his first im- 
 pulse on getting wind of the Sergeant's meaning had 
 been to lose his temper again. 
 
 " Do not hesitate to accept it, Mademoiselle. I as- 
 sure you the inconvenience to me will be very slight. 
 You will not of course follow me on my campaign. 
 No ! That would be altogether insupportable. You 
 will remain at home with my mother, an excellent 
 woman who will teach you many things you ought to 
 know. Then, when there is no war your husband will 
 return, and we shall be quite gay together, we shall 
 dance together — hein ? And who knows ? Perhaps we 
 shall get the little dowry your family must have for 
 you in Ireland or in Portugal." 
 
 The Emperor cut him short. 
 
 [313]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 " Enough, Sergeant. This is a good joke, no doubt, 
 but all the same I have something serious to say to 
 you. You have been exceedingly lax in your care of 
 a prisoner confided to your custody. It appears that 
 this wily young woman has come round you in the 
 same way she came round the poor Colonel here. I 
 regret that my police organisation is not yet perfect 
 in this country, so that I cannot commit her. at once to 
 prison. But, in a few days, to-morrow or the day after, 
 I will have her taken to Burgos, whence a commissary 
 of police can conduct her to France. Meantime keep 
 her strictly confined to her apartment and allow no 
 one, no one you understand, to see her. This is evi- 
 dently a very dangerous person." 
 
 " You do not then desire me to marry her. Sire ? " 
 
 " No, I forbid you/' shouted the Emperor. 
 
 The Sergeant was almost disappointed. He turned 
 to Seraphine, smiled, sighed, and shrugged his shoul- 
 ders with an expressive gesture. 
 
 " You see. Mademoiselle. Adieu to our dreams of 
 happiness! Alas, when one is a soldier one has but 
 to obey ! " 
 
 [314]
 
 XX 
 
 CARMONA'S AMBUSCADE 
 
 THE Emperor had hurried away from the mis- 
 eries of the winter march through the moun- 
 tains of Leon, as at a more momentous time he 
 was destined to hurry away from the unequalled mis- 
 eries of the great Retreat. Half truly, half untruly 
 pretexting the need of an immediate return to Paris, 
 he marched away at the head of his Guard along the 
 road to Benevente, turning his back on Astorga, on 
 the conquest of the Peninsular, on the British Army — 
 which he was to meet once and only once again. He 
 loitered a day or two at Benevente and then rode on, 
 still at the head of a detachment of the Guard, to Val- 
 ladolid. There in the Palace of the great Emperor 
 Charles, he spent ten days reviewing troops, frowning 
 extinction on unsuccessful generals and resting from 
 the fatigue of the forced march from Madrid to As- 
 torga. 
 
 The Carmona had been one of the first persons in 
 Valladolid to wait upon him. She was uneasy lest 
 the discovery of Seraphine's real identity should throw 
 suspicion upon her own loyalty to the Bonapartes. 
 The Opera Season at Madrid promised to be better 
 than usual, as though the Madrilenos, who do not love 
 to be sad^ were seeking refuge from their own thoughts 
 in external gaiety. This gave her a professional rea- 
 son for desiring to remain in Madrid, but she had also 
 another. The Emperor had insisted that she should 
 
 [315]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 play the spy for his advantage; with the result that 
 she was really playing it for the advantage of her own 
 countrymen. She was in constant communication with 
 Don Fernando, who had many friends and adherents in 
 Madrid, as also in Valladolid. Doiia Elisa had under- 
 taken the rescue of Miss Dillon while she was still en- 
 thusiastically loyal to the Emperor ; but the discovery 
 of it now might lead to the discovery of more serious 
 offences. He was certainly angry, for the very out- 
 rageousness of his conduct in seizing without warn- 
 ing some hundreds of innocent tourists, whom he had 
 already detained for six years and w^as destined to de- 
 tain for eleven, made him the more viciously deter- 
 mined that not even a woman or a child should be 
 suffered to escape. Yet he soon consented to allow 
 the Carmona's excuses, in which there was nothing 
 false except the prominence she gave to the Spanish 
 connections and Irish origin of the Dillons ; because 
 she knew that judging only from the Irishmen who 
 came to France, he imagined all Irishmen to be rebels. 
 Finally, being personally and politically disinclined to 
 quarrel with the Carmona, he merely blamed her very 
 gently for not having asked Miss Dillon's release as 
 a favour while she was yet in Paris, as the young lady's 
 conduct since then had made all indulgence towards 
 her impossible. 
 
 Accordingly two days after the affair in the garden 
 of the convent Seraphine was called for by two Com- 
 missaries of Police and taken to Burgos, en route for 
 Bayonne. Dona Elisa bade her farewell with hearty 
 embraces and mysterious vows of vengeance. 
 
 And on the same day the arrest of Vidal terminated. 
 It had only meant confinement to his quarters, which 
 
 [316]
 
 CARMONA'S AMBUSCADE 
 
 were in the palace occupied by the Emperor. Now in 
 the few days he had spent at Valladolid Vidal had 
 conceived the idea that the Carmona was untrust- 
 worthy. Rather he had received a number of impres- 
 sions, each one so sHght that a breath would have 
 erased it from the surface of his mind, had it not al- 
 ways been reinforced by another before it had had time 
 to vanish. Yet all were filmy, nothing definite enough 
 for statement. He was not even aware that the Car- 
 mona was Don Fernando's sister, since it was a 
 secret jealousy kept by the many Spaniards who knew 
 it. He was released from arrest about sunset, and, the 
 evening being fine though cold, he strolled down tow- 
 ards the Paseo by the Pisuerga. It was at this hour 
 a solitary and not unpleasing place where a lover might 
 indulge in meditation with more propriety than in 
 streets and squares deep in primordial dirt and strewn 
 with more recent wreckage. When he had walked 
 more than half way down it, regarding neither the 
 green and brawling river nor the copper-coloured radi- 
 ance of the fading west, his attention was attracted by 
 a ragged youth who chucked a stone or two into the 
 river, and while doing so sang lustily in a very un- 
 tuneable voice. Whereupon two persons, a man and a 
 woman, who had been sitting together on a bench be- 
 hind a tree at a little distance, rose and left the Paseo, 
 separating in the road outside it. Until they parted 
 they moved at the usual slow Spanish walking pace, 
 so that Vidal easily gained upon them. The man wore 
 his cloak across his mouth, but there was something 
 about his air and gait which Vidal seemed to recog- 
 nise. The Spaniard lifted his hat in a courtly bow as 
 he left the lady, and for a moment Vidal's dim recol- 
 
 [317]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 lection leapt out clear. It was surely the guerrillero 
 chief of Zamora, Don Fernando. Yet the briefness of 
 the glimpse caused him to be uncertain again the in- 
 stant the Spaniard had turned his back. The lady he 
 did not doubt to be Dona Elisa Carmona. 
 
 Here was nothing to report. Had he been positive 
 as to the identity of the guerrillero, it might have been 
 otherwise, but he would not recommend himself to the 
 Emperor by the relation of an incident which might 
 be interpreted in a quite unpolitical sense. The Car- 
 mona had regained more than her former favour with 
 Napoleon, since there were no rival attractions at Val- 
 ladolid, and this time her heart was in the affair: for 
 she meant to make this humiliating and detested liaison 
 the very instrument of her revenge and the revenge of 
 Spain. 
 
 It was arranged that the Emperor should leave Val- 
 ladolid on January 17th, spending two or three days 
 at Burgos on the way to Bayonne. Vidal was drawing 
 on his gloves at the gate of the Palace, while his ser- 
 vant led Selim up and down, when the Imperial ber- 
 line drove up. He saw with surprise that it contained 
 Dofia Elisa, for the Emperor did not love to encumber 
 himself with women on his journeys. The carriage, 
 the aides-de-camp, and the escort waited for an hour 
 before the gate in the cold. Then the Duke de Rovigo 
 himself brought a message from the Emperor com- 
 manding the carriage. Mademoiselle Carmona, and his 
 baggage to proceed to Burgos without him. He would 
 follow on horseback as soon as possible. The Car- 
 mona's agitation was unfeigned. She wept, she 
 stormed, she desired to be admitted to his Majesty's 
 presence; but no one would admit her. So the car- 
 
 [318]
 
 CARMONA'S AMBUSCADE 
 
 riage and its mounted escort departed, reaching Burgos 
 unmolested, although at Torquemada, where they spent 
 the night, there seemed to be an unusual gathering of 
 Spaniards of no pacific appearance. 
 
 The arrival of a courier from Madrid bearing im- 
 portant despatches had detained the Emperor, and one 
 or two other unexpected incidents kept him on from 
 hour to hour in Valladolid. It was not till January 
 19th that he rode out of the gates and started north- 
 wards at a headlong gallop. Vidal led the race, the 
 Emperor came next, the rest, Savary, Mahmoud, the 
 Mameluke, and two others, tailed off behind. So they 
 sped along the Royal Road. At every three or four 
 leagues they found a picket of chasseurs ready with 
 fresh relays and flinging themselves reeking from sad- 
 dle to saddle they fled on with scarce a pause upon their 
 wild career^ as though the horn of the Spectral Hunts- 
 man urged them on the track of his flying prey. Now 
 Savary, now Vidal led, but the Emperor was always 
 close behind and sometimes stooping forwards in a 
 frenzy of impatience, rained a downpour of blows on 
 the hind quarters of the horse ahead of him, although 
 it would already be stretched to the top of its speed. 
 The magnificent high-road of the Spanish Kings rung 
 hard as iron beneath their rapid hoofs, the villages 
 ranged upon the hill-sides as for that spectacle, swept 
 past them tower on tower, the dark walls of Tor- 
 quemada perched high above the silver confluence of 
 waters, frowned down upon them as they sped along 
 the level, where the ice glittered at the edges of the 
 Pisuerga and the Arlinzon, while between it the full 
 currents of the rivers flowed brighter than burnished 
 steel. And behind those walls in the shadow of every 
 
 [319]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 village tower lurked hundreds of revengeful hearts 
 filled with fearless hate, ready with eagerness to seize 
 every opportunity of vengeance, the greatest or the 
 least. They watched and waited expecting the ap- 
 proach of a laden convoy, an Imperial equipage ; mean- 
 time the horse that carried Caesar and his fortunes 
 flashed past them and was gone. 
 
 At length there gleamed into sight a great dome 
 curved and fretted like some vast exotic shell, set about 
 with carven pinnacles, pale in the sunshine, and waited 
 on by tall attendant towers. The massive gateway of 
 the Emperor Charles loomed dark beneath, the Arlin- 
 zon flowed silvery under the span of the bridge, and 
 ranks of poplars with their dim spires of wintry pur- 
 ple, marked the meadowy windings of its stream. But 
 other sights were there and grimmer. Up yonder 
 above the Cathedral a -fort a-building and left and 
 right crowning the neighbour hills, groups and lines 
 of gallows, not unoccupied. They were galloping now 
 down a league-long avenue of trees leading to the city, 
 and as the precise nature and meaning of this last 
 sight was borne in upon Napoleon's mind, he fell agam 
 to lashing Savary's horse. 
 
 " Ah, sacres brigands! " he cried, as the lash fell. 
 
 When they had passed the gate of Charles V. and 
 arrived at the Archbishop's Palace, there stood General 
 Darmagnac looking just the ex-cook that he was, 
 though arrayed in all the painful splendours of a new 
 uniform into which he had been buttoned for the best 
 part of forty-eight hours. He produced his smiles, 
 his cringing compliments on the Emperor's speed 
 which also had been ready and waiting for forty-eight 
 hours : but the Emperor looked doubtfully at the ex- 
 cook and passed on to his apartments with few words. 
 
 [320]
 
 CARMONA'S AMBUSCADE 
 
 Napoleon had originally purposed to spend several 
 days at Burgos_, but the delay at Valladolid and the 
 pressure of affairs in Paris made it impossible for him 
 to remain more than one night. Dona Elisa had ar- 
 rived there only twenty-four hours earlier, and by his 
 Majesty's orders had been given rooms in the Palace. 
 He might on his arrival have forgotten the fact, had 
 not the Carmona exerted all her arts as a woman and as 
 an actress to bring her existence before him. The 
 sight of her countrymen hanging by the score on the 
 gallows with which Darmagnac, a true son of the Ter- 
 ror, at once bestial and corrupt, had blotted the hori- 
 zon, the sight of Burgos itself, where for sixty days 
 the very devil had been unchained, had stirred afresh 
 her patriotic rage. Judith brought the head of Holo- 
 fernes to the elders of her people ; Dofia Elisa designed 
 to deliver the whole person of Napoleon into the hands 
 of the guerrilleros. His star had protected him once, 
 when all had been prepared for his capture, but the 
 attempt was not to be abandoned. 
 
 On the following morning the Emperor continued 
 his journey, not on horseback but in a carriage. When 
 he travelled in this way he was accustomed to invite 
 two of his staff to travel with him, and on this day 
 beyond others it is probable that more than one was 
 secretly sighing for the cushioned ease of the Imperial 
 carriage ; for such a ride as theirs from Valladolid 
 to Burgos had put a strain on the hardiest. But the 
 Emperor invited no one. The reason was obvious 
 when a mile without the walls, a lady was seen to dis- 
 mount from a hired carriage and enter his. So much 
 homage to propriety the Emperor had exacted this 
 time from the Carmona. Vidal shrugged his shoul- 
 
 [321J
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 ders and looked grave, the rest of the escort shrugged 
 their shoulders and laughed. He took his place imme- 
 diately ahead of the Imperial carriage and kept a sharp 
 look out, especially in the neighbourhood of villages. 
 They were still pursuing the Royal Road which leads 
 from Madrid to Irun and thence to Paris. It was an 
 open road and ran for the first forty miles below or 
 over hills mountainous in character but low. Villages, 
 churches, way-side fountains were strung upon it, all 
 about them speaking of the prosperity the Royal Road 
 had once brought, when the coaches of kings and no- 
 bles and long trains of muleteers had been wont to 
 stream along it ; of the ruin it was now bringing since 
 it had become the channel along which the great armies 
 of Napoleon were poured into the Peninsula. The 
 beautiful weather of the preceding day was gone, the 
 sky was low and heavy with clouds. At length there 
 arose before them, dark and frowning as the sky, a 
 mountain wall cleft by the sinuous passage of a tor- 
 rent. A tall isolated spire of rock standing up by itself 
 just within the entrance added to the gloom of the 
 gorge a something weird and fantastic. A large vil- 
 lage, that too sombrely coloured, spread on either side 
 the whiteness of the torrent and clustered under immi- 
 nent crags from the summit of which a fort com- 
 manded the defile. 
 
 While the Imperial carriage with its small escort was 
 still at a distance, descending the long slope of the 
 road, they saw a patch of scarlet issue from the sombre 
 village and advance to meet them. It was the uniform 
 of a picket of chasseurs. Their commanding officer 
 explained that the natives of Pancorbo were detestable 
 — even among their own people they were looked upon 
 
 [322]
 
 CARMONA'S AMBUSCADE 
 
 as witches and warlocks — and only yesterday a car- 
 riage from Burgos had been so severely stoned at the 
 entrance of the village that both men and horses were 
 too much injured to proceed. A batch of the inhabi- 
 tants had been caught and hung outside the fort, but 
 the Commandant could not be sure that the place was 
 even now completely pacified. Being unable to get 
 horses up to the fort, they had his Majesty's relays 
 in a house at the further end of the village, where their 
 comrades up above could easily assist them if they 
 were attacked. The Emperor sneered. It irritated him 
 that his troops could not make the road from Madrid 
 to Irun as safe as that from Irun to Paris, it irritated 
 him still more to see a certain nervousness " sicklying 
 o'er " the brave hue of spirits dyed deep in victory. 
 He roughly told the officer that he considered his own 
 escort more than sufficient to protect him against a 
 pack of peasants, and bade the chasseurs keep their 
 distance behind his carriage. He took, however, the 
 precaution of drawing the window shutters before he 
 reached the village of Pancorbo, a thing he very com- 
 monly did to screen himself from observation. 
 
 There were comparatively few persons about in the 
 street, but even the presence of the hated French sol- 
 diery could not empty it ; for the street is to the Span- 
 iard all and more than all that the cafe is to the Paris- 
 ian. The people looked as lean as winter wolves, and 
 had about them that peculiar air of savagery and aloof- 
 ness which is only seen in isolated places. Vidal, who 
 knew better than his master the temper of such people, 
 rode alongside of the carriage-horses, keeping a stern 
 countenance turned towards the Brown-cloaks in the 
 gutter. His attention was arrested by a face he knew 
 
 ' [323]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 under a gorra. It was the face of one of the guerril- 
 leros who had acted as his guards between Zamora and 
 Astorga. He turned round in his saddle to look again ; 
 and saw the Carmona, who had pulled down the window 
 shutter and window on her side of the carriage, pre- 
 texting an attack of faintness, lean out and exchange 
 a slight and rapid signal with the guerrillero. 
 
