  "I should think we cannot be very far from our destination by this time." "Why, were one to put faith in my appetite, we must have been at least a good four or five hours en route already; and if our Rosinantes are not able to get over a misÈre of thirty or forty miles without making as many grimaces about it as they do now, they are not the animals I took them for." "Come, come—abuse your own as much as you please, but this much I will say for my Nero, though he has occasionally deposited me on the roadside, he is not apt to sleep upon the way at least. Nay, so sure am I of him, that I would wager you ten Napoleons that we are not more than four or five miles from the chateau at this moment." "Pas si bÊte, mon cher. I am not fool enough to put my precious Naps in jeopardy, just when I am so deucedly in want of them, too. But a truce to this nonsense. Do you know, Ernest, seriously speaking, I am beginning to think we are great fools for our pains, running our heads into a perilous adventure, with the almost certainty of a severe reprimand from the general, which, I think, even your filial protestations will scarcely save you from, if ever we return alive; and merely to see, what, I dare say, after all, will turn out to be only a pretty face." "What!—already faint-hearted!—A miracle of beauty such as Darville described is well worth periling one's neck to gaze upon. Besides, is not that our vocation?—and as for reprimands, if you got one as often as I do, you would soon find out that those things are nothing when one is used to them." "A miracle!—ah, bah! It was the romance of the scene, and the artful grace of the costume, which fascinated his eyes." "No, no! be just. Recollect that it was not Darville alone, but Delavigne; and even that connoisseur in female beauty, Monbreton himself, difficult as he is, declared that she was perfect. She must be a wonder, indeed, when he could find no fault with her." "Be it so. I warn you beforehand that I am fully prepared to be disappointed. However, as we are so far embarked in the affair, I suppose we must accomplish it." "Most assuredly, unless you wish to be the laughing-stock of the whole regiment for the next month; for notwithstanding Darville's boasted powers of discretion, half the subalterns, no doubt, are in possession of the secret of our escapade by this time." "Well, then, Ernest, as we are launched on this wise expedition, let me sermonise a small portion of prudence into that most giddy brain of yours. Remember that, after all, if those ruthless Spaniards were to discover the trick we are playing them, they would probably make us pay rather too dearly for the frolic. In short, Ernest, I am very much afraid that your Étourderie will let the light rather too soon into the thick skulls of those magnificent hidalgos." "Preach away—I listen in all humility." "Ernest, Ernest, I give you up; you are incorrigible!" rejoined the other, turning away to hide the laugh which the irresistibly comic expression his friend threw into his countenance had excited. And who were the speakers of this short dialogue? Two dashing, spirited-looking young men, who, at the close of it, reined in their steeds, in the dilemma of not knowing where to direct them. Theirs was, indeed, a wild-goose chase. Their Chateau en Espagne seemed invisible, as such chateaux usually are; and where it might be found, who was there to tell?—Not one. The scene was a desert—not even a bird animated it; and just before them branched out three roads from the one they had hitherto confidently pursued. After a moment's silence, the cavaliers both burst into a gay laugh. "Here's a puzzle, Alphonse!" said the one. "Which of the three roads do you opine?" "The left, by all means," replied the other; "I generally find it leads me right." "But if it shouldn't now?" "Why, then, it only leads us wrong." "But I don't choose to go wrong." "And what have you been doing ever since you set out?" "True; but as we are far enough now from that point, we must e'en make the best of the bad." "Well, why don't you?" "Why, if one only knew which was the best." At this moment the tinkling of a mule's bells, mingled with the song of the muleteer, came on the air. "Hist! here comes counsel," exclaimed the young man whom the other named Ernest. "Holla, seÑor hidalgo! do you know the castle of the Conde di Miranda?" "Yes." "Where is it?" "Where it was." "Near?" "That's as one finds it." "And how shall we find it?" "By reaching it." "Come, come, hidalgo mio." "I'm no hidalgo," said the man roughly. "But you ought to be. I've seen many less deserving of it," resumed the traveller. "I dare say," retorted the muleteer. "If you'll conduct us within view of the castle you shall be rewarded." "As I should well deserve." "Ah, your deserts may be greater than our purse." But the man moved on. "Halte-lÀ, friend! I like your company so well that I must have it a little longer." And the officer pulled out a pistol. "Will you, or will you not, guide us to the castle of the Conde?" "I will," gruffly replied the man, with a look which showed that he was sorry to be forced to choose the second alternative. "Can we trust this fellow?" said the younger officer to the elder. "No—but we can ourselves; and keep a sharp look-out." "Besides, I shall give him a hint. Hidalgo mio——" he began. "SeÑor Franzese," interrupted the muleteer. "What puts that into your head, hidalgo? Franzese,—why, Don Felix y Cortos, y Sargas, y Nos, y Tierras, y, y,—don't you know an Englishman when you see him?" "Yes," muttered the Spaniard—"Yes, and a Frenchman, too." "No, you don't, for here's the proof. Why, what are we, but English officers, carrying despatches to your Conde from our General?" The muleteer looked doubtingly. "Why, do you suppose Frenchmen would trust themselves amongst such a set of"— "Patriots." Exclaimed the other stranger, hastily. "All I say;" observed the man drily, "is, that if you are friends of the Conde, he will treat you as you deserve. If enemies, the same. So, backward." "Onward, you mean." "Ay, for me; but not for you, seÑores, you have left the castle a mile to the left." "I guessed right, you see," said Alphonse, "when I guessed left." The muleteer passed on, and the horsemen followed. "I say, hidalgo mio," called out Ernest, "what sort of a don is this same Conde?" "As how?" inquired the muleteer. "Is he rich?" "Yes." "Proud?" "Yes." "Old?" "No." "Has he a wife?" "No." "Has he children?" "No." "No!" exclaimed the cavalier with surprise. "No child!" "You said children, seÑor." "He has a child, then?" "Yes." "A son?" "No." "A daughter?" "Yes." "Why, yes and no seems all you have got to say." "It seems to answer all you have got to ask, seÑor." "Is the DoÑa very handsome?" interrupted Alphonse, impatiently. "Yes and no, according to taste," replied the muleteer. "He laughs at us," whispered Ernest in French. The conversation with the muleteer had been, thus far, carried on in Spanish—which Ernest spoke fairly enough. But the observation he thoughtlessly uttered in French seemed to excite the peasant's attention. "Do you speak English?" asked Ernest. "Yes," was the reply, in English. "Do you?" "Me English? ab course. Speak well English," replied Ernest, in the true Gallic-idiom. Then relapsing into the more familiar tongue, he added, "But in Spain I speak Spanish." By this time the trio had arrived within view of a large castellated building, whose ancient towers, glowing in the last rays of the setting sun, rose majestically from the midst of groves of dark cypress and myrtle which surrounded it. The muleteer stopped. "There, seÑores," he said, "stands the castle of the Conde. Half-a-mile further on lies the town of R——, to which, seÑores," he added, with a sarcastic smile, "you can proceed, should you not find it convenient to remain at the Castello. And now, I presume, as I have guided you so far right, you will suffer me to resume my own direction." "Yes, as there seems no possibility of making any more mistakes on our way, you are free," replied the gravest of the two. "But stop one moment yet, amigo," and he pointed to a cross-road which, a little further on, diverged from the camino real, "where does that lead to?" "Amigo!" muttered the man between his teeth, "say enemigo rather!" "An answer to my question, villano," said the young Frenchman, haughtily—while his hand instinctively groped for the hilt of his sword. "To