For some weeks the inmates of Don Pedro's house were forced to remain
prisoners, for rebel soldiers filled the neighbouring villages, and
troops of guerillas were being mustered to put them to flight. It was a
morning, early in September, just after the sun had peered above the
horizon. A fine rain had fallen during the night, and the drops which
rested on the foliage sparkled like myriads of diamonds. The streets
were as yet deserted; some muleteers alone passed along them at
intervals. Don Pedro's house was the only one astir.
Don Stephano, according to his custom, had risen with the dawn, and was
now alone in the lower hall, standing opposite the window which
overlooked the high road. He was occupied in fixing an iron lance upon a
wooden rod, at which he gazed abstractedly.
The sound of a voice filling the air with song attracted his attention;
it was singing the Moorish romance of "Adlemar and Adalifa," and to the
quick perception of a Spanish ear was marked with a slight Ultramontaine
accent, which Stephano discerned like a true Castilian. Without moving
he listened to the song which awoke the echoes of the valley. The
amorous words recalled to Stephano's mind the thought of Rosita, and he
sighed deeply. Then he listened anew to the voice, which grew nearer and
nearer, and in which, in spite of its strange accent, he seemed to hear
an understrain of singular emotion. His conjectures were not long,
however. A man enveloped in a large mantle peered in at the open window,
and after throwing a rapid glance behind him leapt into the room.
Stephano recoiled at the sight of such a strange visitor, and felt
tempted to seize the man, whom he took at first for a robber. Then a
troop of horsemen dashed past the house. The stranger gave a sigh of
relief. Then for the first time he caught sight of Stephano.
"I must be careful," the soldier muttered, as he drew his cloak more
carefully round him. "This Spaniard does not look over benevolent."
"Who can this man be?" thought Stephano, as he instinctively put his
hand on his pistols; but on seeing the stranger advance towards him with
a pleasant smile, he paused.
"Noble Castilian," said the stranger, "are you a man to oblige an enemy
in peril, and who for a quarter of an hour wishes you no more harm than
if you were his brother?"
Before replying, Stephano scrutinized his questioner. He saw before him
a man of about twenty-eight, with a frank face and light hair and
moustache. His accent, and the blue pantaloons which appeared under the
brown mantle, proclaimed him a Frenchman.
[Illustration: "THE STRANGER."]
"No unarmed man is my enemy," replied Stephano, "and from the moment my
roof was over your head you became my guest."
"Shake hands on it! You are a fine fellow," cried the soldier, holding
out his hand. At the same time he drew aside his mantle, and Stephano
recognised the uniform worn by the French volunteers of Don Carlos's
army. "Now, if you have a drop of anything to drink handy, I will tell
you in a few words what has brought me here."
Stephano opened the sideboard, and brought out a bottle and glasses. The
soldier wiped his moustache as he began.
"You see before you," he said, with frank abruptness, "Charles
Dulaurier, a soldier by birth and profession, lieutenant in the
Grenadiers of His Majesty Charles V.--pardon me, Don Carlos. Being
stationed some few miles from here, I asked for leave of absence this
morning to join some troops which (pardon me) are going to make a raid
upon this very village this morning. But, thanks to my foolhardiness in
starting off alone, I soon found myself in the hands of guerillas. I
escaped. They pursued me. But I, though alone in a strange country and
unarmed, led them a nice dance for half an hour. I was just about to
fall again into their hands when I came in sight of this house. I duped
them by my ruse of pitching my voice in such a manner as to lead them to
think I was beyond the village, whilst I at the same time took refuge
here. To conclude, my worthy fellow, no doubt the guerillas are not
blind, and not finding any trace of me upon the route, will return to
Panola. Consequently, if you are a host to my liking you will----"
"Conceal you," said Stephano, quickly. "You are right!" and he glanced
round with uneasiness. The lieutenant struck him on the shoulder. "One
minute," he said; "the guerillas cannot reappear for half an hour. This
little expedition, as you may imagine, was not my only motive for coming
to Panola, and I must again abuse your patience in asking you some
questions upon a certain subject which is the motive of my expedition."
"Go on," replied Stephano, with resignation.
"I came here to look for a young girl," said the Frenchman, twisting his
moustache, "and as, perhaps, you will be so good as to give me some
information on this point, it would be better for you to know the story.
Last year my regiment, after a vigorous resistance, entered a village in
Navarre."
"A village in Navarre?" repeated Stephano, and his brow darkened.