 The house to which they were directed stood away 
 from the main street and against the precipitous side 
 of the mountain. The cold of coming snow was in 
 the air, and the Emperor was shivering in spite of his 
 wraps. He had not alighted from the carriage since 
 they left Burgos, but now he gave orders that the fresh 
 horses should not immediately put to, and entering the 
 house called loudly for a good fire and a hot bouil- 
 lon. There was but one room in the house where there 
 was a fireplace and he was shown into it. Two mem- 
 bers of the police service rose from beside the fire and 
 stood at attention on the Emperor's appearance. He 
 asked them what they did there. They explained that 
 they were in charge of a prisoner. 
 
 ''What prisoner?" 
 
 " An escape dctenue, Sire, suspected of espionage." 
 
 " Ah, I remember. Well ? You left Burgos two 
 days ago. Why are you not proceeding? " 
 
 The leading man of the two shrugged his shoulders 
 and pointed to his subordinate, calling attention to the 
 injuries this commissary had sufifered. The surgeon 
 up at the fort was treating him, and also one of the 
 two soldiers accompanying them, who was in bed suf- 
 fering from concussion of the brain. 
 
 " And the prisoner? " 
 
 " She received no injury, Sire." 
 
 [324I
 
 CARMONA'S AMBUSCADE 
 
 This man was a detective and the Emperor ques- 
 tioned him. 
 
 " You have experience — tell me your opinion of this 
 prisoner." 
 
 " I think, Sire, someone has made a mistake in de- 
 nouncing this person. The only really suspicious thing 
 about her is that she pretends to be an Englishwoman, 
 whereas it is quite plain she is nothing of the sort. I 
 have observed her and I do not believe she is a spy. 
 She would be worth nothing to any police in the world." 
 
 " You do not know your business," said the Emperor 
 roughly. " I tell you this woman is a spy and even a 
 very dangerous spy. I desire you to have the horses 
 put to your carriage and to follow us to Miranda, 
 where you can, if necessary, get an escort." 
 
 " Alas, Sire ! Unless your Majesty can supply us 
 with horses ! One of ours was so severely injured yes- 
 terday it cannot proceed, and the carriage is already 
 too heavy for two." 
 
 " See to it. You yourself are wanted in Paris, and 
 I will not have this woman allowed another opportunity 
 for escape. You take her for a simple girl. I tell you 
 she is a person of singular cunning and audacity. Re- 
 member this." 
 
 The refusal of the police agent to see a spy where the 
 Emperor had intended him to do so, was not the only 
 cross-current which the Imperial will encountered at 
 Pancorbo. Confiding in the effect of three or four de- 
 cisive battles and the occupation of the capital, he had 
 not greatly concerned himself about the occupation of 
 minor points of vantage. That a nation without an 
 army, without a government, could still be dangerous, 
 had never occurred to him. A few German gunners 
 
 [325]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 had been left to garrison the fort on the crag, several 
 of them being sick or wounded. The Commandant now 
 appeared to press for reinforcements for the occupa- 
 tion of the whole village. He said that, except when a 
 detachment of French troops happened to be passing 
 through, his men could not leave their fortifications 
 without risk of being murdered. He believed that be- 
 sides the usual inhabitants of Pancorbo, who were 
 known to be of a savage temper, there were now a 
 considerable number of other " brigands " collected in 
 the place. 
 
 The Emperor was extremely angry. Things so com- 
 monly fell out as he wished and expected them to do 
 that when they did not, he felt sure it was the fault of 
 his subordinates. He sneered at the cowardice of these 
 Germans, was even ironical at the expense of his own 
 chasseurs, and expresssed his intention of driving 
 through the defile to Miranda without any escort other 
 than that he had brought with him. Savary and Duroc 
 in vain attempted to dissuade him. He decided, after 
 some hesitation, to take the police agent and Miss Dil- 
 lon in his carriage as far as Miranda del Ebro, where 
 a fresh conveyance and escort could be provided for 
 them. But before he had given orders to have his 
 horses put to, Vidal came in hastily. He had been into 
 the village with two chasseurs to look for the brigand 
 whom he had recognised. The man was gone ; not 
 only so^ but there was something suspicious in the sud- 
 den and complete absence of Brown-cloaks from the 
 village. He found the Emperor alone. Napoleon had 
 often proved for himself the hardy sabrcur knew no 
 fear; there was then something gratifying, touching, 
 even to the coldest heart in the trembling anxiety he 
 
 [326I
 
 CARMONA'S AMBUSCADE 
 
 showed on behalf of his Emperor. Pride and poHcy 
 forbade that the Emperor should go back upon his de- 
 cision and take the chasseurs with him ; but seeing that 
 he hesitated, Vidal suggested that his chestnut horse 
 Selim was on this relay and already saddled. Let his 
 Majesty take his aide-de-camp's busby and cloak, leave 
 the house by a side entrance, and in company with Sav- 
 ary and Duroc gallop through the defile to Miranda, 
 trusting to speed for safety, as he had done between 
 Valladolid and Burgos. The carriage might stand be- 
 fore the house for a while longer to deceive those who 
 might be watching it. 
 
 The Emperor thought. 
 
 " You wish to enjoy the company inside the car- 
 riage in my place? " he asked suddenly, looking sharply 
 at his aide-de-camp. 
 
 Vidal stared in bewilderment. Was the Emperor 
 really so smitten with the Carmona that he was stupidly 
 jealous? For he thought of nothing less than that 
 Seraphine was under the same roof as himself and 
 might possibly be an occupant of the carriage. 
 ! " Not at all. Sire. I intended to ride with the car- 
 riage using the same horse on which I arrived. It is 
 quite able to do another stage." 
 
 The Emperor's suspicions were allayed. 
 
 " Very well. Mahmoud will also accompany it. If 
 it is attacked you will both defend it to the utmost." 
 
 " You can trust us. Sire." 
 
 The Emperor then gave orders of a kind to keep 
 Vidal employed for some little time, and afterwards 
 recalled the police agent. He directed this person 
 to see that the blinds of the carriage were drawn in 
 such a way as to make it impossible for persons out- 
 
 I327]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 side to see those within. The Emperor let the detec- 
 tive understand his reasons for concealing the prison- 
 er's identity from the young aide-de-camp ; and the 
 police agent was for his part too used to knowing the 
 secrets of men's hearts to be in the least interested in 
 them. 
 
 Doiia Elisa had now an unpleasant surprise. She 
 knew Miss Dillon was to join the party in the carriage, 
 and was glad of it. But she could not understand why 
 she received orders to draw down the blinds. Her be- 
 wilderment was transformed to rage and despair when 
 she found herself on the road to Miranda accompanied 
 not by the Emperor, but by a police agent. Moreover 
 the police agent, who would explain nothing, forbade 
 her politely but firmly, to address Seraphine in the 
 Spanish tongue, as he was under orders not to allow 
 his prisoner to communicate with anyone except in 
 French. The Carmona became convinced that her dark 
 devices were now " thrown open to the peering day." 
 Her hatred of Napoleon was only equalled by her fear 
 of him, and to terror was added the deepest mortifica- 
 tion at having once more failed to deliver the head 
 of her Holofernes. Accordingly Seraphine, prepared 
 to be cheered by her unexpected company, beheld her 
 pale, tearful, silent except for occasional deep sighs and 
 muttered invocations to the Virgin and all the com- 
 pany of Heaven. 
 
 As soon as the remainder of the escort discovered 
 that the Emperor and both Marshals were ahead of 
 them, they became in a violent hurry to get through 
 the defile themselves. Scarcely had they left the vil- 
 lage well behind them than the two young aides-de- 
 camp in front dug their spurs into their horses and
 
 CARMONA'S AMBUSCADE 
 
 Btooping forward in their saddles, with as close an 
 imitation as possible of the Emperor's seat under like 
 circumstances, dashed at a break-neck pace into the 
 gloomy entrance of the pass. The coachman lashed 
 his horses to their utmost speed, but the two riders 
 were soon out of sight. Mahmoud, the Mameluke, had 
 received instructions from Vidal to ride within twenty 
 yards ahead of the carriage, but he did not love to take 
 instructions from any man alive except the Emperor, 
 and the task of guarding a carriage containing women 
 appeared to him one little worthy of a royal favourite 
 and a soldier of his proved prowess. Vidal brought 
 up the rear. A sheer dark cliff overhung the road upon 
 one side and below it a greenish torrent boiled in a 
 mist of spray. On the opposite side the rock sprung 
 as abruptly from the foam, but being left entirely to 
 the wild work of nature, here and there an upper crag 
 had long ago toppled down in a ruin of boulders which 
 lent foothold to a few thorny and stunted trees. A 
 chillness breathed from the roaring water and from the 
 sombre walls of rock above it. Vidal could see noth- 
 ing moving between the barren crags except the Im- 
 perial equipage, the Mameluke — a splash of blue and 
 scarlet rapidly diminishing in size — and overhead, stilly 
 drifting, the wings of a hovering hawk, light brown 
 against the sullen purple sky. His horse had already 
 been ridden hard for a full stage, but he had just made 
 up his mind to attempt the recall of the truant Mame- 
 luke when a crash startled the silence of the gorge. A 
 large mass of stone, loosened from the cliff above, fell 
 on the leaders of the carriage team, throwing them to 
 the ground under a weight of stone and shale. Vidal 
 leapt from his horse and drew his sword to cut them 
 
 [329]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 loose from their companions, which were struggling 
 and plunging in terror. Hardly had he reached them 
 than a cannon-ball, bounding from the cliff, threw his 
 horse to the ground and broke to atoms a front wheel 
 of the, carriage, while a shower of stones fell patter- 
 ing on the roof and on the mingled mass of men and 
 horses, where a soldier servant, the coachman, and his 
 team lay heaped in confusion. Nothing was to be seen 
 of the assailants, but Vidal fired a pistol with the idea 
 of attracting the attention of their comrades. Mean- 
 while loud female shrieks arose from the carriage and 
 the door was flung open. He sprang to shut it. 
 
 " Stop there ! You are safer in the carriage." 
 
 For large stones were flying across the road. 
 
 " Stupid that you are ! " screamed Dofia Elisa, deal- 
 ing him a tremendous box on the ear as she swept out 
 and past him. " Do you think I shall let myself be as- 
 sassinated by my own brother to please you ? " 
 
 The Carmona leapt to the top of the roadside wall 
 with an agility surprising in one whose motions were 
 usually more beautiful than swift, and stood there 
 gesticulating. 
 
 " Napoleon is gone to the devil — he is not here. Na- 
 poleon is not here ! " she sang again and again with all 
 her voice, throwing out her powerful top notes to catch 
 the ears of her friends up there on the height who even 
 now could scarcely be perceived from below. She did 
 this in dead earnest, nor did anyone present feel the 
 least inclination to smile. 
 
 Seraphine, in fear of another cannon-ball or boulder 
 falling upon the carriage, jumped out and ran away 
 round a projecting corner of rock. The blow Doiia 
 Elisa had dealt Vidal was of a sort to make a man's 
 
 [330]
 
 CARMONA'S AMBUSCADE' 
 
 ears sing, but it was not that which staggered him. It 
 was the sight of Seraphine jumping out of the carriage. 
 Yet he was not too stupefied to be able to fire ofif his 
 other pistol at some men who appeared from under 
 the shelter of a patch of boulders and scrub on the 
 other side of the stream. They carried long match- 
 locks slung on their backs, but refrained for the pres- 
 ent from using them since they did not, like Vidal, de- 
 sire to attract the attention of the French on either 
 side of the defile. He had caught but a glimpse of 
 these new foes when a stone, one of many showering 
 around him, struck him on the head and stretched him 
 senseless on the ground. There were now but the two 
 men of peace left intact ; the agent of police and the 
 coachman, who, more fortunate than the soldier, had 
 struggled out from among the horses. Doiia Elisa 
 had fled in the direction of Pancorbo. A gucrrillero 
 armed with a long sword made his way somehow across 
 the torrent and jumped over the wall into the road. 
 On this the police agent fell on his knees with clasped 
 hands ejaculating in Spanish : 
 
 " Mercy ! Prisoner ! " 
 
 The guerrillero approached the wretched man smil- 
 ing and in silence, then suddenly, with a laugh, ran him 
 through the body. The coachman, seeing his fate, took 
 to his heels, pursued by the Spaniard. The terrified 
 Frenchman flew faster than the hunted hare, yet the 
 very vehemence of his flight would have made it end 
 the sooner, if a clatter of hoofs had not spurred his 
 flagging energies ; and sweeping up the road came the 
 flying scarlet turban, the blue and scarlet and gold of 
 the Mameluke. There was a flash of steel, a spurt of 
 blood and the Spaniard's head flew over the roadside 
 
 [331]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 wall and rolled into the torrent, while his gory body 
 dropped along the road. Mahmoud had scarcely 
 checked his horse's stride to deal the blow. The peas- 
 ants who had begun to climb down here and there from 
 the mountain, perceived the approach of the Mameluke 
 before their fated comrade, and with a chatter like that 
 of a pack of autumn starlings, fled up again to their 
 vantage ground. Swiftly Mahmoud arrived on the 
 scene of the disaster, and, throwing his horse on its 
 haunches, surveyed the wreck. The battered carriage 
 leaned forward on the ground, one of the men who 
 had been on the box lay senseless among the wounded 
 horses, the body of the police agent was stretched on 
 the road at a little distance, while Vidal, scratched and 
 bruised but practically unhurt, was just regaining his 
 senses and his feet. When he saw the Mameluke, and 
 the yet bloody scimitar, he said : 
 
 " Good ! You are here. You have killed one of 
 these cowards? It was well done." 
 
 "Ah, inallicur!" roared the Mameluke, shaking his 
 scimitar at sundry black heads visible on the cliff above 
 and at the men across the torrent. " What me do ? Me 
 no can kill." 
 
 As he spoke a stone struck his horse, causing it to 
 jump almost over the wall. 
 
 Vidal cursed heartily. 
 
 " There is nothing to be done. Let me take your 
 stirrup and run a bit. Then we will see." 
 
 The Mameluke carried a small portmanteau contain- 
 ing the Emperor's most valued papers strapped on to 
 the back of his saddle. Vidal dared not cut this off 
 in order to mount behind Mahmoud, nor was this the 
 juncture at which to spend time in trying to arrange 
 
 [332]
 
 CARMONA'S AMBUSCADE 
 
 it more conveniently. He started to run at the Mame- 
 luke's side. The mountain battery opened on them 
 with all its stones; but the worst was soon over, for 
 the road ceased to wind immediately under the steep 
 cliff which gave so great an advantage to their as- 
 sailants. The peasants were either discouraged by the 
 absence of that Grand Foe against whom their attack 
 had been mainly directed, or intimidated by the ex- 
 hibition of skill in his bloody art given by the Mame- 
 luke ; for some dim tradition of fear and hate made 
 the Emperor's Infidels particularly dreaded by the 
 superstitious population. At any rate they showed no 
 signs of leaving their fastness. Vidal was just about 
 to bid Mahmoud stop and let him arrange the portman- 
 teau in such a way that both might share the horse, 
 when the Turk stopped of his own accord. 
 
 " Emperor's slave ! " he exclaimed, pointing a tri- 
 umphant finger at a small figure crouching in a cranny 
 of rock. " Mahmoud not let brigand take Emperor's 
 slave." He spurred his horse, sprung forward, and 
 pouncing on the unfortunate Seraphine, dragged her 
 from her hiding place literally by the hair of the head. 
 It may-readily be imagined with what piercing shrieks 
 Miss Dillon testified her horror of this Oriental, this 
 barbarous mode of capture. For a moment her lover 
 stood petrified ; then rushing to her rescue with a vol- 
 ley of strong language, he endeavoured to force open 
 the Mameluke's hand. But not only was it a strong 
 hand, but Seraphine's little fingers convulsively clasped 
 about it in a vain and instinctive attempt to free her- 
 self, made the task more difficult. Therefore Vidal, 
 continuing to curse the infidel with every oath in his 
 vocabulary, smote him with sheathed sword upon the 
 
 [333]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 wrist. At this the enraged Turk dropped indeed his 
 prey, but administered to his comrade in arms such a 
 blow with the flat of the sabre as might have proved 
 fatal if Vidal had not partially warded it oflf. Now 
 Don Fernando from the summit of the crags had by 
 this time perceived a female whom he supposed to be 
 his sister, captured, maltreated, as it appeared, by the 
 Mameluke and a Frenchman. Whereupon he levelled 
 his gun and lodged a bullet in Vidal's body at the very 
 moment the Mameluke aimed a blow at his head ; so 
 the champion of ladies fell to the ground smitten at 
 once by friend and foe. A couple of bullets from other 
 guns now pinged past Mahmoud's ears, and he must 
 needs reflect: Was this slave worth the life of a man 
 and a true believer? No, assuredly not. Therefore 
 choosing the better part of valour the Emperor's 
 Mameluke turned his back upon his prey and upon the 
 enemy and with flying turban, a flash of blue and scar- 
 let and gold, sped as fast as a horse may gallop away 
 through the low hills, past the ruinous churches, till 
 he saw on either side and before him only the flat plain 
 and the three straight leagues of Royal Road that lead 
 to Miranda del Ebro. 
 