R——," replied the man, as he turned silently and sullenly to retrace his steps. "Holla, there!" Ernest called out; "you have forgotten your money;" and he held out a purse, but the man was gone. "Va donc, et que le diable t'emporte, brutal!" added Ernest de Lucenay; taking good care, however, this time, that the ebullition of his feelings was not loud enough to reach the ears of the retreating peasant. "Confound it! I would rather follow the track of a tiger through the pathless depth of an Indian jungle alone, than be led by such a savage cicerone." "Never mind the fellow; we have more than enough to think of in our own affairs," exclaimed his friend, impatiently. "Let us stop here a moment and consult, before we proceed any further. One thing is evident, at all events, that we must contrive to disguise ourselves better if we wish to pass for any thing but Frenchmen. With my knowledge of the English language, and acquaintance with their manners and habits, trifling as it is, I am perfectly certain of imposing on the Spaniards, without any difficulty; but you will as certainly cause a blow up, unless you manage to alter your whole style and appearance. I daresay you have forgotten all my instructions already." "Bah! Alphonse. Let me alone for puzzling the dons; I'll be as complete a Goddam in five minutes as any stick you ever saw, I warrant you." "Nothing can appear more perfectly un-English than you do at present. That ÉveillÉ look of yours is the very devil;" and Alphonse shook his head, despondingly. "Incredulous animal! just hold Nero for five minutes, and you shall have ocular demonstration of my powers of acting. Parbleu! you shall see that I can be solemn and awkward enough to frighten half the petites maÎtresses of Paris into the vapours." And, so saying, De Lucenay sprang from his saddle, and consigning the bridle into his friend's hands, ran towards a little brook, which trickled through the grass at a short distance from the roadside; but not before he had made his friend promise to abstain from casting any profane glances on his toilet till it was accomplished. Wisely resolving to avoid temptation, Alphonse turned away, when, to his surprise, he perceived the muleteer halting on a rising ground at a This short interval had more than sufficed for De Lucenay's mysterious operations. And before his friend was tired of fuming and sacreing against Spain and Spaniards, Ernest tapped him on the shoulder, and for once both the young officer's anger and habitual gravity vanished in an uncontrollable fit of laughter. "By Jupiter! it is incredible," he gasped forth, as soon as returning breath would allow him to speak: while Ernest stood silently enjoying his surprise. "Well, what think you? It will do, will it not? Are you still in fear of a fiasco?" "Nay! My only fear now is, that the pupil will eclipse the master, and that the more shining light of your talents will cast mine utterly into the shade. By heavens! the transformation is inimitable. Your own father would not know you." "He would not be the only one in such an unhappy case, then." Nothing certainly could have been more absurd than the complete metamorphosis which, in those few moments, De Lucenay had contrived to make in his appearance. With the aid of a little fresh water from the rivulet, he had managed to reduce the rich curly locks of his chesnut hair to an almost Quaker flatness; the shirt collar, which had been turned down, was now drawn up to his cheek-bones, and with his hat placed perpendicularly on the crown of his head, one arm crossed under the tails of his coat, and the other balancing his whip, its handle resting on his lips, the corners of which were drawn puritanically down, and his half-closed eyes staring vacantly on the points of his boots, he stood the living picture of an automaton. "Well, would you not swear that I was a regular boule-dog Anglais?" exclaimed Earnest, stalking up and down for his friend's inspection, while he rounded his shoulders, and carried his chin in the air, in order to increase the resemblance. "Excellent!—only not so much laisser aller; a little more stiff—more drawn up! That will do—oh, it's perfect!" And again Alphonse burst into a peal of laughter, in which De Lucenay, notwithstanding his newly-assumed gravity, could not refrain from joining. "Let me see,—That coat fits a great deal too well, too close. We must rip out some of the wadding, just to let it make a few wrinkles; it ought to hang quite loosely, in order to be in character." "Gently, mon cher!" interposed De Lucenay, as his friend drew out a pen-knife. "To satisfy you, I have injured the sit of my cravat, I have hidden the classic contour of my neck, I have destroyed the AntinÖus-like effect of my coiffure—those curls which were the despair of all my rivals in conquest—I have consented to look like a wretch impaled, and thus renounce all the bonnes fortunes that awaited me during the next four-and-twenty hours; and now you venture to propose, with the coolest audacity, that I should crown all these sacrifices by utterly destroying the symmetry of my figure. No, no, mon cher! that is too much; cut yourself up as you please, but spare your friend." "Vive Dieu!" laughed Alphonse. "It is lucky that you have absorbed such an unreasonable proportion of vanity that you have left none for me. To spare the acuteness of your feelings, I will be the victim. Here goes!" And, so saying, he ripped up the lining of his coat, and scattered a few handfuls of wadding to the winds. "Will that do?" "Oh, capitally! I would rather you wore it than me; it has as many wrinkles as St Marceau's forehead." "Forward, then, et vogue la galÈre!" exclaimed Alphonse, as De "Apropos!" exclaimed De Lucenay, as they approached the castle; "we ought to lay our plans, and make a proper arrangement beforehand, like honest, sociable brothers-in-arms; it would never do to stand in each other's light, and mar our mutual hopes of success by cutting each others' throats for the sake of the bella." "Oh, as for me, you are welcome to all my interest in the DoÑa's heart beforehand; for I never felt less disposed to fall in love than I do at present." "You are delightful in theory, caro mio; but as your practice might be somewhat different, suppose we make a little compact, upon fair terms, viz., that the choice is to depend on the seÑora herself; that whoever she distinguishes, the other is to relinquish his claims at once, and thenceforth devote all his energies to the assistance of his friend. We cannot both carry her off, you know; so it is just as well to settle all these little particulars in good time." "Oh! as you please. I am quite willing to sign and seal any compact that will set your mind at rest; though, for my part, I declare off beforehand." "Well, then, it is a done thing; give me your hand on it. Parole d'honneur!" said De Lucenay, stretching out his. "Parole d'honneur," returned his friend, with a smile. "But to return to the elopement"— "Gad! How you fly on! There will be two words to that part of the story, I suspect. DoÑa Inez will probably not be quite so easily charmed as our dear little grisettes; and she must be consulted, I suppose; unless, indeed, you intend to carry the fort by storm; the current of your love nay not flow as smoothly as you expect." "Oh, as for that, leave it to me. Spanish women have too good a taste, and we Frenchmen are too irresistible to leave me any fears on that score; besides, she must be devilishly difficult if neither of us suit her. You are dark, and I fair—you are pensive, and I gay—you poetic, and I witty. The deuce is in it, if she does not fall in love with either one or other! "Add to which, the private reservation, no doubt, that if she has one atom of discernment, it is a certain volage, giddy, young aide-de-camp that she will select." "Why, if I had but fair play; but as my tongue will not be allowed to shine, I must leave the captivation part to my yeux doux. Who knows, though?"