"One house had been so well defended, indeed, that it was found
necessary to surround it, and our infuriated soldiers, drunk with
carnage, determined to massacre everyone within. I luckily surprised
them as they drew their sabres upon two poor old creatures and their
young daughter. I threw myself between the victims and their butchers;
the wretches turned upon me and I fell wounded by a bayonet thrust, but
they were saved. The kind people who owed me their lives bore me to
their house, and gave me every care. The young girl watched at my
bedside for more than a fortnight. Briefly the beauty, the tenderness of
the little girl, won my heart. Losing no time, I declared my passion.
She whispered, blushing, that I might speak to her parents. As soon as I
was well enough to walk, I hastened to the worthy old man, who, after
the shock he had received, became mortally ill, and felt his end
approach. I had no sooner asked him for his daughter's hand than he
exclaimed, 'God be praised! I shall not now die without having
recompensed our deliverer.' At the same time he took the young girl's
hand and mine, and, after making us exchange rings, clasped them
together. Then he stretched forth his trembling hands above our heads to
bless us, whilst on our knees by the bedside we swore eternal fidelity
to each other. Three days after the good man died, and the same day my
regiment left for Castile. Seven months passed without my hearing any
news from my betrothed, and it was only by chance I learned that on her
mother's death she had quitted Navarre to take up her abode in her
uncle's house at Panola.
"But what is the matter?" said the lieutenant, as Stephano rose
hurriedly.
"I know enough," replied the young man in a hollow voice. "The village
was Tafalla, and the young girl's name is Rosita."
"But what is there in that?" cried the lieutenant, who understood
nothing of Stephano's emotion. "You know Rosita? She is here? You are
silent. Heavens! Is she dead--or married?"
"No, no," replied Stephano, with an effort. "Rosita is here. No doubt
she loves you and watches for your return with impatience."
"Where, then, shall I find my betrothed?"
Stephano was about to reply to this question when the tramp of horses
was heard. It was the troop returning.
"Softly!" whispered Dulaurier as he crept towards the window. "Yes,
these are my friends. Where will you hide me?"
Stephano regarded him with a savage gleam in his eyes and muttered to
himself, "This man comes here to blast my happiness, and I must protect
his life at the peril of my own."
"What am I to do?" repeated Dulaurier.
"Take this dagger," said Stephano, "put on your mantle and follow me."
He unfastened a little door which opened upon a staircase which led into
the garden, and descended, followed by Dulaurier. They stole along
behind a thick hedge of hawthorn until they came to the trees of a
little orchard, from which rose the roof of a ruined summer-house. On
reaching this spot Stephano installed the lieutenant so that he could
watch both the road and the garden; then having arranged upon the course
they should take, Stephano hastened back to the house.
[Illustration: "THEY STOLE ALONG."]
Don Pedro was in the lower hall, alone, when his son entered.
"I have a request to make to you," said the young man, clasping his
father's hand convulsively. "I want you to let me start at once to join
my brothers and to fight for Spain."
"Can you then leave your cousin?" said Don Pedro, sadly. "And you do not
know----"
"I know more than you, father, more than Rosita herself about this
affair," interrupted Stephano. "Is not Rosita betrothed to a French
volunteer in Don Carlos's army, and is this not the secret she confided
to you on harvest day?"
"It is true. But how have you discovered it?"
"From a man flying from the pursuit of guerillas; no other than the man
himself, Lieutenant Charles Dulaurier!"
"Is it possible?" exclaimed the stupefied old man.
"You see, father, that it is absolutely necessary for me to go," cried
Stephano. "I cannot wait until Rosita and Dulaurier are united. Their
happiness would be more than I could bear, and I have thought of a plan
by which the lieutenant can be saved without putting off my departure. I
shall join the troop of guerillas who are seeking Dulaurier in the
village. Seeing me become one of themselves their suspicions will be
lulled, and I shall save my rival by departing with his enemies."
"You are right," replied his father, after a painful pause, but he could
not utter a word more.
The young man proceeded to take down from the wall his pistols and his
gun; he placed the former in his belt and the latter on his shoulder,
took his hat and stepped forward to bid his father farewell. But as he
threw himself into the arms of the weeping old man, the door opened and
Rosita entered.
The young girl glanced quickly from one to the other, and then her eyes
remained fixed on Stephano.
"What are you going to do?" she asked, examining his equipment.
"I am going away," replied Stephano. "Farewell, Rosita, be happy.