 [334]
 
 XXI 
 
 A CHURCH MARRIAGE 
 
 THE violets made little lakes of blue in the con- 
 vent garden, a tree in the shelter of the gray 
 tower had burst into a silver fountain of blos- 
 som. Just as the lizards crept out of their dark lurk- 
 ing places to lay their dark slender palpitating bodies 
 flat on the sun-ljaked stones, so out of their cold dark 
 cells the nuns came out to pace by twos and threes 
 where the golden warmth of the sun was all about 
 them, striking this way from the blue sky, radiated that 
 way from the glowing walls. The elder ones indeed 
 drawing their black mantles about them, looked up at 
 the little mackerel clouds overhead and talked suspi- 
 piously of the treacherous month, which was after all 
 winter. But the young ones threw back their sombre 
 draperies, and with chattering tongues and laughter, 
 with the brightness of their cheeks and eyes, pro- 
 claimed that spring had come. 
 
 Seraphine was on the side of spring, and she wore 
 its colours, a frock as white as the blossoms and a sash 
 as blue as the violets. 
 
 " Jesu ! " cried one black-eyed novice to another, put- 
 ting a large bunch of violets Seraphine had just gath- 
 ered against her delicate cheek. " Look, Sister, her 
 eyes are the same colour ! " 
 
 " Purest Virgin ! So they are. Come now and run 
 a race with me, darling." And the other novice put 
 her arm round Seraphine's waist. 
 
 [335]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 Seraphine excused herself. 
 
 " I am taking these violets to the sick Frenchman." 
 
 " Fie ! A French monkey ! An accursed atheist ! / 
 would not take him flowers." 
 
 " Then you would be cruel. He is very ill — the doc- 
 tor says he cannot live." And Seraphine's eyes filled 
 with tears. 
 
 " Yes, Sister Natividad, you are certainly wrong," 
 said Sister Teresa. " Our good Mother herself is kind 
 to the sick man. She says we ought to behave like 
 Christians even to Frenchmen. Is it true that he is 
 quite young, darling, and handsome ? " 
 
 Natividad interrupted, catching her by the arm with 
 a giggling scream. 
 
 " Maria and Joseph ! What is that in the gallery 
 yonder ? " 
 
 For a glimpse of a face was visible between the 
 wooden balustrades of an open gallery which connected 
 a wing of the convent with the main building. 
 
 " It is a man ! " cried Teresa, looking that way. 
 " Jesii, Maria, and S. Joseph ! " 
 
 " It is the Frenchman ! " responded Natividad. " He 
 is looking at us. How bold they are, these French- 
 men ! " 
 
 " Yes, I can see his face between the bars. Purest 
 Virgin ! " 
 
 " And we have been running races — perhaps he was 
 looking at us all the time. Oh, I could die of shame ! 
 Darling Dona Seraphine, what do you think? Is that 
 really the Frenchman up there?" Natividad kept 
 stealing furtive looks at the face in the gallery. 
 
 " I really cannot see," replied Seraphine slily. " But 
 I think it is more likely to be his servant, Pedro."
 
 A CHURCH MARRIAGE 
 
 " A servant-boy sitting in our gallery ! " cried the 
 scandalised and disappointed young ladies — both of 
 them of the bluest blood. ** Impudent rascal ! Let us 
 inform the Mother Superior at once of this intrusion." 
 
 " But tell me, darling," added Natividad, after an- 
 other good look at the gallery. " Has the servant a 
 dark moustache ? " 
 
 Seraphine was constrained to admit that the mucha- 
 cho did not wear hair on his face. 
 
 " When I was in the world," said the Sister with an 
 exaggerated air of severity — she was but seventeen — 
 " I only admired gentlemen who wore moustaches. 
 But now all are equally indifferent to me." 
 
 " Moustaches or no moustaches, I am sure they have 
 been always equally indifferent to me/' replied Sera- 
 phine, tossing her head, and it is to be hoped really for- 
 getting the episode of Camille Labourdonnaye. 
 
 " And you visit this Frenchman, do you not, Dona 
 Serafina? " enquired Teresa. " Are you not afraid to 
 do so?" 
 
 " Poor fellow ! Of what should I be afraid ! He is 
 very ill." 
 
 " I should be afraid to hear his blasphemies, lest my 
 soul should be unconsciously perverted by them. But 
 I forgot — to you it does .not matter, because you are 
 not a Catholic. Ah, how sad ! But we know you will 
 be a Catholic before long, so we love you as much as 
 though you were already." 
 
 " You can ask Sister Marta whether the Frenchman 
 says anything very terrible. The Mother Superior al- 
 ways sends her with me to visit him, because she un- 
 derstands a little French. However, this time I shall 
 not wait for her, since I am afraid that really is Colonel 
 
 [337]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 Vidal, and he must be sent back to his room at once. 
 The doctor told him on no account to leave his bed, 
 and to have a brasero always beside him." 
 
 " You will go to him alone ! " screamed the novices 
 in chorus. 
 
 " Yes, I shall go at once." 
 
 And as she walked away, they cried after her: 
 " Don't be afraid, darling, we shall stand under the 
 gallery and watch you." 
 
 It was now some six weeks since Hector Vidal had 
 lain in an unoccupied wing of the mountain convent 
 of Santa Engracia, the prisoner of his wound, of sick- 
 ness even more than of the guerrilleros. The ignorant 
 country surgeon who attended him had been unable 
 to extract the bullet, and though the external wound 
 was now fairly well healed, he appeared to have suf- 
 fered some internal injury beyond the skill of his phy- 
 sician to diagnose or cure, for he continued to cough 
 and spit blood. The Superior of the convent was in- 
 tensely patriotic, but her heart was not so steeled 
 against her fellow-creatures from the other side of the 
 Pyrenees that she could not feel pity for the young 
 soldier thus miserably prostrate. He had besides a 
 warm advocate in Seraphine, who, while discreet 
 enough to avoid the revelation of whatever Fate had 
 willed should be compromising in her relations with 
 Vidal, willingly told the story of her rescue first from 
 the murderous sword of the cuirassier at Cambarros, 
 then from the clutches of the Mameluke in the Pass of 
 Pancorbo. This last incident was particularly appre- 
 ciated by the nuns, and had to be often re-told, since 
 the villain of the piece was an infidel, a servant of 
 Mahound, precisely the same as those against whom 
 
 [338]
 
 A CHURCH MARRIAGE 
 
 all the saints of Spain had been used of old to appear 
 in arms, whether in the flesh, as Saints, Ferdinand and 
 Isabella, or in the spirit, as San Ildefonso. If, there- 
 fore, Vidal suffered from the coldness and darkness 
 of the cell in which he lay, where the constant brasero 
 breathed forth more stifling fumes than warmth, it 
 was not owing to any neglect or ill-will on the part of 
 his hostesses, but owing to the uncomfortable condi- 
 tions of the convent, of Spanish life in general. Im- 
 patient and dolorous under small maladies, as strong 
 men commonly are^ he had borne the long miseries and 
 sufferings of this serious illness with exemplary pa- 
 tience. But on the previous evening he had compelled 
 the doctor to tell him the truth about his condition, 
 and had been told that he was in a rapid consumption, 
 from which he could not possibly recover; although 
 strict confinement to bed and a low diet might some- 
 what prolong his life. This was a manner of death 
 which Hector Vidal had not accustomed his mind to 
 meet. Here was no music of clashing swords, no 
 rapture of combat to sweep the soul triumphantly out 
 to the edge of the great darkness and over. Instead he 
 must lie night after night thus, watching the feeble 
 circle of the night-lamp swim upon the ceiling, count- 
 ing the hours tolled from the convent tower and know- 
 ing that they brought and could bring to him no 
 change, except the change from the darkness of his 
 cell to the darkness, the oblivion of the grave. The 
 thing seemed too horrible to be true, a nightmare from 
 which he must wake. Had there been any weapon 
 within reach, he would not have lived through that 
 night. In the morning he felt a desperate need to get 
 out of this cell which had become a torture-chamber. 
 
 [339]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 He summoned his servant, and to Pedro's astonishment, 
 demanded to be dressed. He could not beHeve till he 
 tried that he to whom to be strong and alert appeared 
 as inevitable to life as breathing, that he could scarcely 
 move his own limbs, must be supported, lifted like a 
 child. It took hours to dress him, and by the time 
 he had made Pedro drag him to a couch in the gallery 
 outside, he could have wept for weariness. The 
 warmth of the sunshine, the freshness of the air gradu- 
 ally revived him. He was able to look out to a far 
 blueness of plain and mountain, down into the garden 
 below; to see the nuns pacing under the wall, the 
 novices running races. The young girls whose pranks 
 he would a while ago have followed with an eye at once 
 alight and critical, woke in him now only a certain 
 wonder, a vague envy of the gaiety and activity. He 
 had a sense of unreality somewhere, either in the former 
 self, which had been gay and active too, or in this pres- 
 ent self, a helpless, hopeless wreck of a man, alive, yet 
 already cut off from the land of the living. At length 
 his dull eyes found, clung to a little white figure, 
 stooping here, kneeling there among the violets. And 
 as a child cries out for its mother in the dark to save 
 it from some haunting dream, so his soul cried out 
 for Seraphine. At length, with step so light that even 
 his ear had not detected it, she had mounted the stair 
 and stood before him, her hands full of violets. She 
 looked at him and was silent a minute. In the half 
 dark of the cell she had not fully seen the alteration in 
 his face. 
 
 " How do you come here ? " she said with the au- 
 thority of a nurse. " You should be in bed — this is 
 very wrong of you." 
 
 [340]
 
 A CHURCH MARRIAGE 
 
 " I came out because I will not die like a rat in a 
 hole. No — it is useless — do not try to deceive me. 
 The doctor has told me that I must die." 
 
 She exhorted him in trembling accents to hope, but 
 he dismissed her encouragements almost with scorn. 
 
 " Stay by me, my friend. Console me not with false 
 words, but with your presence. Try and love me a 
 little, my child — what harm can it do you? " 
 
 " Alas, my poor friend ! " cried Seraphine, kneeling 
 by his side, " why do you speak to me like this? Do 
 you think I forget that it was in defending me you re- 
 ceived this dreadful wound which makes you suffer 
 so much ? Oh, it was my fault — or rather my misfort- 
 une ! " 
 
 " You are mistaken, my child. These things are 
 Fate, it is a man's star which ordains them. I thought 
 I had a lucky star, like the Emperor. This Emperor ! 
 He will not be able to forgive me now because he will 
 forget me. He was the only creature in the world I 
 ever really loved till I met you, Seraphine. He loved 
 me also once — I see clearly now it was my love for 
 you that deprived me of his affection. How can mere 
 gratitude repay me for a loss like that ? No, it is only 
 love that can do so. Why can you not love me ? " 
 
 " But I love you, my poor friend," replied the girl, 
 choked with her tears, " I love you tenderly." 
 
 " Thanks — thanks, Seraphine." 
 
 He leaned back exhausted with closed eyes. Sera- 
 phine had in her emotion let fall some violets on his 
 breast, and his thin hands were stretched out straight 
 upon the coverlid. The fine brown hands, once so 
 strong, were weak now, bony and almost as white as 
 her own. Opening his dark eyes after a while, he 
 turned them on the weeping girl and whispered: 
 
 [341]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 " Kiss me — as you kissed the Englishman." 
 She Hfted her head and gazed bewildered, not fol- 
 lowing his thoughts. 
 
 " As you kissed the dead man we found in the wood." 
 " I remember," she said simply : and without hesi- 
 tation kissed him on the forehead in the same grave 
 and compassionate manner as she had kissed the dead 
 youth under the rocks of the Sierra de la Peiia Negra. 
 He smiled content : and they were silent. 
 It will have been observed by the censorious that 
 Miss Dillon's sense of propriety was not particularly 
 strong. She had neither that shrewd perception of 
 other people's limitations or that natural incapacity for 
 the finer modes of human feeling which are both of so 
 much advantage to a young woman on her entrance 
 into the world. From the moment she set eyes on the 
 pitifully wasted face and form of Hector Vidal lying 
 on the couch in the gallery, she had ceased to be aware 
 of anything in the world except his sufferings of body 
 and mind, and the comfort or no comfort that she was 
 able to give him. Meantime the two novices in the gar- 
 den kept their straining eyes fixed on the gallery, and 
 although their view was disagreeably impeded by the 
 balusters they beheld there the obvious, which, as so 
 frequently happens, was the untrue. For whereas in 
 the gallery were really two weak human spirits 
 stretching out trembling hands to each other in the 
 darkness which is under the wings of the Angel of 
 Death, Natividad and Teresa saw neither angel nor 
 spirit, but a young lady in a white frock and a blue 
 sash in the most compromising propinquity to a young 
 gentleman. And then — they almost doubted their own 
 eyes, but not quite — then they saw her kiss him. Here 
 
 [342J
 
 A CHURCH MARRIAGE 
 
 was the world which willy-nilly they had forsaken, 
 rushing in upon them with a vengeance. They were 
 not ill-natured girls, and they were really quite fond 
 of Seraphine; but it could not be expected that they 
 should keep so shocking, so interesting an occurrence 
 to themselves. 
 
 Accordingly, on the following day, Seraphine was 
 called upon by the Mother Superior to explain her in- 
 discretions. The Mother Superior being a good and 
 gentle-minded woman in spite of some religious big- 
 otry, was able to understand the incident. Yet it 
 could not be denied that the affair was causing some 
 scandal in the convent, and that in future the visits of 
 Miss Dillon to the prisoner must be strictly limited and 
 regulated. 
 
 That day passed wearily for Vidal. There was once 
 more warm sunshine in the gallery, but the reviving 
 quality had gone out of it ; for the little white figure 
 was not seen in the garden below, nor did any airy 
 step climb the stair to where he lay. Truly the black 
 nuns walked under the wall as before, and the novices 
 ran races below. He even observed with a faint ironic 
 amusement that the races brought the runners under 
 the gallery somewhat frequently and that many furtive 
 glances mounted to him through the wooden balusters. 
 How far off, how insipid seemed to him in his weary 
 mood these girlish curiosities, these demure provoca- 
 tions ! But one thing he would willingly have asked 
 of the novices, and that was where they had hidden 
 his white Seraphine. 
 
 The hours passed, the creeping shadow drove him 
 back to his gloomy cell ; and before him lay the long, 
 dark, silent hours, speaking of death. There were 
 
 [343]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 steps, trailing and rustling of female garments, and the 
 Superior entered. For an instant he had fancied it 
 might be Seraphine ; and still in the pangs of disap- 
 pointment, he was compelled to try and understand 
 what the Superior was saying — in a French more diffi- 
 cult of comprehension than her Spanish. After much 
 speech he arrived at her meaning. Seraphine's visits 
 to him gave rise to scandal ; for the future they must 
 cease, or the Superior herself would bring her at long 
 intervals. 
 
 After a pause, " Ma mere," he said, " you may be 
 right — but remember you deprive a dying man of his 
 only consolation." 
 
 And he said no more ; only regarding her with dull 
 and weary eyes, while pointing to the crucifix upon 
 the wall of the cell, she adjured him at some length to 
 find there his consolation. Yet it may be that her heart 
 smote her, for on the following evening she brought 
 Seraphine to visit him and taking a book of devotions, 
 absorbed herself in pious meditation, the more easily 
 because the speakers conversed in a low tone and with 
 what appeared to her unaccustomed ear, rapid ut- 
 terance. 
 
 Yet so careful was Vidal not to exhibit the joy with 
 which he beheld Seraphine, that she on her part felt 
 somewhat piqued, somewhat injured at the apparent 
 indifference with which she found herself received by 
 a person on whose account she had undergone such a 
 very great deal of annoyance. She sat demurely on 
 a stool at his side and told him the latest rumours of 
 the war ; which, except for the news of the fall of 
 Zaragoza, were all completely false. False or true, 
 he cared not for them. After a pause, caused by the 
 running dry of this fount of conversation : 
 
 [344]
 
 A CHURCH MARRIAGE 
 
 " I regret to hear, Mademoiselle," he said, " that 
 your kindness to an unfortunate man has been misin- 
 terpreted." 
 