—— "Oh, vanitas vanitatum!" exclaimed Alphonse, with a laugh. "I might say the same of a certain rebellious aristocrat, who lays claim to the euphonious patronymic of La Tour d'Auvergne, with a pedigree that dates from the Flood, and a string of musty ancestors who might put the patriarchs to the blush; but I am more generous;" and De Lucenay began carelessly to hum a few bars of La Carmagnole. "Softly!" said his more prudent friend. "We are drawing near the chateau, and you might as well wear a cockade tricolor as let them hear that." It was an antique, half-Gothic, half-Saracenic looking edifice, which they now approached. A range of light arcades, whose delicate columns, wreathed round with the most graceful foliage, seemed almost too slight to sustain the massive structure which rose above them, surrounded the pian terreno. Long tiers of pointed windows, mingled with exquisite fretwork, and one colossal balcony, with a rich crimson awning, completed the faÇade. Beneath the portico, numbers of servants and retainers were lounging about, enjoying the fresco. Some, stretched out at full length on the marble benches that lined the open arcades, were fast asleep; others, seated À la Turque upon the ground, were busily engaged in a noisy game of cards. But the largest group of all had collected round a handsome Moorish-looking Andalusian, who, leaning against the wall, was lazily rasping the chords of a guitar that was slung over his shoulder, while he sang one of those charming little Tiranas, to which he improvised the usual nonsense words as he proceeded; anon As no one seemed to heed their approach, the two young men stood for a few moments in silence, listening delightedly to the music, which now melted into the softer strain of a Seguidilla, now brightened into the more brilliant measure of a Bolero. Suddenly, in the midst of it, the singer broke off, and springing on his feet as if inspired, he dashed his hands across the strings. Like an electric shock, the well-known chords of the Tragala aroused his hearers—every one crowded round the singer. The players threw down their cards, the loungers stood immovable, even the sleepers started into life; and all chorusing in enthusiastically, a burst of melody arose of which no one unacquainted with the rich and thrilling harmony peculiar to Spanish voices, can form an idea. "Ernest," said La Tour d'Auvergne in a whisper, "we shall never conquer such a people: Napoleon himself cannot do it." "Perhaps," replied his friend in the same tone. "They are desperately national; it will be tough work, at all events. But, come on; as the song is finished, we have some chance of making ourselves heard now." And De Lucenay spurred his horse up to the entrance. At their repeated calls for attendance, two or three servants hastened out of the vestibule and held their horses as they dismounted. They became infinitely more attentive, however, on hearing that the strangers were English officers, the bearers of dispatches to their master; and a dark Figaro-looking laquey, in whose lively roguish countenance the Frenchmen would have had no difficulty in recognising a Biscayan, even without the aid of his national and picturesque costume, offered to usher them into the presence of the Conde. Their guide led the way through the long and lofty vestibule, which opened on a superb marble colonnade that encircled the patio or court, in the centre of which two antique and richly-sculptured fountains were casting up their glittering jets-d'eau in the proscribed form of fleurs-de-lis, to be received again in two wide porphyry basins. Traversing the patio, they ascended a fine marble staircase, from the first flight of which branched off several suites of apartments. Taking the one to the right, the young men had full leisure to observe the splendour that surrounded them, as they slowly followed their conductor from one long line of magnificent rooms into another. Notwithstanding many modern alterations, the character of the whole building was too evidently Eastern to admit a doubt as to its Moorish origin. Every where the most precious marbles, agates, and lapis-lazuli, oriental jasper, porphyry of every variety, dazzled the eye. In the centre of many of the rooms there played a small fountain; in others there were four, one in each angle. Large divans of the richest crimson and violet brocades lined the walls, while ample curtains of the same served in lieu of doors. But what particularly struck the friends was the brilliant beauty of the arabesques that covered the ceilings, and the exquisite chiselling of the cornices, and the framework of the windows. "The palace is beautiful, is it not?" said the Biscayan, as he perceived the admiring glances they cast around them. "It ought to be, for it was one of the summer dwellings of il rey Moro; and those ereticos malditos cared but little what treasures they lavished on their pleasures. It came into my master's possession as a descendant of the Cid, to whom it was given as a guerdon for his services." "What a numerous progeny that famous hero must have had! He was a wonderful man!" exclaimed De Lucenay, with extreme gravity. "Si, seÑor—un hombre maravilloso en verdad," replied the Spaniard, whom, notwithstanding his natural acuteness, the seriousness of De Lucenay's manner and countenance had prevented from discovering the irony of his words. "But now seÑores," he continued, as they reached a golden tissue-draped door, "we are arrived. The next room is the comedor, where the family are at supper." "Then, perhaps, we had better "Oh, by no means! The Conde would be furious if you were kept waiting an instant. The English are great favourites of his. Besides, they must have finished by this time." And raising the curtain, they entered an immense frescoed hall, which was divided in the centre by a sort of transparent partition of white marble, some fourteen or fifteen feet in height, so delicately pierced and chiseled, that it resembled lace-work much more than stone. A pointed doorway, supported by twisted columns, as elaborately carved and ornamented as the rest, opened into the upper part of the hall, which was elevated a step higher. In the centre of this, a table was superbly laid out with a service of massive gold; while the fumes of the viands was entirely overpowered by the heavy perfume of the colossal bouquets of flowers which stood in sculptured silver and gold vases on the plateau. Around the table were seated about twenty persons, amongst whom the usual sprinkling of sacerdotes was not wanting. A stern, but noble-looking man sat at the upper end of the table, and seemed to do the honours to the rest of the company. The Conde—for it was he—rose immediately on receiving the message which the young officers had sent in; while they waited its answer in the oriel window, being unwilling to break in so unceremoniously upon a party which seemed so much larger, and more formal, than any they had been prepared to meet. Their host received them most courteously as they presented their credentials—namely, a letter from the English general, Wilson, who commanded the forces stationed at the city of S——, about sixty miles distant from the chateau. As the Conde ran his glance over its contents,—in which the general informed him that within three or four days he would reach R——, when he intended to avail himself of the Conde's often proffered hospitality, till when he recommended his two aides-de-camp to his kindness,—the politeness of their welcome changed to the most friendly cordiality. "SeÑores," he said, "I am most grateful to his excellency for the favour he has conferred on me, in choosing my house during his stay here. I feel proud and happy to shelter beneath my roof any of our valued and brave allies.