Farewell, father," he added, embracing Don Pedro.
"He is going," said Rosita, her eyes dim with tears, "without one
friendly smile, without one clasp of his hand. Oh! Stephano," she
exclaimed, springing forward. "You cannot part from me thus!"
"You are keeping me!" said the bewildered young man.
"Yes," she replied, seizing his hand. "Stay, Stephano, do not go. I
implore you!"
"Remain!" cried the young man, passionately. "Remain to see you in the
arms of another? Never!"
As he moved towards the door, Rosita sprang towards him with
outstretched arms. "And what if it is you whom I love, Stephano? What if
I have never loved anyone but you?" A thunderbolt would hardly have
produced more effect than did these words.
"You love me?" he repeated, approaching his cousin. "Rosita, for mercy's
sake, repeat those words once more, so that I may be sure of having
heard aright."
"Yes, I love you," repeated the young girl, tenderly; "no one but you!
Will you stay now?"
"For ever, if you wish it!" cried the enraptured youth, throwing down
his gun and pistols. "Look at me, Rosita, that I may read in your eyes
that word which gives me life, and which I have waited for so long. How
blind and foolish I have been! But that will be all right now, will it
not, my beloved?" As he spoke he embraced her passionately. By both of
them the world was forgotten.
Through the open window came the clink of spurs and rattling of sabres.
This sound, to which Stephano and Rosita were deaf, struck on the ear of
Don Pedro and paralyzed him with terror.
"Stephano!" he cried at last. "Remember Lieutenant Dulaurier!"
[Illustration: "REMEMBER LIEUTENANT DULAURIER!"]
"Ah!" groaned Stephano, rudely torn from his ecstasy of happiness; and
he fixed his gaze upon his cousin.
The girl had not even heard Don Pedro.
"Rosita," said her lover, "you say you love me, but you have a
_fiancé!_"
"Dulaurier!" cried the startled girl. "Great Heaven! pardon me, I had
forgotten."
"If this man," continued Stephano, "came here to claim your promise, you
would reply, would you not, that friendship alone, not love, had drawn
you towards him, and that your hand, promised when you hardly knew what
you did, would now be given without your heart?"
"Yes, that is what I should answer; but he is not likely to come here,
Stephano."
"And what if he were here already?" asked an impressive voice.
Don Pedro at the same time stepped forward between the young people, and
before the severe face of the Spaniard their eyes drooped.
"Father!" faltered the young man.
"Silence!" cried the old man. "Your duty is clear. What if Dulaurier
were in the house, Rosita--what if, more faithful than you, he had come
to claim his promise, made at the death-bed of your father? I ask you
what you would answer."
Trembling and submissive as a criminal before his judge, the young girl
turned her eyes from Stephano to Don Pedro.
"I should reply to Lieutenant Dulaurier that, before God and man, I am
his betrothed bride, and that while he lives no other can be my
husband."
"Come then, my child, prepare to receive your _fiancé_," and Don Pedro
held out his hand to his niece to lead her away.
"You are destroying my happiness!" cried Stephano.
"But in return I give you back your honour," replied Don Pedro. "Look
after the lieutenant, for here come the guerillas!" and he went out.
"What a dream, and what an awakening!" murmured Stephano as he was left
alone. "Rosita vows she loves me, and at the same time declares she will
never be mine while Dulaurier lives. _While he lives!_ And I must take
upon myself the peril of saving him, when I have only to let him----Oh,
how despair tempts us to horrible deeds! Is there time to fly, to quit
this spot where each thought is torture: to hasten and join the
guerillas before they enter the house? For, alas! if they enter now and
demand where their enemy is--by Heaven! I shall not have the strength to
resist--I must fly!"
Picking up his gun and pistols he rushed towards the door, but recoiled
at the sight of a man in the uniform of a captain of guerillas, who by a
gesture forced him to pause.
[Illustration: "IT IS TOO LATE!"]
"Malediction--it is too late!" murmured the young man, as he dropped
upon a chair, and let his unheeded weapons fall to the ground.
"Two sentinels before each door and window," called out the captain to
the soldiers who followed him. "This is the last house in which our
prisoner could take refuge," he continued, striking impatiently the butt
end of his rifle upon the ground. "Search well, comrades; you know he
who takes the Frenchman prisoner is to have the honour of firing the
first shot upon him, and is also to receive twenty douros for reward."