 Seraphine blushed. 
 
 " That is true. Also I have perhaps been indiscreet." 
 
 He exclaimed impatiently: 
 
 " You are an angel — and the others are not. That 
 is all." 
 
 " It is at any rate a misfortune, because I shall not 
 be able to visit you as often as I could wish " 
 
 " Yes, I understand. What folly ! A sick man, 
 feeble as a child, who has only a few weeks to live." 
 
 " It is very hard." 
 
 " Hard ! It is atrocious. I do not feel the courage 
 to support this long martyrdom. When they deprive 
 me of you they should in mercy give me a little of that 
 poison which they so liberally put into the wells where 
 our soldiers drink." 
 
 " The good Sisters find it difficult to understand " 
 
 " Yes — she offered to console me with two pieces of 
 wood and the rest of the mummery." 
 
 " But indeed there are consolations much better than 
 I can give you " 
 
 " Ah, bah ! Don't talk to me like a cagote. You 
 yourself do not understand. That martyrdom of which 
 I spoke, Seraphine, you alone can make it bearable, 
 even sweet to me. Without your presence this room is 
 already the hell to which you, like the sisters, would 
 perhaps consign my soul." 
 
 " No, no — alas ! my poor friend, what can I do, de- 
 pendent as I am " 
 
 " There is one thing which you can do : but that 
 thing you will think too much." 
 
 [345]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 " Tell me what it is, and you will see." 
 
 Hector Vidal fixed his eyes earnestly on her for a 
 minute without speaking. 
 
 " No," he said ; " you will not do it. It will cost 
 you nothing and yet it will cost you too much." 
 
 " Tell me what it is," she repeated. 
 
 " Become my wife in the eyes of the Church. Even 
 nuns can then find no scandal in your attendance on a 
 dying man. Ah, there you are pale, transfixed with 
 horror! I knew it. It is too much to ask. Perhaps 
 even you will never come to see me again. Yet I do 
 not speak to you of love. What has a poor wretch 
 like me to do with love? If I adore you it is upon my 
 knees, as these women adore their saints and virgins. 
 You let me believe yesterday that you loved me a little 
 — Oh, I made no mistake ! I knew it was but a senti- 
 ment of pity, of friendship, which you intended to ex- 
 press ; yet if you have really any pity, any friendship 
 for me, Seraphine, do not lightly refuse to go through 
 a form which can have no consequences for you, of 
 which even the recollection will soon be buried in my 
 grave." 
 
 Seraphine was exceedingly pale. 
 
 " Even if I were to consent, I doubt whether the af- 
 fair could be arranged as you wish. There must be 
 legal as well as religious forms to be gone through in 
 a marriage, especially as we are foreigners." 
 
 " Whether the marriage is valid or not is of no im- 
 portance. I have no property to leave you, and if I 
 had you would still be unable to go to France and claim 
 it. Why talk of validity? I wish only to enjoy the 
 consolation of your presence during the short time I 
 have to live." 
 
 [346] • ^
 
 A CHURCH MARRIAGE 
 
 " But the nuns — the priest. Surely their scruples 
 would not disappear before a marriage which was not 
 legal. No, my poor friend ; it is not only a question 
 of my willingness to satisfy you, it is others whom you 
 would find it impossible to satisfy." 
 
 " That is not my opinion. I believe that to these 
 ignorant and bigoted Spanish women and their con- 
 fessor, the sanction of the Church would appear 
 enough. If that is so — answer me, I implore you, Sera- 
 phine — will you consent to soften the suffering of my 
 last days by letting yourself be called my wife ? Quick ! 
 She closes her breviary — you will be gone ! " 
 
 Seraphine had left her stool and stood beside the 
 bed. The moment of agitated doubt was long yet short, 
 and till her lips had whispered the affirmative she 
 hardly knew what they were to utter. 
 
 " I thank you, my Mother," said Vidal, kissing the 
 Superior's hand. " Do not forget to visit the sick 
 man to-morrow. It is a duty which Christian charity 
 enjoins." 
 
 Accordingly on the following morning, when he was 
 once more lying in the gallery, the Superior came to 
 see him. After he had answered some questions about 
 his health and listened with more attention than before 
 to her pious admonitions, he opened his mind to her on 
 the subject of Seraphine. He told how he had loved 
 Seraphine from the first moment he had seen her — for 
 this he now sincerely believed to be the truth — and ap- 
 pealed to the Superior to allow him to die with his 
 hand in the hand of this adored child, who had once 
 saved his life, whose life he had himself saved. The 
 heart of the good Mother, who, though a nun_, was yet 
 a woman, was profoundly touched. For it is the com- 
 
 [347]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 merce of the world which overlays women's hearts 
 with a bright varnish so hard it is scarcely to be pene- 
 trated : it is more often under the severe vestments of 
 the recluse, whether of God or of Nature that the soft 
 simplicity, the warm youth of the heart remains im- 
 perishable, hidden yet easily to be found. Hector 
 Vidal's love for Seraphine was ardent and romantic 
 to the height of imagination; he was young, brave, 
 handsome ; it was but natural to suppose that the lady 
 of his heart returned his love, although modesty had 
 prevented her from acknowledging it to the Superior. 
 Vidal had judged aright when he said that to a Span- 
 iard and one in religion the civil aspect of a marriage 
 would have little importance. The question was 
 whether it was one the Church could sanction. 
 
 " Are you a Catholic? " she asked. 
 
 " I am, my Mother, but" my parents were not devout 
 and in the army I have not learned to be so." 
 
 " May the Blessed Virgin forgive you ! Dona Ser- 
 rafina, alas ! is a heretic." 
 
 " For the moment, yes. But she is devout ; I have 
 seen her at prayer with devout Catholics." 
 
 " Ah yes, yes," said the Superior softly ; " who 
 knows ? The Blessed Virgin may be pleased by means 
 of this marriage to bring two wandering sheep back 
 to the fold. I have left all in the hands of the Mother 
 of Jesus, for I have seen that this dear child's heart 
 was much inclined to the true Church." 
 
 And the idea that in some way the sacrament of 
 marriage would draw bride and bridegroom respec- 
 tively from heresy and infidelity to the Church, min- 
 gled with her natural human sympathy for a pair of 
 unfortunate lovers and gave it sanctification. Without 
 
 [348]
 
 A CHURCH MARRIAGE 
 
 the consent and approval of the priest who acted as 
 Confessor to the convent, she always conscientiously 
 professed herself unable to make any decision, however 
 trifling; although age and an indolent disposition had 
 long disinclined him from opposing any wish or opinion 
 of the Superior's which he could divine. 
 
 Seraphine had attended vespers and was passing 
 down a twilight corridor, when she found herself 
 folded in the arms and flowing draperies of the good 
 Mother. 
 
 " All is arranged, my daughter." 
 
 " What is arranged^ my Mother? " 
 
 " Your marriage with that pobrecito." 
 
 In the dimness the nun did not notice with what a 
 countenance Seraphine received this intelligence. 
 
 " You understand, my Mother, that this marriage is 
 only a ceremony ? " 
 
 " I understand it, my daughter." 
 
 " I only wish to be able to care for and comfort the 
 pobrecito until he dies. In my own country and in 
 France I do not think this merely religious ceremony 
 would be a marriage according to the law." 
 
 " It will be so according to the law of Holy Church, 
 and in noble and Catholic Spain that is sufficient." 
 
 " I belong to the English Church " 
 
 The Superior smiled to herself in the twilight. 
 
 " You are not far from us, my daughter. It is true 
 that under ordinary circumstances our excellent Father 
 would not be pleased to celebrate a mixed marriage ; 
 but this he regards as a very exceptional case. Colonel 
 Vidal is a Catholic, but alas, not devout ! Marriage 
 will bring him to confession ; and we all pray Jesus 
 and His Mother that this unfortunate man may not die 
 
 [349]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 without the comforts of rehgion and the sacraments 
 of the Church." 
 
 "I also, my Mother, pray very earnestly that his 
 heart may turn to God before the end." 
 
 " Be then truly his spiritual bride — and who knows 
 
 how great a blessing this marriage may prove to both." 
 
 " But Colonel Vidal appears to me very weak. Is 
 
 he wise in going through the ceremony? How does 
 
 he seem to you, my Mother? " 
 
 " He coughs terribly and spits blood. I asked the 
 doctor his opinion and he assured me the patient was 
 in a rapid consumption and that for him to go into 
 the open air was madness." 
 
 "When I— afterwards I shall perhaps be able to 
 persuade him to stay indoors." 
 
 " You will work miracles with him, my daughter, 
 I hope. Although he is a Frenchman, I cannot help 
 regretting that he should have been thus injured. He 
 is even now a handsome man. But it is the soul and 
 not the body we should admire and love in our frail 
 and sinful fellow-creatures." 
 
 Seraphine felt frightened and sad. She was per- 
 , suaded that both pity and gratitude demanded of her 
 the sacrifice she was about to make to Hector Vidal; 
 which was after all purely one of sentiment, and she 
 endeavoured to regard the coming marriage as a form 
 through which she would go quite mechanically. Yet 
 she was glad not to see him during the three days 
 which passed before the ceremony was to take place. 
 To her distress the Mother Superior would not permit 
 it to be private, declaring that as the scandal about 
 the Frenchman and Miss Dillon had been known to 
 everyone, it was right that the marriage should be 
 
 [350]
 
 A CHURCH MARRIAGE 
 
 equally public. In truth the life of the nuns at Santa 
 Engracia was now very dull. Formerly there had been 
 many more of them and they had received numbers of 
 pilgrims, many of them persons of fashion. The guer- 
 rilleros, who were now their only visitors, by no means 
 atoned for the absence of these, and a marriage, even 
 when the bridegroom was a Frenchman and the bride 
 a heretic, was an agreeable variety in the monotony of 
 their days. The trivial excitement, so agreeable to 
 the nuns and novices, was almost intolerable to Sera- 
 phine, lending, as it did, significance and importance 
 to an act which she desired and intended to have none. 
 She had imagined herself stealing quietly into the 
 chapel in her usual dress, and listening to a few pages 
 of Latin in the Padre's nasal voice, with a prostrate 
 and muffled invalid at her side. But officious hands 
 accommodated to her figure a dress of white crape, 
 which a little novice of high rank had left at the con- 
 vent, family circumstances having removed her just as 
 she was about to become the bride of the Church ; and 
 Seraphine was wanting either in the strength of mind 
 or the ill-nature to baulk the Sisters of the simple but 
 intoxicating pleasure of making her toilette. 
 
 The convent chapel, although a place of pilgrimages, 
 was not large. It had once been richly decorated in 
 the Bourbon taste, but time and the smoke of many 
 candles had subdued the gaudiness of its gilding and 
 its pictures, and nothing now glittered except the fine 
 crystal girandoles which hung from the high roof. 
 The yellow flames mounting steadily from their wax 
 tapers were scarcely superfluous, since the sky lowered 
 overhead and little daylight penetrated to the chapel. 
 Seraphine was not surprised to see it half full of nuns ; 
 
 [351]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 it was the figure which at her entrance rose from a 
 chair and stood before the altar, which gave her a 
 dreadful shock and made her feel that this was really 
 a wedding, that it was she who was about to be mar- 
 ried. Vidal had been carried to the door of the chapel, 
 but those long hours in the mountain air and the warm 
 sunshine which the village doctor bad declared must 
 hasten his doom, had done just the reverse. He stood 
 there pale indeed, but upright, a martial figure care- 
 fully dressed in his light blue regimental tunic only, 
 for his scarlet dolman had long since adorned the 
 shoulders of a guerrillero. Conscious of the discreetly 
 admiring eyes of the assemblage of women, the bride- 
 groom threw out his chest and stroked up his mous- 
 tache with his old air of the devourer of hearts. He 
 smiled at Seraphine, and she, moving as in an op- 
 pressive dream, saw through the delicate folds of her 
 bridal veil the old Hector Vidal, the Vidal of Paris, of 
 Bayonne, of Madrid, awaiting her at the altar. Yes, 
 it was at the altar, not indeed of her own Church, but 
 still at the altar of God, that she was about to be 
 solemnly united to a man for whom beneath the new 
 feelings of friendship, gratitude, pity, she felt the old 
 distaste yet stirring, yet capable of becoming dominant. 
 It was manifestly too late to withdraw, and, advanc- 
 ing to the altar, she went through the office with a 
 calmness and propriety which were generally admired. 
 But all the while she was haunted by the recollection 
 of a marriage at Fontainebleau which was the last at 
 which she had been present. She seemed to hear the 
 whisper of a young companion in her ear : 
 
 " To think that one day we also shall be brides like 
 Caroline ! " And her own emphatic reply : *' Never, 
 I never intend to be a bride." 
 
 [352]
 
 A CHURCH MARRIAGE 
 
 Truly she had never intended it. By what horrible 
 accident had she become one? If the faded chapel, the 
 priest, the nuns, above all the bridegroom had passed 
 through grotesque transformations and then melted 
 away, leaving her falling down abyss after abyss until 
 she opened her eyes in her own little bedroom at Fon- 
 tainebleau, it would have been much less strange and 
 surprising than the stability of the whole scene. Vidal 
 had permission to be seated during part of the service, 
 which was short, yet at the end he was completely ex- 
 hausted. He was supported to a couch in the Su- 
 perior's parlour and in busying herself about him in 
 his character of a sick man, Seraphine recovered the 
 shock of the marriage ceremony and reproached herself 
 for having lost sight of the grave reason which had 
 led her to go through it. But it must be admitted that 
 when the refection, which the Superior had prepared 
 for the young couple, arrived, the bridegroom did more 
 justice to it than the bride. Refreshed with food and 
 wine, he could have found it in his heart to be lover- 
 like, but from this his quick perceptions preserved him. 
 He adopted rather a tone of banal gaiety, bantering the 
 zeal of the good nuns and their hopes of converting a 
 heretic and an unbeliever. 
 
 " Imagine ! I was obliged to confess. I may be a 
 Catholic but I have never confessed in my life. And 
 my sins ! They are as numberless as the hairs of my 
 head. I did not know what the deuce to say." 
 
 " How did you come out of it ? " 
 
 " Sapristi! I can generally find my way across an 
 enemy's country. The priest spoke no French and I, 
 as you know, little Spanish. I opened the dialogue and 
 said : ' My Father, I am without doubt a great sinner. 
 
 [353]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 I have broken all the ten commandments except this,' 
 and I laid my finger on the fifth. ' On my honour as 
 a soldier, though I have killed Spaniards in battle, I 
 have never murdered a single one. No, I detest and 
 abhor the conduct of those who shoot and hang your 
 countrymen in cold blood.' After this the Confessor 
 very easily granted me absolution." 
 
 Yet once before they parted he spoke to her of that 
 bond between them, the reality of which neither of 
 them had fully realised until it was formed. 
 
 " Seraphine," he said abruptly, " the thing has been 
 more serious than we intended — and you regret hav- 
 ing become my wife in the eyes of the Church." 
 
 She murmured something vague. 
 
 " Yes, I see thou art sorry — but I am glad. For 
 now when thou standest before the altar with another, 
 thou wilt not be able to forget me. Console thyself, 
 my little Seraphine. I shall never be thy real husband 
 — yet thy real husband will never be thy first. That is 
 a little consolation for me. Do I not merit it? " 
 
 " Certainly you do," replied Seraphine, who was 
 staring sadly out of the window ; then turned and 
 tossed her chin with a sudden change of mood. " I 
 can give you more consolation than that, Monsieur le 
 Colonel. Listen ! Never again will I submit to make 
 a bridal toilette, never will I be a bride ! I have been 
 so once and that is enough. You are right — I do not 
 like it, and as to taking what you call a real husband, 
 I'll be hung before I do it. So, my friend, you have 
 no cause to be jealous, and Sapristi! no right either." 
 
 Vidal laughed low, his eyes caressing her; so 
 charming was the mutinous head poised delicately on 
 the slender throat, seen thus in the aureole of a slant 
 
 [354]
 
 A CHURCH MARRIAGE 
 
 ray of sunshine which touched its curls with gold. Ah, 
 if one could live and master this evasive creature that 
 like a half-tamed bird, seemed at one moment just un- 
 der the hand and at the next was swinging on a twig 
 high beyond arm's length ! He pushed the thick hair 
 impatiently from his forehead, and with closed eyes 
 tasted for a while the bitterness of death ; but when he 
 spoke again it was lightly. 
 