—But you must have had a hard day's ride of it, I should think." "Why, yes, it was a tolerable morning's work," replied De Lucenay, who felt none of Alphonse's embarrassment. "Pablo, place seats for their excellencies," said the Conde to one of the domestics who stood around; while he motioned to the soi-disant Englishmen to enter the supper-room, in which the clatter of tongues and plates had sensibly diminished, ever since the commencement of the mysterious conference which had been taking place beyond its precincts. "You must be greatly in want of some refreshment, for the wretched posadas on the road cannot have offered you any thing eatable." "They were not very tempting, certainly; however, we are pretty well used to them by this time," replied De Lucenay. "But, SeÑor Conde, really we are scarcely presentable in such a company," he added, as he looked down on his dust-covered boots and dress. "What matter? You must not be so ceremonious with us; you cannot be expected to come off a journey as if you had just emerged from a lady's boudoir," answered the Conde with a smile. "Besides, these are only a few intimate friends who have assembled to celebrate my daughter's fÊte-day." And, so saying, he led them up to the table, and presented them to the circle as Lord Beauclerc and Sir Edward Trevor, aides-de-camp to General Wilson. "And now," he added, "I must introduce you to the lady of the castle; my daughter, DoÑa Inez;" and turning to a slight elegant-looking girl, who might have been about sixteen or seventeen, he said—"Mi queridita, these gentlemen have brought me the welcome news that our friend the English general will be here in three or four days at the latest; the corps will be quartered in the neighbourhood, but the general and his aides-de-camp will reside with us. "I shall be most happy to contribute to it as far as it is in my slight power," replied DoÑa Inez in a low sweet voice, while she raised her large lustrous eyes to those of Alphonse, which for the last five minutes had been gazing as if transfixed upon her beautiful countenance. Starting as if from a dream, he stammered out, "SeÑorita, I——I——," when fortunately De Lucenay came to his assistance, with one of those little well-turned flattering speeches for which French tact is so unrivalled; and as the company politely made room for them, they seated themselves beside her. "Don Fernando," said the Conde to a haughty, grave-looking man, who sat next to De Lucenay, while he resumed his place at the head of the table, "you and Inez, I trust, will take care of our new friends. Pobrecitos, they must be half famished by their day's expedition, and this late hour." But the recommendation was superfluous; every one vied with his neighbour in attending to the two strangers, who, on their part, were much more intent on contemplating the fair mistress of the mansion, than on doing honour to the profusion of friandises that were piled before them. DoÑa Inez was indeed beautiful, beyond the usual measure of female loveliness: imagination could not enhance, nor description give an idea of the charm that fascinated all those who gazed upon her: features cast in the most classic mould—a complexion that looked as if no southern sun had ever smiled on it. But the eyes!—the large, dark, liquid orbs, whose glance would now seem almost dazzling in its excessive brightness, and now melted into all the softness of Oriental languor, as the long, gloomy Circassian lashes drooped over them! As Alphonse looked upon her, he could have almost fancied himself transported to Mohammed's paradise, and taken the Spanish maiden for a houri; but that there was a soul in those magnificent eyes—a nobleness in the white and lofty brow—a dignity in the calm and pensive calmness, which spoke of higher and better things. But if her appearance enchanted him, her manners were not less winning; unembarrassed and unaffected, her graceful and natural ease in a few moments contrived to make them feel as much at home as another would have done in as many hours. Much to the young Frenchmen's regret, however, they were not long allowed to enjoy their apartÉ in quiet; for a thin sallow-looking priest, whom DoÑa Inez had already designated to them as the Padre Confessor, interrupted them in a few minutes, and the conversation became general. "It is a great satisfaction to us all to see you here, seÑores," he said. "First, as it procures us the pleasure of becoming personally acquainted with our good friends and allies the English; and, secondly, as a guarantee that we are not likely to have our sight polluted by any of those sacrilegious demons the French, while you are amongst us." "Gracias a Dios!" energetically rejoined the cappellan—a fat, rosy, good-humoured looking old man, the very antipodes of his grim confrÈre. "The saints preserve me from ever setting eyes on them again! You must know, seÑores, that some six weeks ago I had gone to collect some small sums due to the convent, and was returning quietly home with a lay brother, when I had the misfortune to fall in with a troop of those sons of Belial, whom I thought at least a hundred miles off. Would you believe it, seÑores! without any respect for my religious habit, the impious dogs laid violent hands on me; laughed in my face when I told them I was almoner to the holy community of Sancta Maria de los Dolores; and vowing that they were sure that my frock was well lined, actually forced me to strip to the skin, in order to despoil me of the treasure of the Church! Luckily, however the Holy Virgin had inspired me to hide it in the mule's saddle-girths, and so, the zechins escaped their greedy fangs. But I had enough of the fright; it laid me up for a week. Misericordia! what a set of cut-throat, hideous-looking ruffians! I thought I "Jesus!" exclaimed a handsome bronzed-looking Castilian, whom De Lucenay had heard addressed as DoÑa Encarnacion de Almoceres; "are they really so wicked and so frightful?" "Without doubt; true demons incarnate," replied the veracious priest. "Come, come, reverendissimo padre; you are too hard upon the poor devils: I have seen a good-looking fellow amongst them, now and then." "Bondad sua, seÑor, I'll be sworn there is not one fit to tie the latchet of your shoe in the whole army." "Yet how strange, then," recommenced DoÑa Encarnacion, "the infatuation they excite! I am told that it is inconceivable the numbers of young girls, from sixteen and upwards, who have abandoned their homes and families to follow these brigands. Their want of mature years and understanding," she continued, with a significant glance at DoÑa Inez—her indignation having been gradually aroused as she perceived the admiration lavished on her by the strangers, and the indifference with which they viewed her riper charms,—"may be one reason; but if the French are so unattractive, such madness is inexplicable." "Arts, unholy arts all!" cried the Confessor. "Their damnable practices are the cause of it. They rob the damsels of their senses, with their infernal potions and elixirs. The wretches are in league with the devil." "Assuredly," replied Don Fernando, gravely, "you must be right. No woman in her senses would condescend to look at those insignificant triflers, while a single caballero of the true old type is to be found on Spanish soil;" and he drew himself still more stiffly up. "The Holy Virgin defend me from their snares!" fervently ejaculated a thin wrinkled old woman, who until then might easily have been mistaken for a mummy, casting her eye up to heaven, and crossing herself with the utmost devotion. A suppressed laugh spread its contagious influence all round the table. "DoÑa Estefania, have no fear; you possess an infallible preservative," exclaimed the cappellan. "And what may that be?" responded the antiquated fair, somewhat sharply. "Your piety and virtue, seÑora," rejoined the merry cappellano, with a roguish smile, which was not lost on the rest of the company, though it evidently escaped the obtuser perceptions of DoÑa Estefania; for drawing her mantilla gracefully around her, and composing her parched visage into a look of modesty, she answered in a softened tone, while she waved her abanico timidly before her face, "Ah, Padre Anselmo! you are too partial; you flatter me!" This was too much for the risible faculties of the audience; even the grim Don Fernando's imperturbable mustache relaxed into a smile; while to avert the burst of laughter which seemed on the point of exploding on all sides, DoÑa Inez interrupted—— "But, seÑora, I should hope there is much falsehood and exaggeration in the reports you allude to. I trust there are few, if any, Spanish maidens capable of so forgetting what is due to themselves and to their country." "Nevertheless, the contrary is the case," replied DoÑa Encarnacion, with asperity. "Oh! no no—it cannot be! I will not believe it; it is calumnious—it is impossible! What being, with one drop of Spanish blood within their veins, would be so debased as to follow the invaders of their country, the destroyers, the despoilers of their own land?" DoÑa Inez, led away by her own enthusiasm, coloured deeply, while DoÑa Encarnacion seemed on the point of making an angry retort, when the count gave the signal to rise. The rest followed his example, and the Conde led the young Frenchmen to a window, where he conversed a little with them, asked many questions about the forces, about the general who was to be their inmate, &c.