Thereupon he advanced into the room. "Well, my good fellow," he said to
Stephano; "what are you going to do with these weapons? Are they to
defend yourself or to protect the officer whom you have hidden here?"
"No one is hidden in this house," replied the young man, with the
courage which peril bestows. "The La Sargas are known throughout the
country to be devoted to Spain and the Queen. I have three brothers in
the national army, and I have just picked up these weapons with the
intention of joining your troops."
The captain looked at him with a sneering smile. Then he turned to his
companions, who had just returned from searching the house.
"Well, have you found anything?"
"Only a young girl and an old man," was the reply.
"Bring the old man here," said the captain; then he turned to Stephano.
"And you, sir, go with my lieutenant and these three men, and show them
every room there is"; then he murmured in the lieutenant's ear,
slipping at the same time a purse of gold into his hand: "Spare neither
threats nor persuasion to gain this young man over to our side. Whatever
it costs, I must recapture our prisoner."
Stephano felt tempted to resist these orders, but he reflected that this
would only draw suspicion upon him, and he led the way up the stairs,
which were placed in a corner of the room.
At the same time Don Pedro entered, guarded by two soldiers and leaning
on his staff. Then an interval ensued, and the minutes flew past.
Suddenly a pistol shot was heard. Everyone gave a start of alarm. Then
one of the guards who had gone out with Stephano came rushing down the
stairs and into the room.
"The bird is snared, or will be in a few minutes," he cried. "Our
prisoner," he continued, pointing through the window, "is in that
building which you see at the bottom of the garden."
"How do you know this?" asked the captain.
"From the young man who is upstairs with the lieutenant."
"From Stephano!" cried the old man, growing pale with horror.
"Ah, ah!" laughed the captain, "your son does not seem very hard to
persuade."
"The lieutenant having discovered nothing," the man went on, "told three
of us to go and search the granary, and took advantage of the occasion
to take the young man aside. I watched them. A purse of gold and the
barrel of a pistol have been the principal inducements. The sly fellow
at first was very obstinate, and it was then that the lieutenant fired
the pistol at him to frighten him. The young man seemed to be moved in a
singular manner by the shot. He gave way with good grace, and pointed
the pavilion out to us."
Whilst the captain lent a joyful ear to this narrative, Don Pedro, on
the contrary, listened with terror mingled with incredulity. At these
last words he could contain himself no longer, and broke in violently:--
"Enough, wretch; enough!" he cried. "What you say is impossible! It is
an infamous calumny! My son is quite incapable of such villainy!"
"Look, senor," replied the man, pointing to the stairs.
Stephano in truth was descending with the lieutenant, holding the purse
in his hand. His pale and agitated face seemed to proclaim his guilt,
and Don Pedro sank back fainting on a seat. Stephano crossed the room
with a faltering step without observing his father, and, reaching the
window, gazed out upon the road.
In recalling to mind his son's jealousy of Dulaurier, Don Pedro
understood the facts of the matter--that he had sold his guest to get
rid of a detested rival. Maddened by passion, he had without doubt lost
all control over himself. After having exchanged some words in a low
voice with his lieutenant, the captain made a sign to two of his men.
"Remain with this fellow," he said, in a tone of contempt, pointing to
Stephano, "until we reach the pavilion; if he makes one movement shoot
him, and when a volley announces to you that we are not deceived, join
us to start upon our route."
"Very good, captain," answered the two soldiers, taking up their
position on each side of Stephano, whilst the others went out softly.
A mournful silence reigned in the chamber.
Stephano stood erect before the window, with haggard eyes fixed upon the
road; Don Pedro, mute and motionless in his chair, seemed like a man
bereft of all at a single blow. Then, his misery overwhelming him, he
covered his face with his hands and wept. Stephano turned round quickly,
and for the first time saw his father.
"Great Heavens! He was there, and heard all!" he murmured. "Father!" he
cried imploringly.
"Call me your father no more," cried the old man, with flaming eyes,
"unless you can tell me that I am blind and deaf, or that I have dreamed
that my son was a coward, a traitor, an assassin! Tell me so, Stephano,
for pity's sake!"
The young man made an effort as if he were about to speak, but paused at
the sight of his two guards; the strain was so painful that he was
forced to lean for support on one of the guerilla's arms. Then he turned
away; Don Pedro rose from his seat and came towards his son.