 ** Mademoiselle, my wife, dare I ask you to borrow 
 a pack of cards from the good sisters and to play a 
 game of piquet with me? If you would allow me to 
 make love to you, the least little bit in the world, I 
 could amuse myself admirably well, but since you will 
 not suffer that, it becomes your sad duty to amuse me, 
 and prevent my perishing prematurely of ennui." 
 
 But as time went on Hector Vidal's strong frame 
 manifestly revolted against the doctor's sentence of 
 death. There were days when cold winds penetrated 
 even into the sunny and sheltered garden of the con- 
 vent, and then the cough and its accompanying symp- 
 toms would return. But these relapses became less and 
 less severe. He could soon walk with a firm step and 
 developed an appetite which the Superior more than 
 half seriously declared would reduce the convent to 
 a state of famine. For what with guerrilleros in the 
 mountains, and armies in the plains, there was no great 
 plenty of food or wine in all Spain. With his return 
 of strength Vidal's imprisonment became more obvi- 
 ous, since three guerrilleros, who had been left in 
 charge of him in the absence of a larger body, took up 
 their quarters with him in the empty wing of the con- 
 vent. Yet they did no more than keep an eye on him 
 to prevent his escape. The presence of Seraphine 
 
 [355]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 made him as yet scarcely impatient to do so. That 
 she could be barbarous enough to wish the young man 
 ill rather than well, is not to be thought ; yet she pro- 
 foundly regretted the position into which the doctor's 
 mistake had led her. Nevertheless she found the so- 
 ciety of a keen-witted man, who had galloped half over 
 Europe and seen strange and amusing as well as ter- 
 rible things, much more entertaining than that of a set 
 of phenomenally ignorant and bigoted females. She 
 knew instinctively how to keep a certain distance be- 
 tween herself and Vidal, who on his part never startled 
 and seldom even momentarily annoyed her. He judged 
 Seraphine to be too deeply compromised by her rela- 
 tions with him to be able to withdraw from them at 
 will, and it was perhaps this certainty of her final sur- 
 render to his love which made it possible for him so 
 judiciously to subdue its expression. Of an evening 
 as he smoked the cigar of the country on his side of 
 the convent, he saw visions in its blue smoke. It be- 
 came the smoke of a battle-field out of which emerged 
 the figure of a Vidal resplendent with glory, standing 
 before his Emperor, who would say in a phrase he had 
 heard more than once — " Have you nothing to ask for, 
 Vidal ? " Then would he answer : " Yes, Sire. I ask 
 for Seraphine, for my dear wife." And the Emperor 
 with a smile would pinch his ear and reply in another 
 phrase which Vidal had heard before : " That is not 
 a great recompense to ask for services such as yours." 
 To one who has long lain in the twilight of sick- 
 ness the common light of day is a splendour, the most 
 ordinary activities and sensations are rapture. To 
 Vidal, both as lover and as convalescent, the confine- 
 ment of the convent had not had time to become dull 
 
 [356]
 
 A CHURCH MARRIAGE 
 
 before it was interrupted. One morning he heard out- 
 side his door a Hvely altercation being carried on be- 
 tween the Superior and other nuns and the guerrilleros, 
 his guards. He was quite unable to follow it, but from 
 the frequency with which the words " el f ranees " and 
 " los franccscs " occurred, he perceived it concerned 
 himself; and from the babel of tongues, augured some 
 event, good or bad. In truth General Thiebault, Gov- 
 ernor of Burgos, had cleverly stolen up the mountains 
 during the night and drawn a cordon round the con- 
 vent of Santa Engracia. The place was known to 
 be a favourite refuge of guerrilleros, and news had 
 reached the General that some French ofificer of im- 
 portance was a prisoner there. He had hoped to se- 
 cure at one blow a good number of Don Fernando's 
 band as well as the imprisoned Frenchman. It hap- 
 pened, however, that, although every peasant in the 
 village could transform himself into a gucrrillero at a 
 favourable moment, there were no professionals there 
 just then except those in charge of Vidal. These gen- 
 try, finding it impossible to get their prisoner clear 
 away, conceived it to be their duty to murder him 
 before concealing themselves. The nuns were alto- 
 gether opposed to this idea, from motives both of pru- 
 dence and humanity. Fortunately their protests pre- 
 vailed, not quite unaided it may be by the sharp sound 
 of French bugles without which sent the guerrilleros 
 flying towards their secret way of escape. Immediately 
 the Superior unlocked the prisoner's door, and followed 
 by a crowd of nuns with pale and disordered coun- 
 tenances, rushed in to implore Colonel Vidal's protec- 
 tion against the soldiery. Indeed no agony of terror 
 could be called unreasonable when French troops stood 
 at the gates of a Spanish convent. 
 
 [357]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 At the first sound of the bugle Vidal had pricked 
 up his ears. Plainly his comrades in arms were at 
 Santa Engracia. He had no difficulty in understand- 
 ing the Superior's meaning and speedily accompanied 
 her to the great gate, on which thunderous knocks were 
 already sounding. The trembling portress opened, and 
 eagerly, his head high and his step light, Hector Vidal 
 stepped out to meet half a battalion of French infantry 
 and a little group of glittering officers on horseback. 
 
 " Welcome to Santa Engracia, General ! " he shouted 
 with an irrepressible grin of delight at the sight of the 
 French uniforms. 
 
 " What ! It is you, Vidal 1 " cried General Thiebault, 
 in amazement. 
 
 " You did not then know I was here. General ? I 
 thought you had done me the compliment to come and 
 fetch me." 
 
 " You were reported killed in an ambuscade at that 
 devil of a Pancorbo. Let me embrace you. Colonel, 
 I congratulate you, I congratulate the Emperor on 
 your escape. You are an extraordinary man, your luck 
 is inexhaustible — you have as infallible a star as the 
 Emperor himself. Are there any other Frenchmen 
 here?" 
 
 " No one. I implore your protection. General, for 
 these religious ladies, who have been perfect to me 
 ever since I came here, desperately wounded, about two 
 months ago." 
 
 " I have come myself with the purpose of protecting 
 them. It is my intention to make all soldiers under 
 my command behave themselves with decency to the 
 inhabitants of the country — " then in an aside to Vidal 
 — " and devilish hard work I find it. These scoundrels 
 
 [358]
 
 A CHURCH MARRIAGE 
 
 force me to sleep with one eye open. But the brigands, 
 Colonel ? In what force shall we find them ? " 
 
 " General, I give you up with pleasure these gentle- 
 men. There are but three, and I doubt whether they 
 are still in the convent." 
 
 The General arranged for a thorough search of the 
 village and undertook himself the more delicate task 
 of searching the convent. He was an honest and a 
 merciful man, which made him if not unique yet ex- 
 ceptional among French generals commanding in 
 Spain. To appease the terror and the hate of the 
 Spaniards, to check the madness of pillage and blood- 
 shed which possessed the French army in the Penin- 
 sula, was a task to which he devoted himself unspar- 
 ingly and not unsuccessfully. 
 
 Vidal accompanied General Thiebault in his search. 
 He became somewhat disquieted at nowhere seeing 
 Seraphine, yet supposed she might have hidden herself, 
 from some absurd fear of being recognised. He had 
 no opportunity of making enquiries about her till after 
 the breakfast which was served to the General and his 
 officers in the parlour. The Superior on being ques- 
 tioned, started and crossed herself. She had till that 
 moment forgotten that very early in the morning Sis- 
 ter Marta was to take some candles and flowers to a 
 certain shrine in a little chapel which stood without 
 the convent, at the head of the pilgrims' way up the 
 mountain. Seraphine, who seized every opportunity 
 for going beyond the precincts of the convent, had 
 volunteered to go with her. They must have gone 
 out at dawn, when all the convent was asleep, and ap- 
 parently they had not returned. When Vidal under- 
 stood he could scarcely control his agitation enough 
 
 [359]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 to ask the General as though in the name of the Su- 
 perior, whether anything had been seen of the two 
 women. 
 
 " Ah, in effect ! " cried Thiebault, striking his fore- 
 head, " I have done ill to forget these ladies. We met 
 them just as we reached the top of the mountain and 
 were compelled to seize them, lest they should alarm 
 the village. I locked them myself into the little chapel 
 there, as much to protect them against my own rascals 
 as for any other reason. Let the Superior set them 
 free as soon as she wishes." 
 
 He drew out a key which Vidal pocketed. 
 
 There was little time for farewells or politenesses, 
 since it was the General's intention to search some other 
 villages in the surrounding country without delay. A 
 junior officer yielded his horse to Vidal in considera- 
 tion of his rank and his recent wounds, and parting in 
 all courtesy and kindness from the nuns, he followed 
 General Thiebault and the French troops as far as the 
 top of the paved and zigzag way by which the pil- 
 grims had been wont to climb to Santa Engracia. 
 There the small chapel stood up white-walled, red- 
 roofed against a blue background of distant plain and 
 mountain. The soldiers were in front of him, and it 
 was in order that all might have time to dip below 
 the hill-top and be out of sight, that Vidal stood so 
 long fumbling at the lock of the chapel door. When 
 he opened it the Sister was on her knees before the al- 
 tar, while Seraphine, seated on a bench, awaited with 
 frightened eyes the opening of the door. It was a 
 relief to both to see Vidal and to hear from him that 
 the French soldiers were gone and had done no dam- 
 age at the convent. The Sister willingly hurried away, 
 
 [360]
 
 A CHURCH MARRIAGE 
 
 scarcely feeling herself safe so long as there was a 
 Frenchman within a mile. But Seraphine remained 
 behind, feeling that at this parting something had to 
 be said, yet not perfectly knowing what that something 
 should be. Hector Vidal, his horse's bridle over his 
 arm, one foot on the steps of the chapel where she 
 stood, waited also. 
 
 " You are going away ? " she asked^ at length. 
 
 " Yes, my love," he breathed. 
 
 On other days he had said " my friend " and even 
 that seldom. They were silent and he took her small 
 hand. It was passive and he stroked the slender fingers 
 out on the palm of his own, which was not small but 
 smooth, finely shaped, more beautiful in its manly way. 
 Her hand lay in his a while before either spoke. 
 
 Then very softly and humbly he asked: 
 
 " Have I been good to thee, Seraphine ? " 
 
 " Yes, Hector," she whispered. 
 
 It was the first time she had called him by his name, 
 and he looked up quickly. 
 
 " Dost thou love me a little? Say." 
 
 She sighed and looked down. All the answer was 
 there. He too sighed ; then coaxed her, but plaintively. 
 
 " What ! Thou dost not love me, not the least little 
 bit in the world ? Ungrateful ! When I love thee as 
 never any woman in the world was loved. Ah, but it 
 cannot do thee any harm, my angel, to love me a lit- 
 tle. Thou hast not even tried. Only let me hear thee 
 say, ' I love thee. Hector.' I will not believe it too 
 much, I swear to thee. I will not make thee afraid, 
 my treasure. I only want to hear thee say ' Hector, 
 I love thee.' " 
 
 " I love thee well, Hector — but not love's way." 
 
 [361]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 The words were rather moaned than spoken, and 
 speaking she closed her eyes because he looked too 
 deeply into them. 
 
 " Child ! Thou dost not know " — by now he had 
 both her hands. " Listen, Seraphine. It is not only 
 that I love thee a thousand times more than ever I 
 loved another, but it is different. To me thou art my 
 wife — in all my thoughts, in the depth of my heart, al- 
 ways my wife. It is a superstition — yes, without 
 doubt, but I cannot help it — it is like that. And thou ? 
 Before thy reason, before thy conscience, because I 
 dare not say in thy heart, what am I to thee, Sera- 
 phine? Nothing? Absolutely nothing?" 
 
 She trembled, still evading the question of the eyes 
 and lips. " Surely not that. No, assuredly." 
 
 "What then?" 
 
 " We have been blessed together at the altar — I could 
 not become the wife of another." 
 
 " Unless I am killed — which may always happen." 
 
 " Hush ! Do not say those things." 
 
 " Thou dost not wish me to die ? No, thou art too 
 good and gentle. But why canst thou not marry an- 
 other if I am not thy husband ? " 
 
 " Ah, you know ! It was only in Church — to you 
 it is nothing. You are free." 
 
 " But I want to be free to love you. Do you mean 
 that you hold yourself my wife ? " 
 
 '' A little— not much." 
 
 " Child, adorable child ! " and he kissed her hands 
 repeatedly. " Do you not see that what has been be- 
 gun must be ended ? Be reasonable — think of it. Our 
 marriage was no secret, and you cannot remain in such 
 a situation, married as you say, only a little." 
 
 ' [362]
 
 A CHURCH MARRIAGE 
 
 " But how can it be helped ? You cannot stay here 
 and I cannot put myself in the power of the Emperor." 
 
 " Ah <;a ! The Emperor ! That will soon be ar- 
 ranged. Do you think a great man like our Emperor 
 will remember such a trifle forever? He shall give 
 me back all his favour before long. Yes, I mean to 
 perform prodigies in Germany, to conquer at one blow 
 my Emperor and the enemy, or to die. And I believe 
 my destiny will be to conquer — for I have always had 
 a lucky star. How pale thou art ! Dost thou wish me 
 rather to die, my angel? No? Then I shall return. 
 I am thinking of your honour, my dear child, as well 
 as of my own happiness." 
 
 " But it is horrible ! I never wanted to be married." 
 
 " Is it really horrible to be loved thus ? Look, Sera- 
 phine ! See, I am on my knees. Is it so horrible to 
 be loved to adoration ? Am I not thy friend who seeks 
 to protect thee against a world which is too hard for 
 thee all alone, poor little one? Thou art weak and I 
 am strong — take me for thy husband, Seraphine. I 
 cannot guess what thou hast against me, since I am 
 certain thou dost not love another; but at least thou 
 knowest I do not boast when I say I have the heart of 
 a man to love thee, the arm of a man to defend thee 
 against the whole world." 
 
 " I do know it. I have not forgotten you, Hector, 
 in the garden at Valladolid." 
 
 He smiled, almost laughed, for as in the garden at 
 Valladolid, she gave him her eyes warm with admir- 
 ing gratitude. 
 
 " Fichtrc! The little Labourdonnaye ! That was 
 nothing. But I would defend thee against the Em- 
 peror himself, our great Emperor whom I put above 
 everything in the world, except my love for thee." 
 
 [363]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 " I cannot sacrifice you — for he will never pardon 
 
 me. 
 
 " What a woman's fancy ! To him it was such a lit- 
 tle thing, he will pardon simply by forgetting. All that 
 is my affair, I shall know how to arrange it." 
 
 He paused, and then with a smile, a voice that ca- 
 ressed, asked : 
 
 " What art thou, Seraphine ? Tell me again. My 
 wife a little, not much ? " 
 
 " A very little." 
 
 " If thou knewest how charming thou art with thy 
 * a very little ' ! Well, for the moment that will do, 
 but not for always. One day I shall make thee an- 
 swer, ' Thy wife altogether, thy wife who loves thee.' 
 Thou knowest not how to love, dear angel, but I will 
 teach thee. Oh, very gently ! I will not frighten thee, 
 my poor little Seraphine. Nevertheless, Madame, I 
 have seen you kiss a young officer who was not your 
 husband even a little, a man you saw for the first time 
 in your life. Do not cry out, do not be indignant, for 
 I admit he was a dead man. But who knows? I also 
 may soon be dead and you will not be there to kiss me. 
 So since I am thy husband a little, I will take a kiss 
 of thee ; but very gently." 
 
 He kissed her softly on the forehead and hair and 
 hands. Then drawing the corner of a white handker- 
 chief from his breast : " See, I wear it always on my 
 heart, and on my lips I shall wear this kiss until we 
 meet again. I swear fidelity to thee, Seraphine, and 
 on thy part I trust thee not to betray me, not even " — 
 and here he forced a smile — " though the Sergeant 
 should renew that fine offer of marriage thou wert 
 rash enough to reject." 
 
 [364]
 
 A CHURCH MARRIAGE 
 
 " Make yourself easy, Colonel, since the Sergeant 
 is the only soupirant I can boast of in the whole world, 
 except yourself. Yet if it gives you pleasure, I will- 
 ingly swear the most complete fidelity to you. Adieu, 
 Hector. I thank thee from my heart for thy love, which 
 is far beyond anything I deserve, and I will try, indeed 
 I will try if thou shouldst return, to love thee better." 
 
 " I shall return, Seraphine. Adieu." 
 
 " May God protect thee, Hector." 
 