—to all which De Lucenay's ready wit and inimitable sang froid furnished him with suitable and unhesitating replies. The Conde then concluded with the information, that as there was to be rather a larger tertulia than usual that evening, perhaps they would wish to make some alteration The officers gladly availed themselves of the permission, and followed the maggior-domo up a massive flight of stairs, into a handsome suite of three or four rooms, assigned entirely to their use. After having promenaded them through the whole extent of their new domicile, the maggior-domo retired, leaving them to the attendance of their former guide, Pedro, who was deputed to serve them in the capacity of valet-de-chambre. The young men were astonished at the magnificence of all that met their eyes: walls covered with the finest tapestry; ewers and goblets of chased and solid silver; even to the quilts and canopies of the bed, stiff with gold embroidery. But they were too much absorbed by the charms of the Conde's daughter, and too anxious to return to the centre of attraction, to waste much time in admiring the splendour of their quarters. "How beautiful DoÑa Inez is!" said De Lucenay, as, in spite of all prudential considerations, he tried to force his glossy locks to resume a less sober fashion. "She must have many admirers, I should think?" "By the dozen," answered the Spaniard. "She is the pearl of Andalusia; there is not a noble caballero in the whole province that would not sell his soul to obtain a smile from her." "And who are the favoured ones at present?" "Oh, she favours none; she is too proud to cast a look on any of them: yet there are four hidalgos on the ranks at present, not one of whom the haughtiest lady in Spain need disdain. Don Alvar de Mendoce, especially, is a cavalier whose birth and wealth would entitle him to any thing short of royalty; not to speak of the handsomest face, the finest figure, and the sweetest voice for a serenade, of any within his most Catholic Majesty's dominions." "And is it possible that the DoÑa can be obdurate to such irresistible attractions?" Pedro shrugged his shoulders. "Why, she has not absolutely refused him, for the Conde favours his suit; but she vows she will not grant him a thought till he has won his spurs, and proved his patriotism, by sending at least a dozen of those French dogs to their father Satanasso." "A capital way to rid one's-self of a bore!" exclaimed De Lucenay, while he cast a last glance at the glass. "So you are ready, milor," he added, turning to his friend, who, notwithstanding his indifference, had spent quite as much time in adonising himself. And, Pedro preceding them, the young men gaily descended the stairs. On entering the salon, they found several groups already assembled. DoÑa Inez was standing speaking to two or three ladies; while several cavaliers hovered round them, apparently delighted at every word that fell from her lips. She disengaged herself from her circle, however, on perceiving them, and gradually approached the window to which they had retreated. "What a lovely evening!" she exclaimed, stepping out upon the balcony, on which the moon shone full, casting a flood of soft mellow light on the sculptured faÇade of the old castle, tipping its forest of tapering pinnacles and the towering summits of the dark cypresses with silver. "You do not see such starlit skies in England, I believe?" "I have enjoyed many a delightful night in my own country, seÑora, and in others, but such a night as this, never—not even in Spain!" answered Alphonse, fixing his expressive eyes on her with a meaning not to be mistaken. "What a pity it is that we cannot import a few of these soft moonlights to our own chilly clime, for the benefit of all lovers, past, present, and future!" said De Lucenay gaily. "It is so much pleasanter to make love in a serenade, with the shadow of some kind projecting buttress to hide one's blushes, a pathetic sonnet to express one's feelings infinitely more eloquently than one can in prose, moonlight and a guitar to cast a shade of romance over the whole, and a moat or river in view to terrify the lady into reason, if necessary—instead of making a formal declaration in the broad daylight, looking rather more bÊte than one has ever looked before, with the uncharitable sun giving a deeper glow to one's "Misericordia!" exclaimed DoÑa Inez with a laugh, "you are quite eloquent on the subject, seÑor. But I should hope, for their sakes, that your delineation of lovers in England is not a very faithful one." "To the life, on my honour." "Probably they do not devote quite as much time to it as our caballeros, who are quite adepts in the science." "Don Alvar de Mendoce, for example," muttered Alphonse, between his teeth. "What! where?" cried the young girl, in an agitated tone; "who mentioned Don Alvar? Did you? But no—impossible!" she added hurriedly. "I?" exclaimed Alphonse, with an air of surprise—"I did not speak. But, pardon, seÑora! is not the cavalier you have just named, your brother?" "No, seÑor—I have no brother: that caballero, he is only a——a friend of my father's," she answered confusedly. "Oh! excuse me," said Alphonse, with the most innocent air imaginable; "I thought you had." There was a moment's pause, and DoÑa Inez returned into the saloon, which was now beginning rapidly to fill. "I am afraid I must leave you, seÑores; the dancing is about to commence," she said, "and I must go and speak to some young friends of mine who have just come in. But first let me induce you to select some partners." "I did not know it was customary to dance at tertulias," observed Ernest. "Not in general, but to-night it is augmented into a little ball, in honour of its being my dia de cumpleaÑos. But come, look round the room, and choose for yourselves. Whom shall I take you up to?" "May I not have the pleasure of dancing with DoÑa Inez herself?" said De Lucenay. "Ah no! I would not inflict so triste a partner on you: I must find you a more lively companion." And as if to prevent the compliment that was hovering on Ernest's lips, she hurried on, while she pointed out a group that was seated near the door. "There! what do you think of DoÑa Juana de Zayas? the liveliest, prettiest, and most remorseless coquette of all Andalusia; for whose bright eyes more hearts and heads have been broken than I could enumerate, or you would have patience to listen to." "What! that sparkling-looking brunette, who flutters her abanico with such inimitable grace?" "The same." "Oh! present me by all means." "And you, seÑor," said DoÑa Inez, returning with more interest to Alphonse, who had stood silently leaning against a column, while she walked his friend across the room, and seated him beside DoÑa Juana, "will you be satisfied with DoÑa Mercedes, who is almost as much admired as her sister; or shall we look further?" "But you, so formed to shine—to eclipse all others—do you never dance, seÑorita?" "Seldom or ever," she replied sadly. "I have no spirit for enjoyment now!" "But wherefore? Can there be a cloud to dim the happiness of one so bright—so beautiful?" he answered, lowering his voice almost to a whisper. "Alas!" she said, touched by the tone of interest with which he had spoken,—"is there not cause enough for sadness in the misfortunes of my beloved country; each day, each hour producing some fresh calamity? Who can be gay when we see our native land ravaged, our friends driven from their homes; when we know not how soon we may be banished from our own?" "Deeply—sincerely do I sympathise with, and honour your feelings; but yet, for once, banish care, and let us enjoy the present hour like the rest." "Indeed, I should prove a bad "But as I fear nothing except ill success, let me entreat." "No, no—I will provide you with a better partner." "Nay, if DoÑa Inez will not favour me, I renounce dancing, not only for to-night, but for ever." "Oh! well then, to save you from such a melancholy sacrifice, I suppose I must consent," replied DoÑa Inez with a laugh: and as the music now gave the signal to commence, she accepted his proffered arm; and in a few moments she was whirling round the circle as swiftly as the gayest of the throng. The first turn of the waltz sufficed to convince Alphonse that his fears on one score, at least, were groundless; for he had never met with a lighter or more admirable valseuse—a pleasure that none but a good waltzer can appreciate, and which, notwithstanding