"His eye never quits this fatal window," he murmured to himself. "It
looks as if he watched to see the success of his perfidy, that he wishes
to assure himself that his rival does not escape. Wretch!" he burst
forth, "if this is so, may you be----"
Suddenly a hand was laid softly upon the old man's arm. It was Rosita.
"Ah! it is you, Rosita!" said Don Pedro with a bewildered stare.
"Wretched man that I am, what was I about to do?" he added, passing his
hand over his forehead.
Rosita came farther forward into the room.
"Stephano guarded by two soldiers!" she cried. "Holy Virgin! what does
this mean, and what has happened?"
And she made an instinctive movement towards her cousin. Her uncle
stopped her.
"Keep away from this wretched man!" he cried, "for he is a coward and a
traitor; he has betrayed your betrothed!"
"Betrayed my betrothed!" cried the girl, with horror. "It is
impossible!"
"Not only has he betrayed him," continued the old man, taking his
niece's hand, "but he is watching for the success of his treason. Do you
recognise my son, Rosita?" he added, with heartrending despair, "or the
man whom you loved?"
Here the poor old man broke down completely, and sank back into his
chair. The girl gazed at him with consternation. Even the rough soldiers
were touched by the scene, and turned their heads aside.
[Illustration: "THE POOR OLD MAN BROKE DOWN COMPLETELY."]
At that instant a loud report shook the walls. It was the captain's
volley. The two soldiers exchanged a meaning glance and disappeared. As
soon as they went out Rosita threw herself in Don Pedro's arms.
"Dulaurier is dead!" said the old man, gloomily.
"He is saved!" cried Stephano, coming forward, and throwing from him as
he did so the purse of gold. "Yes, father, yes, Rosita, the lieutenant
is safe and sound, and will be with us in a few seconds."
"How can that be?" cried Don Pedro, passing from despair to joy.
"Before leaving Dulaurier in the pavilion we had arranged that he was to
be informed by a pistol shot when he must leave his hiding-place for the
granary whilst his enemies were searching the pavilion. You understand
now how the guerilla's shot agitated me. For, of course, Dulaurier,
taking the report for the signal agreed upon, would leave the pavilion
for the granary, and would then fall into the hands of his pursuers. The
only plan to save him was to get the soldiers away from the granary,
which I did by feigning to betray Dulaurier, by accepting the purse, and
pointing out the pavilion as his hiding-place. For a quarter of an hour
I have endured the tortures of hell, but I have saved the man who
confided in me, and I am still worthy of you both!"
The young man had hardly finished his narrative when his father and
Rosita were at his feet begging for forgiveness. Then Stephano hastened
to the granary, and called the lieutenant's name, but there was no
response, and soon Stephano's surprise was changed to uneasiness. He
rushed into the granary. It was empty. Stephano reappeared, pale,
tottering and breathless.
"Dulaurier is not in the granary," he cried. "He cannot have taken the
pistol shot for my signal. He must have remained, and that report we
heard was his death-shot."
He paused abruptly. Don Pedro and Rosita understood, and burst forth
into an exclamation of horror.
"Victory! Victory!" cried a hundred voices.
Their despair and consternation were changed to the most lively
astonishment, when a detachment of Don Carlos's volunteers entered the
house, led by Dulaurier himself.
"Dulaurier!" exclaimed Stephano, Don Pedro, and Rosita at the same time.
"Our enemies!" said the old Castilian, whilst his niece shrank behind
him.
"Say rather friends," replied Dulaurier, pressing Stephano's hand
warmly.
"But how has all this happened?" began the bewildered Stephano.
"One minute's attention. For half an hour I waited patiently after your
departure in the little pavilion, when I heard the signal we arranged on
of the pistol shot. I quitted my hiding-place at once, and was preparing
to creep towards the granary, when, casting a glance upon the road, I
recognised the uniforms of the volunteers of my regiment. Briefly,"
continued Dulaurier, showing the soldiers who surrounded him, "here are
the gentlemen, whom I have the honour of presenting to you. Like good
comrades, they determined to avenge me, and we caught the guerillas in
an ambush as they were searching the pavilion. Bang! a general
discharge, and thirty men were lying on the ground, and the rest running
away for their lives."
"The volley of which we believed you the victim!" interrupted Stephano.
"You understand the rest. Not wishing to quit Panola without thanking
you, and also wishing to see about that little matter which I mentioned
to you this morning, we came on here. And now," he added to Stephano,
with the air of a man who has no time to lose, "I must thank you most
warmly for all you have done for me."