 He mounted his horse and rode slowly away, keep- 
 ing his eyes fixed on her and waving his hand once or 
 twice, till the dip of the path under a crest of rock hid 
 him from her sight. Further down the hill the depart- 
 ing troops once more emerged into view, following the 
 zigzags of the pilgrims' way. The blue uniforms, the 
 bright bayonets glittered in the sunshine against the 
 vivid emerald, here velvet deep, there thin to transpar- 
 ency, with which April was overspreading the red earth 
 of the broad valley. A flock of large white clouds was 
 gently sailing the clear blue of heaven, and as their 
 broad shadows passed over mountain and plain, every 
 detail of the distant prospect, square towers, and clus- 
 tered trees, lines of poplars yet wearing their first 
 spring gold, red roofs, white roads and shining river, 
 showed with peculiar distinctness in the pursuing radi- 
 ance of the morning sun. 
 
 Seraphine remained on the steps of the chapel and 
 looked upon the scene rather with the outward than 
 the inward eye. This was but for some few minutes, 
 for then a rapid clatter of hoofs sounded up the paved 
 path and round the crest of rock where he had dis- 
 appeared came Vidal at a gallop. Foam flew from his 
 panting horse's bit as he checked it at the steps of 
 
 [365]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 the chapel ; and Seraphine saw his face wet with 
 tears. 
 
 " Seraphine ! " he cried, and his voice was hoarse 
 and low, " my wife ! No — it is too much — I cannot 
 leave thee thus. Perhaps I shall never see thee again. 
 Come^ embrace me, my beloved, come let me hold thee 
 in my arms, for I love thee, I love thee, a thousand 
 times better than life." 
 
 He had edged his horse close up to the steps. 
 
 " Put thy foot upon mine," he commanded, and she 
 obeyed. In a moment he had swung her up before 
 him and snatched her to his heart. He clasped the 
 fragile girl to his breast with violence, with the knotted 
 strength of an arm as steely as the sword it was so 
 prompt to wield. His furious kisses seemed to devour 
 the flower-soft face on which they fell, leaving no spot 
 on brow or eyes or mouth or cheeks unpressed by his 
 lips. And still between the kisses he whispered pas- 
 sionate endearments. At length he dropped her re- 
 luctantly to the ground, his lips still on her hair as he 
 set her on her feet. 
 
 " Adieu," he sighed, " adieu " — struck spurs into 
 his horse's sides, and without a look behind went clat- 
 tering breakneck down the pilgrims' way. 
 
 Neither did Seraphine look after him. At the mo- 
 ment he turned his back she fled into the chapel. Pres- 
 ently the Superior found her there sobbing on the altar 
 steps, her head upon her knees. 
 
 " Pohrecita!" said the kind Mother softly; "we 
 will pray to the Blessed Virgin to give her back 
 her dear husband very soon." 
 
 But the Mother Superior knew not what was in the 
 heart of Seraphine. 
 
 [366]
 
 XXII 
 
 SERAPHINE A WIDOW 
 
 IT was a warm night of May ; a festal night it 
 might have been supposed, for the windows of the 
 hunting-lodge on the Island of Lobau were ablaze 
 with lights, and on the moonlit turf without lounged 
 and loitered a party of young men, whose laughter 
 and song startled the sleeping birds in the flowery 
 thicket which breathed sweet scents about them. 
 
 Vous me quittez pour aller a la gloire, 
 Mon tendre coeur suivra partout vos pas . . . 
 
 The fresh tenor voice, the fresh vibrating sentiment 
 of youth poured themselves out through the worn ro- 
 mance of Queen Hortense till it seemed to lend a 
 tongue to all the silver mystery, the hidden life and 
 sweetness of the night. Nevertheless there was a dis- 
 tant accompaniment to it very different from the zither 
 which a young Bavarian officer sat cross-legged on the 
 grass to play ; it was the roar of the mighty Danube, 
 swollen with months of rain and the melting of far-off 
 snows. This inarticulate roar which the picnic party 
 heeded little enough, said ominous things in the ears 
 of the Emperor who, chin on breast, sat within there, 
 where the light was pouring from the windows. The 
 engineers and the sailors of the Guard would be work- 
 ing all night to strengthen the pontoon bridge which 
 was the only connecting link between his vanguard and 
 the main body of his troops. What if the river fought 
 better for Austria than her generals, and taking him in 
 
 [367]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 the flank, cut his army in two while his van was en- 
 gaged with the enemy ? Part of his army, face to face 
 with the Austrians, held Aspern and EssHng on the 
 left bank of the Danube, another part was on the broad 
 Island of Lobau, a third at Ebersdorf on the Southern 
 bank. At the best the passage of the troops across the 
 narrow improvised bridges which linked Lobau with 
 the mainland on either side, must be slow. It was mor- 
 tifying to be conscious that if victory were once more 
 to be his to-morrow he must owe it to the valour of 
 his soldiers and the mistakes of the Austrian Arch- 
 duke, rather than to his own genius. The Emperor was 
 out of temper with himself, and therefore much more 
 out of temper with other people. Even Lannes could 
 scarcely approach him. But the electrical state of the 
 atmosphere inside the hunting-lodge did not interfere 
 with the merriment of the party on the lawn, any more 
 than did the cognisance of impending battle. Yet when 
 the returning moon should again throw those fretted 
 shadows of twig and leaf upon the turf^ but few of 
 those who laughed and sang beneath them would yet 
 be living ; and when a second time she should rise 
 upon this pleasant lawn, fewer still would they be who 
 did not lie in bloody graves. 
 
 The moon was higher, the zither, away by itself, was 
 twanging a plaintive German volkslied, strangely at 
 variance with the gay chatter which had superseded 
 singing among the group of aides-de-camp. 
 
 *' Break of day, break of day. 
 Soon to death ihou'lt light the way" 
 
 The zither twanged sharp and clear through a burst 
 of noisy laughter ; but no one heeded it, for D'Albu- 
 
 [368]
 
 SERAPHINE A WIDOW 
 
 querque was in the midst of one of those droll stories 
 which he always contrived to manufacture out of his 
 experiences of Love and War. Then the zither be- 
 gan softly: 
 
 " Were I a bird, my love, 
 Swiftly I'dfiy to thee " 
 
 And someone who knew the tune, replied, whistling 
 it still more softly. But this was not one of the laugh- 
 ing group. He came out of the turf pathway near the 
 entrance of which the zither-player was seated, and ap- 
 proached D'AIbuquerque unobserved, until he had laid 
 his hand on the young man's shoulder and greeted 
 him. DAlbuquerque sprung to his feet, and, with an 
 exclamation embraced the new-comer on both cheeks. 
 
 " It is then you, my dear Vidal ! " he cried. " At 
 last ! Everyone believed you were dead except my- 
 self, but I was convinced your star had not so soon 
 deserted you." 
 
 Nearly all the party were comrades in arms of Vidal's 
 and they clustered about him with questions and con- 
 gratulations. He had been reported killed in the de- 
 file of Pancorbo, but lately a courier from General 
 Thiebault had brought news of his recapture from 
 the " brigands." When the first burst of congratula- 
 tion was over, Vidal asked DAlbuquerque to announce 
 his arrival to Marshal Lannes, who was quartered in 
 the hunting-lodge with the Emperor. The two young 
 men entered the house. The Emperor and the Marshal 
 were together in a bare parlour, hung round with ant- 
 lers, cross-bows, and more modern weapons of the 
 chase. DAlbuquerque went in first to announce 
 Vidal's arrival and came out making a face. 
 
 [369]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 " I don't envy you," he said. " Our little great man's 
 in a deuce of a temper." 
 
 " He can at any rate find nothing to scold me about 
 yet." 
 
 D'Albuquerque shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " Don't be too sure, my dear fellow. When one is 
 angry, one is angry." 
 
 Dropping this encouragement he departed, leaving 
 Hector Vidal to enter the Emperor's presence with that 
 little thrill of awe of which custom had not yet robbed 
 him. Yet the circumstances under which he had 
 parted from his sovereign gave him reason to think 
 that whatever the Imperial mood, he at any rate could 
 not be regarded with disfavour. He knocked at the 
 door, made his entrance smiling, yet modest, prepared 
 to receive with disclaimers of all merit such praise 
 and thanks as his Majesty might feel moved to bestow 
 for the prescience, the loyal devotion he had exhibited 
 at Pancorbo. Lannes indeed sprung to his feet, seized 
 the young man's hands with effusion, would have em- 
 braced him but for the Emperor's presence. But the 
 Emperor himself did not so much as move his head. 
 Sitting chin on breast, he looked at Vidal with a side 
 look under his brows. 
 
 " You are here, Vidal," he said at length. " Where 
 have you been hiding yourself all this time? " 
 
 " Your Majesty does not then know? I was severely 
 wounded by the brigands at Pancorbo and taken pris- 
 oner. Happily for me I was scarcely recovered enough 
 to bear arms before General Thiebault rescued me, and 
 here I am just in time to take part in your Majesty's 
 great victory to-morrow. What luck." 
 
 " You say you were wounded by brigands?" asked 
 the Emperor coldly. 
 
 [37.0]
 
 SERAPHINE A WIDOW 
 
 " Yes, Sire." 
 
 " Well, that is a lie." 
 
 Vidal started and stared at the Emperor in as much 
 amazement as indignation. 
 
 "Sire?" 
 
 " You were wounded by my faithful servant Mah- 
 moud, whom you attacked while he was endeavouring 
 to perform his duty. I know it. This Turk never lies.'* 
 
 " No, Sire, but he may be mistaken." 
 
 " How mistaken ? You wish me to believe it was 
 not you whom, irritated by this treacherous attack on 
 a comrade in the face of the enemy, he struck to the 
 earth with his sabre? Yes, you see the good, honest 
 Turk told me the whole story. His conscience, more 
 tender, it appears, than your own, reproached him with 
 having killed a Frenchman, one who was formerly a 
 good Frenchman." 
 
 " Sire, that I was wounded by a bullet is a fact 
 which, with your permission, Dr. Larrey can easily 
 prove. It is quite true that I struck the Turk on the 
 hand, and that he gave me in return a blow on the 
 head with the flat of the sabre which might easily have 
 killed me." 
 
 " You confess then that the Mameluke speaks the 
 truth?" 
 
 " Yes, Sire, but I would also offer an explanation," 
 
 " Ah, that is unnecessary ! Your Englishwoman 
 again, and always your Englishwoman ! What an in- 
 fatuation. You are a lost man, I tell you." 
 
 The Emperor rose to his feet, his eyes began to glit- 
 ter, his veins to swell. 
 
 " The Turk, Sire, is honest, but he is a savage. He 
 was dragging this unfortunate girl by the hair. Sire, 
 
 [371]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 I ask you, was it possible for a Frenchman, for a civil- 
 ised man to see a woman treated in this way and to 
 permit it. Marshal — " Vidal turned with a move- 
 ment of appeal to Lannes — " I ask you ! " 
 
 " If that is true, Vidal " 
 
 " Absolutely true. Figure to yourself, Marshal, a 
 young girl shrieking with terror and agony in the hands 
 of a barbarian." 
 
 " Permit me to tell you, Sire," interposed Lannes 
 firmly, " that I should have done the same thing my- 
 self, under the circumstances." 
 
 The Emperor sneered. 
 
 " He does not say. Marshal, that this girl is an Eng- 
 Hsh spy, a hireling of British gold, with whom, in spite 
 of my warnings, he is ridiculously in love. Look, 
 Vidal — " he turned almost fiercely upon the young man. 
 " I do not think you altogether a traitor — " Vidal broke 
 in with an agitated exclamation — " No, I tell you, not 
 altogether. It is true you were in a conspiracy to res- 
 cue this prisoner, you showed the utmost indifference 
 to the fate of your comrades in comparison to hers ; 
 but I will do you justice — you shrunk from the last 
 treason, the betrayal of your Emperor." 
 
 Vidal was ghastly pale. 
 
 " Sire," he said slowly, " I swear by all I hold most 
 sacred, by the flag, by yourself, that I did not so much 
 as know this girl was at Pancorbo. My anxiety for 
 your Majesty's person was great, but it had no special 
 cause. We are always timid for those we " 
 
 The Emperor's fury was becoming ungovernable. 
 
 " Silence, Colonel ! If it were not that by giving 
 me your own horse you saved me from the conse- 
 quences of your treachery, I would send you instantly 
 
 [372]
 
 SERAPHINE A WIDOW 
 
 before a court-martial. Explain, if you can, why these 
 brigands, who seldom keep prisoners alive, took the 
 trouble to transport to a distance and carefully tend 
 a wounded man." 
 
 " The girl whom I had rescued, Sire, was not hard- 
 hearted enough to abandon me, and Mademoiselle Car- 
 mona, who has perhaps more influence over her coun- 
 trymen than your Majesty imagines, also spoke in my 
 favour," 
 
 " So you wish now to throw suspicion on another 
 woman, the victim of your passion for this abominable 
 English spy. Mademoiselle Carmona is said to be 
 still a prisoner — but I have no time to attend to such 
 details. Listen, Colonel. As my aide-de-camp you are 
 already superseded. Rejoin your regiment, you will 
 find it at the front, and to-morrow let me have good 
 news of it." 
 
 Even in this moment of rage the Emperor did not 
 forget that Vidal's very despair might be utilised; if 
 it were not so profound as to lead him into mere reck- 
 lessness, it would stimulate his powers. The unfortu- 
 nate ex-aide-de-camp seemed to have lost the power 
 of speech and motion. He stood there white and still 
 as a statue, with miserable, incredulous eyes fixed upon 
 his angry and unjust divinity. In a minute the Em- 
 peror, who was taking short turns in the room, stamped 
 his foot. 
 
 " Go, I tell you ! " he cried. 
 
 Vidal made no reply. He slowly took off the decora- 
 tions on his breast and slowly approached the Emperor, 
 Then sinking on one knee he held them out, and spoke 
 in a low hoarse voice, 
 
 " Take them, my Emperor. Your own hands placed 
 
 [373J
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 them on my breast. To-morrow I will merit both in a 
 single battle. If you have proof that I have done so, 
 will you replace them ? " 
 
 " Your Emperor will do that," said Lannes quickly. 
 " He is not unjust." 
 
 The Emperor bowed his head in an assent which 
 his reason forbade him to refuse. Oblivious of eti- 
 quette, Vidal rose to his feet, and turning his back 
 upon his sovereign quitted the room slowly, uncer- 
 tainly, almost as a man struck blind. 
 
 Lannes was left alone with the Emperor. He laid 
 his hand on the shoulder of his terrible friend. 
 " Sire," he said gravely, " I lied." 
 "You, Lannes? When did you lie?" 
 " When I said your Majesty was not unjust." 
 
 Napoleon compared his position on the left bank of 
 the Danube to an entrenched camp, having the villages 
 of Aspern and Essling as its bastions. But the dif- 
 ference was that there were no entrenchments, except 
 where the walls and buildings of the villages, and still 
 more the banks which had been thrown up to protect 
 them from flood, served as such. The centre, a space 
 of several miles between the villages, was undefended 
 except by cavalry and artillery, which in the earlier 
 part of the battle were not in sufficient strength to 
 have resisted a determined attack on the part of the 
 Austrians. That such a determined attack was never 
 made was chiefly the fault of the Archduke Charles, 
 who seemed almost as one afraid to grasp the victory 
 offered him by the imprudence of his great opponent. 
 But it was also partly the merit of Colonel Vidal. It 
 was he who more than once, when the Austrian ar- 
 
 [374]
 
 SERAPHINE A WIDOW 
 
 tillery and cavalry showed signs of massing on this 
 weak front, scattered them by charges, which he led 
 with an intelligence, a brilliant gallantry which even 
 he had scarcely before equalled. In the neighbour- 
 hood of his regiment, when it had retired behind the 
 guns for a well-earned repose, went forward that vio- 
 lent quarrel between Bessieres and Lannes, which was 
 arj incident of the day even more untoward than the 
 repeated breaking of the pontoon bridge. More ill- 
 omened, because it showed the eventual outcome of 
 the personal emulation, the love of personal glory 
 which Napoleon encouraged among his officers. Truly 
 the children of this world do not always prove to have 
 been wiser in their generation than the children of 
 light. But in the very heat of this fierce quarrel 
 Lannes did not forget to turn to Vidal and cry that 
 however the rest of the cavalry under Marshal Bes- 
 sieres' orders might have been handled, here at least 
 was an officer who had used his own discretion and 
 always charged home, ay home, with the most brill- 
 iant results. Marshal Lannes congratulated the regi- 
 ment on its valour and on the possession of so admir- 
 able a Colonel. Brief was its repose. In death or 
 disablement alone could the soldier hope to find rest 
 on that day. Backwards and forwards, like wrestlers 
 locked in some grim death-struggle, swayed Austrians 
 and French, in and out of the villages of Aspern and 
 Essling, now one uppermost, now the other, neither 
 ever really overthrown. The burning ruins of the 
 broad streets would be swept by a rush of Aus- 
 trians, who scarcely had time to cry '' Victory " be- 
 fore, through the flames, trampling alike the living 
 and the dead, would come at the double a resistless 
 
 [375]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 mass of French infantry, who in their turn had hardly 
 made themselves masters of the smoking charnel- 
 house, building themselves fortifications of half-burnt 
 corpses, when the wild Hungarian grenadiers would 
 burst like a tempest upon them, driving them out over 
 the ever-growing heaps of disfigured slain and shriek- 
 ing wounded, until they in their turn struggled back, 
 caught up in some fresh flux of the tide of battle. 
 Meantime, in the centre the French cavalry again and 
 again charged the Austrian artillery, while very slowly 
 the bulk of their own guns were being dragged over 
 the pontoon bridge, which sunk beneath their weight 
 till a foot of water was running over it. 
 