all her other attractions, was not lost upon the young Frenchman; and before the termination of the waltz, he had decided that DoÑa Inez was assuredly the most fascinating, as she was undoubtedly the most beautiful, being he had ever beheld. "Santa Virgen!" exclaimed De Lucenay's lively partner, after a moment's silence, which both had very profitably employed; he, in admiring her pretty countenance, and she in watching the somewhat earnest conversation that was kept up between the French officer and DoÑa Inez, as they reposed themselves on a divan after the fatigues of the waltz. "It seems to me that our proud Inesilla and your friend are very well satisfied with each other. I wonder if Don Alvar would be as well pleased, if he saw them. Grandios! there he is, I declare!" Instinctively De Lucenay's eyes followed the direction of hers, and lighted on a tall striking-looking cavalier, whose handsome features were contracted into a dark frown, while he stood silently observing the couple, the pre-occupation of whom had evidently hitherto prevented their perceiving him. "Do, per caridad! go and tell your friend to be a little more on his guard, or we shall certainly have a duel: Don Alvar is the first swordsman in Spain, jealous as a tiger, and he makes it a rule to cripple, or kill, every rival who attempts to approach DoÑa Inez. Your friend is such a good waltzer, that I should really be sorry to see him disabled, at least till I am tired of dancing with him." "Your frankness is adorable." "Why, to be sure,—of what use are you men except as partners? unless, indeed, you are making love to us; and then, I admit, you are of a little more value for the time being." "The portrait is flattering." "Assuredly; you are only too fortunate in being permitted to worship us." "In the present instance, believe me, I fully appreciate the happiness." "Bravo, bravissimo! I see you were made for me; I hate people who take as much time to fall in love as if they were blind." "I always reflect with my eyes." "Ah! that is the true way; but come," rattled on the merry Juanita, "go and give your friend a hint, and I will employ the interim in smoothing the ruffled plumes of an admirer of mine, who has been scowling at me this last half hour, and whose flame is rather too fresh to put an extinguisher on just yet." "A rival!" exclaimed Ernest in a tragic tone; "he or I must cease to exist." "Oh! don't be so valiant," cried DoÑa Juana, leaning back in a violent fit of laughter. "You would have to extinguish twenty of them at that rate." "Twenty is a large number," said Ernest reflectingly. "Yes, yes—be wise in time," said the pretty coquette, still laughing. "If you are patient and submissive, you have always the chance of rising to the first rank, you know. I am not very exacting, and provided a caballero devotes himself wholly to my service, enlivens me when I am dull, sympathises with me when I am sad, obeys my commands as religiously as he would his confessor's, anticipates my every wish, and bears with every caprice, is never gloomy or jealous, "Is that all? Upon my word your demands are moderate." "Yes, but as our pious friend DoÑa Estefania says, perfection is not of this world, and so I content myself with a little," replied the animated girl, imitating the look of mock humility, shrouding herself in her mantilla, and wielding her abanico with the identical air and grace which had so completely upset the gravity of the supper-table an hour before. "And then, consider," she continued, as suddenly resuming her own vivacity, "how much more glorious it will be to out-strip a host of competitors, than quietly to take possession of a heart which no one takes the trouble of disputing with you." "Your logic is positively unanswerable," laughed De Lucenay. "Ah, per piedad! Spare my ignorance the infliction of such hard words, and be off." "But——" murmured the reluctant Ernest. "Obedience, you know!" and Juanita held up her finger authoritatively. Never had Ernest executed a lady's behests with a worse grace, nor was his alacrity increased by perceiving that, ere he had even had time to cross the room, his place was already occupied, as much apparently to the satisfaction of his substitute, as to that of the faithless fair one herself. But Alphonse and his partner had disappeared, and De Lucenay went towards the balcony, to which he suspected they had retreated; but there was no one there, and De Lucenay stood for a few moments in the embrasure of the window, irresolute whether he should seek out his friend or not, while he amused himself contemplating the animated coup-d'oeil of the saloon. The dark-eyed Spanish belles, with their basquinas and lace mantillas, their flexible figures, and their miniature feet so exquisitely chaussÉes; the handsome caballeros, with their dark profiles and black mustaches, their sombre costume, brilliantly relieved by the gold tissue divans, and varied arabesques of the glittering saloon, they looked like the noble pictures of Velasquez or Murillo just stepped out of their frames. As Ernest was re-entering the saloon, the voices of a group of ladies, from whom he was concealed by the crimson drapery of the curtains, caught his attention. "Ah! Mariguita mia," said one, "how glad I am to meet you here! Que gusto! It is a century since I saw you last." "Queridita mia," responded a masculine tone, very little in harmony with the soft words it uttered; "in these terrible times one dare not venture a mile beyond the town: As for me, the mere barking of a dog puts me all in a flutter, and sends me flying to the window. You know the news, I suppose; DoÑa Isabel de PeÑaflor has quarrelled with her cortejo, and he has flown off in a rage to her cousin Blanca." "Misericordia que lastima, they were such a handsome couple! But it cannot last; they will make it up again, certainly." "Oh no!" interposed another; "her husband Don Antonio has done all he could to reconcile them, but in vain—he told me so himself." "Well, I am sure I don't wonder at it; she is such a shrew there is no bearing her." "No matter," resumed the first speaker, "the example is scandalous, and should not be suffered. Ah! it is all the fault of that artificious Blanca: I knew she would contrive to get him at last." "Aproposito, what do you think of the two new stars?" "Oh, charming! delightful!" exclaimed a voice, whose light silvery tone doubly enhanced the value of its praise to the attentive listener in the back-ground. "Only I fear they will not profit us much; for if my eyes deceive me not, both are already captured." "No doubt, child," said a voice which had not yet spoken; "good looks and good dancing are quite enough to constitute your standard of perfection." "At all events," interrupted another, "they are very unlike Englishmen. Do you know," she continued, lowering her voice to a whisper, "that Don Alvar swears they are nothing else than a pair of French spies; and The intelligence was pleasant! and Ernest seized the first instant when he could slip out unobserved, to go in search of his friend. After looking for him in vain amidst the dancing and chattering crowd, he wandered into an adjoining gallery, whose dark length was left to the light of the moon, in whose rays the gloomy portraits that covered the walls looked almost spectrally solemn. The gallery terminated in a terrace, which was decorated with colossal marble vases and stunted orange-trees, whose blossoms embalmed the air with their fragrance. As Ernest approached, the sound of whispered words caught his ear. He stood still an instant, hidden by the porphyry columns of the portico. "Indeed, indeed, I must return; do not detain me; it is not right; I shall be missed; I cannot listen to you," murmured the low voice of DoÑa Inez. "One moment more. Inez, I love, I adore you! Oh, do not turn from me thus—the present instant alone is ours; to-morrow, to-night, this hour perhaps, I may be forced to leave you; give me but hope, one smile, one word, and I will live upon that hope—live for the future—live for you alone, beloved one! till we compel fate to reunite us, or die. But you will not say that word; you care not for me—you love another!" said Alphonse bitterly. "Would that I had never seen you! you are cold, heartless! or you could not reject thus a love so ardent, so devoted, as that I fling at your feet." "But why this impetuosity—this unreasonable haste? If