There was such a tone of kindness in these words that Stephano could do
nothing but grasp his hand cordially in return.
"Anyone else?" cried the effusive officer, looking quickly round. "You
have a father, a mother, a wife, perhaps? Where are they? This noble old
man must be your father," and upon Stephano's making an affirmative sign
he grasped the old man's hand, and wrung it with force.
"Are there no ladies in your family?" asked Dulaurier with a gallant
air.
It was then that in spite of Rosita's efforts to avoid his attention he
caught sight of her as she hid behind Don Pedro's high-backed chair.
"Ah! here is one!" he said, without recognising his betrothed. He
stepped forward towards her.
"Most amiable senora," he began politely, "permit me----" He paused,
gazing with stupefied eyes upon the young girl, and then made a sign to
his soldiers to leave them.
"Good Heavens!" he exclaimed, "if I am not deceived it is Rosita, my
pretty _fiancée_!"
"You are right; it is I, Monsieur Dulaurier," faltered the young girl.
The light of happiness vanished from all the faces in the room except
the lieutenant's.
"You can easily understand, my pretty one, what has led me to Panola,"
said Dulaurier.
"I presume you have come to remind Rosita," answered Don Pedro, "of the
promise that she gave you at her dying father's bedside. She has not
forgotten it, senor. She recognises her duty, and you have only one word
to say----"
"Will you answer me yourself, Rosita?" interrupted Dulaurier, marking
her extreme pallor and agitation. "You know what I have the right of
claiming; are you still able to give it me freely?"
"Without doubt," she murmured; "if I give you my hand, my heart will go
with it."
"Words, nothing but words!" thought the lieutenant, who grew pale in his
turn. "All women are weathercocks. It is clear I am superseded," and he
bit his lip until it bled. "But I should like to know who is my
substitute," and he turned mechanically to Stephano. He found him as
mute and as troubled as Rosita. The truth flashed across him. "I cannot
blame the brave young man," he murmured to himself, "for falling in love
with his cousin. It has not prevented him from saving my life at the
expense of his love and honour, and as I have no wish for a heart not
wholly mine, I have now to render sacrifice for sacrifice, and to keep
the reputation of France equal to that of Spain." He turned to Rosita
with a smile.
"Mademoiselle," he began, "when we plighted our troth, and I told you
that I loved you devotedly, I was as sincere as I am to-day, only I took
upon myself too much, and have contracted several other engagements,
more or less similar to yours." He gave a forced laugh as he pronounced
these words.
"That is enough, senor," said Don Pedro. "But why have you then come to
Panola to claim her promise?"
"Who said that I was here for that purpose?" asked Dulaurier, abruptly.
Stephano, indeed, recollected that the Frenchman had not said a single
word which implied that he came to claim Rosita's hand. "I implore
Mademoiselle Rosita to pardon me," pursued Dulaurier, "and I propose
that we exchange rings again."
[Illustration: "I PROPOSE THAT WE EXCHANGE RINGS AGAIN."]
It was no sooner said than done. Dulaurier turned and clasped Stephano's
hand again, and now the young man saw with apprehension that Dulaurier's
eyes were dim with tears. Dulaurier could keep up the farce no longer,
and his heart was breaking behind the smile upon his lips.
"Dulaurier!" said the young man, "you weep: you are unhappy! What you
have said has been only a sublime falsehood! You love Rosita--you wish
to marry her--and if you have the generosity to renounce all for me, it
must not be at the expense of your happiness."
"Hush!" said Dulaurier, as he took him aside. "Do not undo my work. But
since you have found it out, you are right. I did come back to claim
Rosita. I have always loved her, and have loved none but her. But do not
breathe a word of this. Let no thought of my unhappiness cast a shadow
on her life. Sacrifice for sacrifice, young man. France is equal to
Spain, and we are quits.
"Farewell, brave Castilians," he cried aloud, "celebrate the marriage
merrily: and let us hope that we shall never meet upon the battlefield
of this unhappy country."
"Farewell!" replied Stephano, huskily.
Dulaurier pressed Don Pedro's and Stephano's hands, kissed that of
Rosita, and joined his comrades outside.
"Wheel to the right--forward!" he shouted, at the head of his battalion.
Then came the roll of the drum, and they all marched past the window.
"Rosita," said Stephano to his cousin, "you are free, and we are going
to be happy; but never let us forget Lieutenant Dulaurier!"
_The Queer Side of Things._