 At length night fell, leaving the French in posses- 
 sion of the ruins of Aspern and Essling and giving 
 to the soldiers on both sides a few hours of respite 
 from the infernal conflict. On the French side troops 
 continued all night to pass over the bridges lighted 
 across the rushing, glittering water by a moon at the 
 full, while at no great distance the glare of the burn- 
 ing villages, where the living as well as the dead were 
 consumed in the resistless flames, reddened the pale 
 sky and the trampled fields of wheat. It was among 
 the trampled wheat that Vidal lay down, pillowed on 
 his mare Fatmeh ; but not before he had assisted to 
 bury young D'Albuquerque and two other members 
 of the joyous party which had sung and laughed on 
 the lawn of the hunting-lodge twenty-four hours ear- 
 lier. For himself, he could not but have confidence 
 in his star. It had brought him through the most 
 terrible six hours of combat and carnage that even he 
 had seen since, a truant lad of sixteen, he had joined 
 the armies of the Republic. He had not spared him- 
 
 [376]
 
 SERAPHINE A WIDOW 
 
 self, he had been everywhere amid the hail of bullets, 
 the lightning of swords ; yet he had not a scratch on 
 him. At the close of the day Lannes had sent for 
 him to tell him affectionately not to be dispirited, for 
 his crosses would soon be on his breast again ; and 
 Bessieres, Lannes' mortal enemy, had said to him in a 
 moment of enthusiasm that his return to his regiment 
 had been worth half a battalion to it. These six tre- 
 mendous hours, if they could not heal the wound in 
 his heart which his Emperor had made, had at least 
 dulled its pain, in the same way that an interval of 
 six years might have done. And lying there on the 
 field, in spite of the odours of slaughter and con- 
 flagration which those of the May night could not 
 quench, he gazed at the climbing moon and enter- 
 tained, as though it had never occurred to anyone be- 
 fore, the stale, old^, lover's thought — how, far away as 
 she was, Seraphine also might be looking at that same 
 silver shield of the moon. And in his fancy he kissed 
 her; so fell asleep. 
 
 In the grey dawn, when the red fires of Aspern 
 and Essling had given place to thick creeping smoke, 
 the boom of guns announced the renewal of battle. 
 The Emperor had by this time brought over large 
 reinforcements from the right bank, in spite of the 
 breaches made from time to time in his pontoon bridge 
 by trees and boats carried down by the rising river. 
 The Archduke, perceiving his mistake of the preced- 
 ing day, endeavoured to force his way through the 
 French centre to the head of the bridge; but it was 
 too late, for the Emperor had doubled the number of 
 his troops and strengthened his artillery. His defence 
 was turned into an attack, which under the command 
 
 [377]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 of Lannes seemed about to be completely victorious, 
 when a floating mill, launched on the stream by the 
 Austrians, made so vast a breach in his bridge, cut- 
 ting him oflf from his stores of ammunition and his 
 reinforcements, that he dared not continue the advance. 
 Thus on the second day, as on the first, the tide of 
 battle swayed backwards and forwards, the slaughter 
 terrific, the result indecisive. From dawn till even- 
 ing shadows were long it raged, and all the while the 
 capture and recapture of the smoking ruins which 
 had once been the villages of Aspern and Essling con- 
 tinued, monotonous in its horror. Once more Vidal, 
 at the head of his regiment, had been the right hand 
 of Bessieres, and once more he had emerged from the 
 whirling press of the battle, not merely safe, but with- 
 out the smallest wound, though tattered and stained 
 with the blood of friend and foe alike. At length he 
 received orders from the Emperor himself to with- 
 draw his decimated and exhausted regiment to the 
 rear and pass over as soon as might be to the Island 
 of Lobau, for thither Napoleon had decided to with- 
 draw his whole army as soon as night had put an end 
 to the battle. But it was evident that the regiment's 
 passage on to the island would not be so easily accom- 
 plished. The crowd about the single narrow bridge 
 which connected it with the battle-field was dense. 
 Ammunition, borne across from the opposite bank, 
 clashed there with a continuous stream of wounded 
 men brought in from the front. Meantime the crowd 
 on the left bank was momently increased by the ar- 
 rival of wounded, some borne in cloaks or on stretchers, 
 others leaning on a comrade's shoulder, others stag- 
 gering forward unassisted. But few at a time could 
 
 [378]
 
 SERAPHINE A WIDOW 
 
 enter even the entrenchment which protected the head 
 of the bridge, and fewer still cross the stream, which 
 was growing ever fuller and more furious. Dis- 
 mounted cuirassiers were seen throwing away cuirass 
 and boots to be less encumbered in the press, wounded 
 horses struggled among wounded men to quench their 
 thirst at the river's edge, and often both alike were 
 washed away by the remorseless current or tangled 
 in the cordage of the bridge. Groans and cries of 
 anguish — for within the entrenchments the doctors 
 were at work — arose from every side, almost drown- 
 ing the more distant thunder of battle. Vidal and 
 his regiment stood awaiting the moment when they 
 might hope to cross, and watching, with eyes which 
 even custom could not render perfectly callous to such 
 a sight, the dreadful and endless procession of wounded 
 arriving through a small wood. Suddenly Vidal ut- 
 tered a low exclamation. Two grenadiers came by 
 carrying an improvised stretcher made of branches 
 with their leaves yet on them. Aides-de-camp, pale 
 and agitated, walked at the head and at the foot, and 
 among the bright young greenery of the leaves showed 
 the ghastly face of Marshal Lannes. Vidal leapt from 
 his horse and flew to the side of the stretcher, which, 
 in spite of the efforts of the aides-de-camp, was com- 
 pelled to pause outside the entrenchment. 
 
 " Marshal ! " he cried. " You are wounded ! I trust 
 it is nothing serious." 
 
 " No, no," replied Lannes. " It is very painful, but 
 it is after all only my legs. It might have been my 
 head." And he made a convulsive attempt to smile. 
 
 " Alas, what a misfortune for us ! We cannot do 
 without you, Marshal ! " 
 
 [379]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 " No one is necessary, Colonel, so long as the Em- 
 peror is there. Whatever happens I shall not forget 
 to press your claims upon him as a brave and loyal 
 Frenchman and, m.oreover, a cavalry officer of the 
 first rank," 
 
 Lannes' voice sank, he closed his eyes, and his brow 
 was wrinkled with pain. Vidal bent over him and 
 pressed his hand. 
 
 " Thanks, thanks. Marshal ! May you soon be on 
 your feet again to serve the Emperor and to be the 
 glory of the French army ! " 
 
 There was a movement in the crowd ; the grena- 
 diers took up the stretcher and passed within the en- 
 trenchment. Presently, from where he was placed, 
 Vidal saw the Emperor's physician, Dr. Larrey, push- 
 ing his way across the bridge from the island, fol- 
 lowed by Dr. Yvan. Soon afterwards there was that 
 hush, that thrill among the soldiers which even in such 
 moments of hurry and tension preluded the arrival of 
 the Emperor. The Emperor trotted up, did not notice 
 the salute of the soldiers, but dropped to his feet some- 
 what heavily and entered the entrenchment, without 
 looking either to the right or to the left. After a while 
 he came out again. His face showed signs of great 
 emotion, and his white waistcoat was stained with 
 blood, the blood of his friend, perhaps the only real 
 friend he had in the world. He mounted his horse 
 hastily, then, as if struck by a sudden recollection, 
 paused and looked round him. Almost immediately 
 he saw Vidal and beckoned. Vidal advanced. 
 
 " Colonel," said the Emperor, " that excellent Mar- 
 shal — whom it gives me so much pain to see severely 
 wounded — has spoken to m'e about you. For the rest, 
 
 [380]
 
 SERAPHINE A WIDOW 
 
 I have seen with my own eyes how admirably you 
 and your brave fellows have acquitted yourselves, both 
 yesterday and to-day. You are all heroes. Do not 
 forget to come and find me on the island this evening ; 
 I shall be there shortly." 
 
 Vidal's face glowed. 
 
 " You do us too much honour, Sire. Where is the 
 coward that would not be willing to die a thousand 
 deaths for your Majesty and for the honour of France ?" 
 
 And along the regiment there hummed a deep " Vive 
 rEmpcrcur." 
 
 " Good, very good ! " exclaimed the Emperor in a 
 tone of gratification ; so saluted and rode away. 
 
 Shortly afterwards he returned and crossed the 
 bridge to Lobau. Vidal, taking advantage of the mo- 
 mentary pause occasioned by his passage, got his regi- 
 ment over after the Emperor. As he passed through 
 the entrenchment he caught sight of Lannes lying 
 almost senseless in the arms of his aide-de-camp, and 
 learned that the Marshal's leg had been amputated 
 and he was about to be carried to the hunting-lodge 
 of Lobau. 
 
 At the front, the indeterminate battle had slack- 
 ened on both sides, though the Austrian batteries con- 
 tinued to fire fitfully. Having seen his men encamped 
 in a meadow, sheltered by large trees from a possible 
 salute from the batteries of Enzersdorf, Vidal rode ofif 
 towards the hunting-lodge, both to enquire after the 
 Marshal and to catch the Emperor while their last 
 interview was still fresh in his mind, lest there should 
 be any lapse of the Imperial memory, such as was 
 known sometimes to occur. The greater part of the 
 v/ounded and the prisoners had been conveyed to the 
 
 [381]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 other side of the large island, and the copse through 
 which he rode was as peaceful and as alone as it was 
 wont to be on a May evening. The air was hot and 
 still, and heavy clouds were slowly moving up from 
 the eastern horizon ; but the west was bathed in trans- 
 parent gold, and in the level rays of the sun every 
 young leaf on the twigs showed pale and bright as 
 enamel. The grass beneath the brushwood was com- 
 pletely hidden by a lush carpet of blue hyacinths, 
 which, being past their prime, filled the whole air with 
 a languorous sweetness. The birds flitted and twit- 
 tered on bush and bough, but, oppressed by the com- 
 ing storm or frightened by the noise of the artillery, 
 they had hushed their full and liquid song. The over- 
 powering scent of the hyacinths seemed not too sweet 
 to Hector Vidal, the hush of the golden wood not too 
 great. For eight and twenty hours his nostrils had 
 been full of the odour of battle, his ears full of its 
 roar. Fatmeh, weary though willing, walked gently 
 along the grassy track, stretching out her fine neck 
 from time to time as though submissively asking her 
 master when she might hope for release from bit and 
 bridle. They came to a little channel through which 
 the flood water of the Danube was making its way. 
 Vidal let her drink while he bathed his own head and 
 hands ; this for refreshment's sake, not in order to 
 appear clean and spruce before his Emperor, in whose 
 eyes, he knew, the grime of battle, his stained and 
 tattered uniform, would better adorn him than the 
 finest court livery in France and all the perfumes of 
 Paris. Then, bareheaded, the cool water running in 
 sparkling drops from his thick hair, he rode slowly 
 on, smiling to himself as he reflected at leisure on his 
 
 [382]
 
 SERAPHINE A WIDOW 
 
 own military capacity, courage, and immense good- 
 fortune. He might have done as well, yet have won 
 little notice ; he had been highly praised both by 
 Lannes and Bessieres, much as they hated each other, 
 and last, but not least, by the Emperor himself. He 
 might have lain among the fifty thousand dead on the 
 field or the wounded groaning under the knife; he 
 had escaped without a scratch, and was about to re- 
 ceive back his decorations and with them the Empe- 
 ror's forgiveness. The rushing stream of War would 
 presently wash out of the Great Man's mind every 
 petty unpleasantness connected with Seraphine, and 
 General, nay. Marshal Vidal would in time bring to 
 the Imperial Court a wife whose equal for loveliness, 
 for good-breeding, and accomplishments no other Mar- 
 shal in France could produce. He took a fine white 
 handkerchief out of the breast of his uniform and 
 kissed it with little words of endearment, replacing 
 it in such a manner that a corner of it was just visible 
 to him when he looked down. 
 
 Doing this he came to the edge of the copse and 
 saw before him an open meadow dotted with a few 
 gnarled and ancient oaks. Away to the left, over fiat 
 fields, the broad Danube glittered in the sun, and be- 
 yond that the enemy's batteries at Enzersdorf con- 
 tinued to send out from time to time a white pufif of 
 smoke. Some mounted officers were grouped together 
 near an oak in the centre of the field, among whom 
 Vidal was surprised to recognise Berthier and Bes- 
 sieres. The Emperor had summoned them, as well as 
 Massena and Davonst, to concert the retirement of the 
 French army that night on Lobau ; but of this intended 
 movement they were not yet aware, and the whole 
 
 [383]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 group were merely awaiting the arrival of the Em- 
 peror, who had announced his intention of inspecting 
 some positions on the island in their company before 
 withdrawing to the right bank of the river. Vidal 
 joined the group, where, the Marshal having given 
 the example, one officer vied with another in con- 
 gratulations on his distinguished services during the 
 battle, and on the praise which he was reported to 
 have received from the Emperor. While he stood, 
 the centre of the felicitating group, a white puff went 
 up from Enzersdorf. 
 
 " What the devil ! " he exclaimed, checking himself 
 in the midst of a reply. " They have got a gun into 
 a new position." A shot dropped into the copse at a 
 considerable distance from where they stood. 
 
 " Fichtre! It might be awkward for us if they be- 
 gan bombarding the island," observed Bessieres. 
 
 This seemed the general opinion ; but nothing more 
 followed, and after a minute, during which all eyes 
 were fixed on the point whence the smoke had pro- 
 ceeded, talk flowed on as before. 
 
 Then in the distance, down a clearing in the further 
 wood, they saw a man, accompanied by two or three 
 others, come riding quickly: evidently the Emperor, 
 Silence fell ; they advanced a little and awaited his 
 arrival. 
 
 He drew up before them, and, looking round quickly, 
 
 " You are here, Bessieres, and you, Berthier. Good. 
 But where is Massena ? " 
 
 A young aide-de-camp advanced and spoke deferen- 
 tially : 
 
 " Sire, the Marshal desired me to tell your Majesty 
 that he would come as soon as it was certain there 
 would be no further attack this evening." 
 
 L384]
 
 SERAPHINE A WIDOW 
 
 " There will be none, or I should not have sent for 
 him. Go, and tell him to come at once." 
 
 The Emperor spoke sternly though calmly. He was 
 in no pleasant mood, for never in his life had he 
 commanded at a battle which so closely resembled a de- 
 feat, ay, and a deserved defeat, as this one. Yet for 
 that very reason he saw the necessity of keeping his 
 head and his temper and doing nothing to cool the 
 personal devotion of those officers on whose attach- 
 ment he could still count : for many he knew were 
 weary of him. Therefore, when he perceived Vidal 
 among the rest, he had already decided what he must 
 do. At the bottom of his mind there lurked a rancour 
 against the young man, not the less obstinate because 
 in the press of important matters which fought for 
 the occupancy of his brain, he had for the moment 
 literally forgotten the cause of it. In the face of 
 Vidal's brilliant services and the precariousness of the 
 situation it would have been folly to indulge this 
 vague ill-will. 
 
 " Come here. Colonel," he said, beckoning Vidal 
 forward with a charming smile. " The Marshal over 
 there— ^" he indicated the direction of the hunting- 
 lodge — " your friend and mine, asked me to be sure 
 and give you some little things of yours which you 
 left at the house last night. Where are they, Savary ? " 
 
 He held out his hand to the Due de Rovigo, who 
 was close behind, then turning again to the little au- 
 dience, held up two crosses of the Legion of Honour 
 before their amazed eyes. Now, for the first time, 
 they noticed that Vidal was without his decorations. 
 
 " What it is to be in such a hurry to get to the 
 front ! " exclaimed the Emperor, smiling with more 
 
 [385]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 than his usual fascination. " One forgets even one's 
 crosses ! " 
 
 Vidal had advanced before the others. 
 