you love me, there is time to-morrow, hereafter; but this is madness. I love no one—I hate Don Alvar; but your love is folly, insanity. Three hours ago you had never seen me, and now you swear my indifference will kill you. Oh! seÑor, seÑor! I am but a simple girl—I am but just seventeen; yet I know that were it even true that you love me, a love so sudden in its birth must perish as rapidly." "It is not true! you know—you feel that it is not true—you do not think what you say! There is a love which, like the lightning, scorches the tree which it strikes, and blasts it for ever; but you reason—you do not love—fool that I am!" "Oh! let me go—do not clasp my hand so—you are cruel!" and Inez burst into tears. "Forgive me—oh, forgive me, best beloved! luz de mi alma!" A sound of approaching footsteps on the marble below startled them, and Inez darted away like a frightened fawn, and flew down the gallery. "Well, stoical philosopher!" exclaimed Ernest, as his friend emerged from behind the orange-trees; "for so indifferent and frozen a personage, I think you get on pretty fast. Ca ira! I begin to have hopes of you. So you have lost that frozen heart of yours at last, and after such boasting, too! But that is always the way with you braggadocios. I thought it would end so, you were so wondrously valiant." "But who ever dreamed of seeing any thing so superhumanly beautiful as that young girl? Nothing terrestrial could have conquered me; but my stoicism was defenceless against an angel." "Bravo! your pride has extricated itself from the dilemma admirably. I must admit that there is some excuse for you; the pearl of Andalusia is undoubtedly ravissante. But your pieces of still life never suit me. I have the bad taste to prefer the laughing black-eyed Juanita de Zayas to all the Oriental languor, drooping lashes, and sentimental monosyllables of your divinity." "Oh, sacrilege! the very comparison is profanation!" exclaimed Alphonse, raising his hands and eyes to heaven. "Hold hard, mon cher. I cannot stand that!" responded Ernest energetically. "Then, in heaven's name, do not put such a noble creature as DoÑa Inez on a level with a mere little trifling coquette." "Oh! she is every inch as bad. I watched her narrowly, and would stake my life on it she is only the more dangerous for being the less open. Smooth water, you know——however, you have made a tolerable day's work of it." "Either the best or the worst of "What! is it come to that?—so hot upon it! But while we are standing trifling here, we ought to be discussing something much more important." And here De Lucenay repeated the conversation he had overheard. "In short, I fear we are fairly done for," he added, in conclusion. "I hope you are able to bear the brunt of the battle, for my vocabulary will scarcely carry me through ten words." "Oh, as for me, I shall do very well; it must be the devil's own luck if he speaks English better than I do," said Alphonse; "and as for you, you must shelter yourself under English morgue and reserve." "Confound him!" muttered De Lucenay: "jealousy is the very deuce for sharpening the wits. But no matter, courage!"—And so saying, the friends sauntered back into the circle. They had not been long there when the Conde came up and introduced his friend Don Alvar, who, as they had expected, addressed them in very good English; to which Alphonse replied with a fluency which would have delighted his friend less, had he been able to appreciate the mistakes which embellished almost every sentence. To him Don Alvar often turned; but as every attempt to engage him in the conversation was met by a resolute monosyllable, he at last confined himself to Alphonse, much to De Lucenay's relief. His manners, however, were cautious and agreeable; and as, after a quarter of an hour, he concluded by hoping that erelong they should be better acquainted, and left them apparently quite unsuspicious, the young men persuaded themselves that they had outwitted their malicious inquisitor. Their gay spirits thus relieved from the cloud that had momentarily over-shadowed them, the remainder of the evening was to them one of unmingled enjoyment. In the society of the beautiful DoÑa Inez, and her sparkling friend, hours flew by like minutes; and when the last lingering groups dispersed, and the reluctant Juanita rose to depart, the friends could not be convinced of the lateness of the hour. "Well, Alphonse! so you are fairly caught at last!" said De Lucenay, as, after dismissing Pedro half-an-hour later, he stretched himself full length on the luxurious divan of the immense bedroom, which, for the sake of companionship, they had determined on sharing between them. "After all, it is too absurd that you, who have withstood all the artillery of Paris, and escaped all the cross-fire of the two Castiles, should come and be hooked at last in this remote corner of the earth, by the inexperienced black eyes of an innocent of sixteen." "Good heavens! do cease that stupid style of persiflage. I am in no humour for jesting." "Well, defend me from the love that makes people cross! My bonnes fortunes always put me in a good humour." "Will you never learn to be serious? That absurd manner of talking is very ill-timed." Ernest was on the point of retorting very angrily, when the sound of a guitar struck upon their ears; and, with one accord, the friends stole silently and noiselessly to the balcony—but not before Ernest, with the tact of experience, had hidden the light behind the marble pillars of the alcove. By this manoeuvre, themselves in shade, they could, unperceived, observe all that passed in the apartment opposite to them, from which the sound proceeded; for the windows were thrown wide open, and an antique bronze lamp, suspended from the ceiling, diffused sufficient light over the whole extent of the room to enable them to distinguish almost every thing within its precincts. The profusion of flowers, trifles, and musical instruments, that were dispersed around in graceful confusion, would alone have betrayed a woman's sanctum sanctorum, even had not the presiding genius of the shrine been the first and most prominent object that met their eyes. DoÑa Inez—for it was she—had drawn her seat to the verge of the balcony; and, her guitar resting on her knee, she hurried over a brilliant prelude with a masterly hand; and in a pure, rich voice, but evidently tremulous with emotion, sang a little plaintive seguidilla "Well, Alphonse," said De Lucenay, "let me congratulate you. This serenade is for you; but I presume you will no longer deny the coquettery of your innamorata?" "Hush, hush!" exclaimed his friend hastily, as DoÑa Inez resumed her seat: "be sure there is some better motive for it." The music now recommenced, but it was the same air again. "This is strange!" muttered Ernest: "her repertoire seems limited. Does she know nothing else, I wonder?" "Silence!" replied the other. "Did you mark the words?" exclaimed Alphonse hurriedly, as the music concluded. "Descuidado caballero, este lecho es vuestra tumba, &c." "No, indeed; I was much better employed in watching the fair syren herself. Foi de dragon! she is charming. I have half a mind to dispute her with you." "She has something to communicate!" exclaimed Alphonse, in an agitated voice; "we are in danger." And, running rapidly into the room, he replaced the light on the table, so that they were full in view. His conjecture was right; for no sooner did the light discover to her those whom she was looking for, than, uttering a fervent "gracias a Dios!" she clasped her hands together, and rushed into the apartment, from which she almost instantaneously returned with a small envelope, which she flung with such precision that it fell almost in the centre of the room, with a sharp metallic sound. It was the work of an instant to tear open the packet, take out the key which it contained, and decypher the following words:— "SeÑores,—Strange, and I trust unjust suspicions have arisen concerning you. It is whispered that you are not what you appear: that secret and traitorous designs have led you amongst us. To-morrow's dawn will bring the proof to light. But, should you have any thing to fear, fly instantly—not a moment must be lost. Descend by the small staircase; the inclosed is a passe-partout to open the gate, outside which Pedro will wait you with your horses, and guide you on your way, till you no longer require him. Alas! I betray my beloved parent's confidence, to save you from a certain and ignominious death. Be generous, then, and bury all that you have seen and heard within these walls in oblivion, or eternal remorse and misery must be mine.