 " Forget, Sire ? Never ! " he cried. " I left these 
 crosses, which your Majesty's own hand pinned on 
 my breast, with a vow never to wear them again till 
 your Majesty should be able to replace them and tell 
 me with truth that both had once more been earned." 
 
 " Be satisfied," replied the Emperor. " Had there 
 been four of them you would have deserved them all." 
 
 Vidal would have dismounted, but the Emperor pre- 
 vented him from doing so. 
 
 " No, no. I can do it as easily on horseback, and 
 in this way I shall also be decorating your excellent 
 mare, who certainly deserves it. She is, I think, the 
 twin of Selim, who carried me so magnificently from 
 Pancorbo to Miranda del Ebro." 
 
 His heart visibly beating with a tumult of glad emo- 
 tion, the young soldier drew his mare up close to the 
 Emperor, and from those venerated hands received 
 on his breast the symbols of glory, the pledges of high 
 success. His utterance was for the moment too choked 
 for speech ; but when he had reined Fatmeh back- 
 wards a few yards, he unsheathed his sword and 
 placed his busby upon the point, then waving it high 
 over his head, he cried in a ringing voice — " Vive 
 I'Emp .' " 
 
 The word was never finished. 
 
 The attention of the little company had been en- 
 tirely fixed on the Emperor and the fortunate Vidal. 
 No one noticed another white pufT go up from the new 
 battery at Enzersdorf. But at that instant a shot hit 
 the stout stem of an oak, cracked it and ricochetted. 
 
 [386]
 
 SERAPHINE A WIDOW 
 
 It hit Vidal in the back, and, hurHng him over the head 
 of his mare in a horribly grotesque somersault, threw 
 him to the earth face downwards at the feet of the 
 Emperor. 
 
 Fatmeh plunged wildly and galloped off through the 
 scattering group. In a minute, amid a scarcely broken 
 silence Dr. Yvan, who was in the Emperor's suite, 
 hastened forward and turned Vidal over. 
 
 " Killed ? " asked the Emperor. 
 
 The Doctor, looking down at the motionless form, 
 shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " What do you expect, Sire ? " 
 
 The scattered group began to form again. The Em- 
 peror stooping from his horse, stared silently on the 
 fallen man's face. Very slowly and not as one who 
 sees. Hector Vidal opened his closed eyes, for an in- 
 stant his lips moved ; then parted to breathe the last 
 sigh. He was dead. 
 
 " Do not remain here. Sire," said Savary. " Your 
 Majesty is not in safety." 
 
 At the words the Emperor started from his stoop- 
 ing posture and flung himself back in the saddle ; as 
 he did so he burst into a harsh laugh, a strange and 
 startling explosion. Then suddenly turning his horse, 
 he struck in his spurs and, without a word, dashed 
 off at a gallop in the direction of the right bank of 
 the Danube; and as he went, turned in the saddle 
 and beckoned imperiously to those behind to follow. 
 There was a clink of spur and sword, a rapid clutter 
 of hurrying hoofs over the grass ; and in a moment the 
 Doctor was left alone at Vidal's side. He had seen 
 so many terrible sights that day that it surprised 
 himself to find there was yet room for pity and regret 
 
 [387]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 in his heart. But it was with pity and regret that 
 he looked down at the vigorous young body, the hand- 
 some, resolute face lying there at his feet. The fright- 
 ened mare had returned, and, sniffing round her mas- 
 ter as though bewildered, licked his hand like a dog. 
 Yvan sighed. He felt a desire to do something to ex- 
 press his own feelings. Just as he was about to turn 
 away he espied the corner of a white handkerchief 
 sticking out of Vidal's breast. He drew it out. It 
 was a small fine handkerchief, and across one corner 
 was embroidered the name " Seraphine." He gently 
 spread the handkerchief over the dead man's face and 
 went his way. Once before entering the wood he 
 turned and saw the waters of the Danube flowing like 
 molten gold in the light of a hidden sunset, and Fat- 
 meh, the mare, grazing by the side of her dead master 
 in the solitary meadow. 
 
 To the Convent of Santa Engracia came no news 
 of Napoleon's triumphs in Austria, of the battles of 
 Landshut and Ebensberg, the storming of Ratisbon. 
 Yet even that was not wholly removed from the bloody 
 tumult of war. On May 21st, the day on which the 
 fight began at Aspern and Essling, a young officer of 
 the Spanish army, who had led an attack on a French 
 convoy, was brought to the convent desperately 
 wounded. He was placed in the cell which Hector 
 Vidal had occupied, and if the kind Mother Superior 
 had given much care and sympathy even to a wounded 
 Frenchman, she and the other nuns naturally be- 
 stowed more on one who had fought and suffered in 
 the cause of their country. 
 
 If anything had been needed to recall Hector Vidal 
 
 [388]
 
 SERAPHINE A WIDOW 
 
 to Seraphine's memory, this installation of another 
 young and wounded soldier in his place must have 
 done so. But in truth there had been little stirring at 
 Santa Engracia to distract her mind from the con- 
 templation of her own perplexing fate. Horrible tales 
 indeed drifted to them from time to time; tales of 
 murder, rape, and rapine on the part of the French, 
 of revenge as dreadful taken by the peasantry on every 
 Frenchman they could capture. Besides it was persist- 
 ently reported that the British were landing large 
 forces in Portugal :' but she knew not what to believe. 
 Of one thing only she had on that day the joyful cer- 
 tainty. A message had reached her from her brother 
 Patrick, bidding her be prepared to leave Santa En- 
 gracia with him at any moment. She would once 
 more then, after months, which seemed to her years, 
 of lonely wandering, look on the face, be under the 
 care of one of her own blood. She was grateful for 
 the kindness she had constantly received from strang- 
 ers, but how much better to have one by her from 
 whom kindness would be too natural to suggest grati- 
 tude ! Then beyond the certainty of Patrick's com- 
 ing, floated the idea of England. Scarcely more than 
 an idea, indeed, England now appeared to her. Yet 
 in and out of the harbours of this Spain, white-sailed 
 ships were even now passing in which were other peo- 
 ple — why not she among them? — going to and fro 
 across the free salt highway to tread familiarly now 
 on Spanish, now on English ground. Yet surely Sera- 
 phine, for her part, if once landed on her native shores 
 would never again leave them, if — ay, but there was 
 the rub — if it were not for the bond which united her 
 to Hector Vidal. But she knew not whether she 
 
 [389]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 would be doing right in going to any place where it 
 would be impossible for him to communicate with her. 
 On the other hand the objections to her returning to 
 France were in her eyes at least insuperable. 
 
 While far off on the banks of the Danube that mur- 
 derous battle was raging through the afternoon hours 
 of its second day, she was peacefully gardening in a 
 shady corner of the convent garden. The nuns, with 
 their almost oriental capacity for doing nothing, were 
 half amused, half horrified at her out-door labours, so 
 fatiguing, so ruinous to the hands and complexion. 
 But Seraphine had the Northern need of activity; 
 she could not walk out alone, while in the convent 
 were neither books nor music, except of a religious 
 character. Therefore she dug, weeded, watered, 
 planted — did anything rather than nothing. Yet her 
 mind was not so occupied but that she could while 
 working revolve for the hundredth time those per- 
 sonal problems which she was too young to leave to 
 the solution of time and chance. But even over these 
 she could sometimes smile. Leaning on her spade 
 while the birds sang overhead and the cluster-roses 
 shed their pale pink petals on her hair, she seemed to 
 hear Hector Vidal reasoning in his sanguine fashion 
 that the Emperor's resentment against her and himself 
 was of too petty a nature to be remembered by one 
 so great and so busied with great affairs. She could 
 almost see him there in his light-blue uniform, vivid, 
 gesticulating. 
 
 " No, no. Hector," she said aloud. " You had much 
 better drive out of your head all thought of the little 
 wife you married at Santa Engracia — and perhaps 
 you will find that less difficult than either of us im- 
 agine. The ladies are handsome in Vienna." 
 
 [390]
 
 SERAPHINE A WIDOW 
 
 And pouting a little at this reflection, she gathered 
 up her tools and put them away. Then she hung upon 
 her arm a light basket of elegant form and strolled 
 about the garden, filling it with sprays of roses and 
 carnations. While doing so she heard a sound of 
 chanting in the convent chapel. It was not the hour 
 for Vespers, and the chants were different from those 
 she was accustomed to hear. After listening for a 
 time, an idle curiosity led her to the chapel door ; but 
 as she reached it the chanting ceased. She lifted the 
 heavy leather curtain and entered. The east end, in- 
 cluding the windows, was hung with black cloth, mak- 
 ing an artificial night within. A bier stood before the 
 altar, that also black-draped, and on it was laid the 
 corpse of a young soldier in full uniform — cold hands 
 clasped above the sword upon his breast, a pale and 
 sculptural profile, rendered the more marbly white by 
 the blackness of the hair and small moustache. At 
 the head and at the foot of the bier had been placed 
 a group of tall candlesticks in which burned steadily 
 immense wax tapers, whence proceeded all the light 
 that was in the chapel. A nun kneeled at the foot of 
 the bier, telling her beads, and lower down in the chapel 
 were some dozen others, also in prayer. As Seraphine 
 advanced noiselessly and stood to gaze in pity and 
 awe upon the dead, there was nothing audible except 
 an occasional faint whisper of invocation or the 
 scarcely perceptible click of a rosary. 
 
 For a few minutes she continued to fix her eyes 
 with a strange, still feeling of fascination, upon the 
 lights, the figure on the bier. Then gradually, as it 
 seemed, she became aware of another figure — a man 
 standing near the head of the corpse, immediately un- 
 
 [391]
 
 SONS OF THE SWORD 
 
 der the tall candlesticks. Yet his face was not in 
 shadow, but she saw it as distinctly as she saw the 
 face of the dead. Hector Vidal stood there, deadly 
 pale, his thick hair falling dishevelled on his forehead, 
 his gay uniform tattered and stained with blood and 
 mire. He gazed at Seraphine with such an intensity 
 of grief and yearning in his dark, sunken eyes, his 
 parted lips, that the look pierced her to the soul. She 
 seemed to have endured it for an eternity before a 
 moan escaped her, which caused several nuns to raise 
 their heads in surprise. But she did not perceive them ; 
 she only perceived Vidal, who, still fixing upon her 
 this heart-rending gaze, drew from his breast a small 
 white handkerchief. For an instant, in the vague an- 
 guish of her mind, she closed her eyelids ; and when 
 she lifted them he was no longer there. She saw only 
 the corpse upon the bier, the tall candlesticks at the 
 head and at the foot, the nuns praying undisturbed. 
 And she became aware that the man she had seen 
 could not possibly have been present in the Chapel of 
 Santa Engracia, since though she knew not in what 
 place he was, he was assuredly many hundred miles 
 away. Trembling she sank upon a chair, then over- 
 come by that human instinct which lies deeper than 
 the creeds of churches, she flung herself upon her 
 knees, and with bowed head and scalding tears prayed 
 passionately, agonisingly, for the soul of Hector Vidal. 
 How long this paroxysm of prayer lasted she could 
 not have told, but suddenly calmness returned to her, 
 and with it something of incredulity. She rose from 
 her knees, and, lifting the heavy leather curtain over 
 the doorway, stepped out of the artificial darkness of 
 the chapel, full of the faint odour of old incense, into 
 
 [392]
 
 SERAPHINE A WIDOW 
 
 the daylight and the open air. A westering sunbeam 
 struck full upon her eyes and made a golden dazzle 
 of the world, the cool, pure mountain air blew upon 
 her face, and on a swinging bough above, a tiptoe 
 bird poured from full throat its triumphant carol of 
 Love and May. And while the bird sang, and she 
 stood shading her eyes from the sunbeam, a young 
 man came towards her treading lightly under a trellis 
 of red and white roses. He wore a peasant's dress, 
 and his hair was covered with a handkerchief, but his 
 open shirt showed the fairness of his neck, and in his 
 brown face laughed a pair of eyes as blue as those 
 which looked from her own. The two pair of blue 
 eyes met and smiled recognition at each other. This 
 was not an alien, not a lover ; no, thank heaven ! This 
 was Patrick, this was her brother. She ran towards 
 him, and they held each other by the hands. 
 
 " Angel ! " he said — and the name almost forgotten, 
 became her own again — " I should have known you 
 anywhere." He regarded her silent, with a pleased 
 smile. The low light shone on her face illuminating 
 its fair transparency, the bloom of her skin, touching 
 her curls with gold. It was home, it was England he 
 beheld there. 
 
 But far away in another country the sun had already 
 sunk below the horizon, and twilight was gathering 
 over the broad-gleaming waters of the Danube and 
 the green meadows of Lobau. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 [393]
 
 RECENT 
 PUBLICATIONS 
 
 lips Si Co. 
 
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 1901-1902
 
 Anthony Hope's New Novel 
 
 TRISTRAM OF BLENT 
 
 IT is always a question what Anthony Hope will do 
 next. From a dashing romance of an imaginary 
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 his "Tristram of Blent" he has made a new departure, 
 demonstrating his ability to depict character by some 
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 ideal kingdom to write a thrilling romance. ( 1 2mo, $ 1 . 50. ) 
 
 IRISH PASTORALS 
 
 Bi/ Shan F. Bullock 
 
 " TRISH PASTORALS" is a coUection of character 
 X sketches of the soil — of the Irish soil — by one who 
 has lived long and closely among the laboring, farming 
 peasantry of Ireland. It is not, however, a dreary re- 
 cital of long days of toil with scanty food and no recre- 
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 one can easily realize, abundant elements of keen native 
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 go to form the strength and gentleness of the Irish char- 
 acter. (I2mo, $1.50.)
 
 THE WESTERNERS 
 
 By Stewart Edward White 
 
 WHEN the Black Hills were discovered to be rich 
 in valuable ores, there began that heterogeneous 
 influx of human beings which always follows new-found 
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 White has laid the setting of "The Westerners," a story 
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 A young girl, growing to womanhood in a rough mining 
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 are grouped the interesting characters which gave color 
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 cleverly written. Taken all in all, "The Westerners" is 
 a thoroughly good story of the far West in its most pict- 
 uresque decade. (12mo, $1.50.) 
 
 BY BREAD ALONE 
 
 By I. K. Friedman 
 
 MR. FRIEDMAN has chosen a great theme for his 
 new novel, one which affords a wealth of color 
 and a wide field for bold delineation. It is a story of the 
 steel-workers which introduces the reader to various and 
 little-known aspects of those toiling lives. In the course 
 of the work occurs a vivid description of a great strike. 
 The author, however, shows no tinge of prejudice, but 
 depicts a bitter labor struggle with admirable impartiality. 
 Along with the portrayal of some of man's worst passions 
 is that of his best, his affection for woman, forming a 
 love-story which softens the stern picture. The book 
 will appeal to students of industrial tendencies, as well 
 as to every lover of good fiction. (12mo, $1.50.)
 
 HERE are two volumes of most thrilling tales, (/leaned 
 from, the material which the age has brought us. 
 Each collection occupies an original field and depicts some 
 characteristic phase of our great commercial life. 
 
 WALL STREET STORIES 
 
 Bi/ Edwin Lejevre 
 
 IT would be difficult to find a better setting for a good 
 story than this hotbed of speculation. On the Ex- 
 change, every day is a day of excitement, replete with 
 dangerous risks, narrow escapes, victories, defeats. There 
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 wrong, and sometimes the right wins, and sometimes — 
 as the world goes — the wrong. In the maddening whirl 
 of this life, which he knows so well, Edwin Lefevre has 
 laid the setting of his Wall Street stories. A number of 
 them have already appeared in McClure's Magazine, and 
 their well-merited success is the cause of publication in 
 book form of this absorbing collection. (12mo, $1.25.) 
 
 HELD FOR ORDERS 
 
 STORIES OF RAILROAD LIFE 
 Bi/ Frank H. Spearman 
 
 WHILE railroad life affords fewer elements of pas- 
 sion and emotion than the life of Wall Street, it 
 offers however a far greater field for the depiction of 
 the heroic. Deeds of bravery are probably more com- 
 mon among these hardy, cool, resourceful men — the rail- 
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 society. ' ' Held For Orders " describes thrilling incidents 
 in the management of a mountain division in the far West. 
 The stories are all independent, but have characters in 
 common, many of whom have been met with in McClure's 
 Magazine. Mr. Spearman combines the qualities of a 
 practical railroad man with those of a fascinating story- 
 teller, and his tales, both in subject and manner of tell- 
 ing, are something new in literature. (12mo, $L30.)
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 A A 000 245 510 
 
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