—Inez." "Generous, noble-minded girl!" enthusiastically exclaimed Alphonse, as he paced the room with agitated steps. "Scarcely do I regret this hour of peril, since it has taught me to know thee!" "For heaven's sake, Alphonse, no heroics now!" cried De Lucenay, who, not being in love, estimated the value of time much more rationally than his friend. "Scribble off an answer—explain that we are not spies—while I prepare for our departure. Be quick!—five minutes are enough for me." Alphonse followed his friend's advice, and, in an incredibly short space of time, penned off a tolerably long epistle, explaining the boyish frolic into which they had been led by getting possession of the dispatches of an imprisoned English aide-de-camp, and the reports of her beauty; filled up with protestations of eternal gratitude and remembrance, and renewing all the vows and declarations of the evening—the precipitancy of which he excused by the unfortunate circumstances under which he was placed, and the impossibility of bidding her adieu, without convincing her of the sentiments which filled his heart then and for ever. The letter concluded by intreating her carefully to preserve the signet-ring which it contained; and that should she at any future time be in any danger or distress, she had only to present or send it, and there was nothing, within their power, himself or his friends would not do for her. Having signed their real names and titles, and dispatched "SeÑores," said Pedro, as they mounted their horses, "the SeÑorita thinks you had better not return to your quarters, for Don Alvar is such a devil when his jealous blood is up, that he might pursue you with a troop of assassins, and murder you on the road. She desired me to conduct you to S——, whence you may easily take the cross-roads in any direction you please." "The SeÑorita is a pearl of prudence and discretion: do whatever she desired you," said Alphonse. Pedro made no answer; but seemingly as much impressed with the necessity of speed as the young men themselves, put the spurs to his horse; and in a moment they were crossing the country at a speed which bid fair to distance any pursuers who were not gifted with wings as well as feet; nor did they slacken rein till the dawn of day showed them, to their great joy, that they were beyond the reach of pursuit, and in a part of the country with which they were sufficiently well acquainted to enable them to dispense with the services of Pedro—a discovery which they lost no time in taking advantage of, by dismissing the thenceforth inconvenient guide, with such substantial marks of their gratitude as more than compensated him for the loss of his night's rest. A few more hours saw them safely returned to the French camp, without having suffered any greater penalty for the indulgence of their curiosity, than a night's hard riding, to the no small discomfiture of the friendly circle of frÈres d'armes, whose prophecies of evil on the subject had been, if not loud, deep and numerous. It was on a somewhat chilly evening, towards the beginning of winter, that Alphonse was writing a letter in his tent; while De Lucenay, who, when there were no ladies in question, could never be very long absent from his Pylades, was pacing up and down, savouring the ineffable delights of a long chibouque, when the orderly suddenly entered, and laid a letter on the table, saying that the bearer waited the answer. Desiring him to attend his orders outside, Alphonse broke open the envelope. "What the devil have you got there, Alphonse?" exclaimed De Lucenay, stopping in the midst of his perambulations, as he perceived the agitated countenance and tremulous eagerness with which his friend perused the contents of the letter. "It must be a powerful stimulant indeed, which can make you look so much more like yourself than you have done for these last five months. You have not been so much excited since that mysterious blank letter you received, with its twin sprigs of forget-me-not and myrtle. I began to fear I should have that unlucky expedition of ours on my conscience for the rest of my days. You have never been the same being since." "There—judge for yourself!" exclaimed Alphonse, flinging him the note after he had hurriedly pressed it to his lips, and rushed out of the tent. It was with scarcely less surprise and emotion that De Lucenay glanced over the following lines:— "If honour and gratitude have any claims upon your hearts, now is the moment to redeem the pledge they gave. Danger and misfortune have fallen upon us, and I claim the promise that, unasked, you made; the holy Virgin grant that it may be as fresh in your memory as it is in mine. I await your answer.—Inez." The signet was inclosed. Scarcely had De Lucenay read its contents when his friend re-entered, leading in a trembling sister of charity, beneath whose projecting hood Ernest had no difficulty in recognising the beautiful features of DoÑa Inez di Miranda. "This is indeed an unlooked-for happiness!" passionately exclaimed Alphonse, while he placed the agitated and almost fainting girl on a seat. "Since that memorable night of mingled joy and despair, I thought not that such rapture awaited me again on earth." "Oh, talk not of joy, of happiness!" "Calm yourself, calm yourself, sweet child!" he whispered soothingly: "our lives, our blood is at your service; there is nothing on earth which my friend and I would not do for you." A declaration which De Lucenay confirmed with an energetic oath. Somewhat tranquillized by this assurance, she at last recovered sufficiently to explain that her father was at the head of a guerilla band which had been captured, having fallen into an ambuscade, where they left more than half their number dead on the field. Some peasants had brought the news to the chateau, with the additional information that they were all to be shot within two days. "In my despair," continued the young girl, "I thought of you; and ordering the fleetest horses in the stables to be saddled, set off with two servants, determined to throw myself on your pity; and if that should fail me, to fling myself on the mercy of heaven, and lastly to die with him, if I could not rescue him. But you will save him! will you not?" she sobbed with clasped hands—and a look so beseeching, so sorrowful, that the tears rushed involuntarily into their eyes. "Save him! oh yes, at all costs, at all hazards! were it at the risk of our heads! But where is he? where was he taken? where conveyed to?" "They were taken to the quarters of the general-in-chief in command, and it was he himself who signed their condemnation." "My father!" said De Lucenay, in a tone of surprise. "Ernest!" exclaimed his friend, "they must be those prisoners who were brought in this morning while we were out foraging." "No doubt, no doubt, you are right," replied De Lucenay, his countenance lighting up with pleasure. "Oh, then, all is well! I will go instantly to my father; tell him we owe our lives to you—and that will be quite sufficient. Have no fear—he is saved!" "He is saved! He is saved!" shrieked DoÑa Inez. "Oh, may heaven bless you for those words!" and with a sigh—a gasp—she fell senseless on the ground. "Poor girl!" said De Lucenay, pityingly, "she has suffered indeed. Alphonse, I leave you to resuscitate her, while I hurry off to the General. There is not a moment to be lost. As soon as the grand affair is settled, I will make my father send for her. She will be better taken care of there; and besides, you know, it would not be convenable for her to remain here; and we must be generous as well as honourable." "Oh, certainly—certainly! It is well you think for me; for I am so confused that I remember nothing," exclaimed Alphonse, as De Lucenay hurried away. It was not quite so easy a task, however, as he had imagined, to bring the young girl to life again. The terror and distress she had undergone had done their worst; and the necessity for exertion past, the overstrung nerves gave way beneath the unwonted tension. One fainting-fit succeeded to another; till at last Alphonse began to be seriously alarmed. Fortunately, however, joy does not kill; and after a short while, DoÑa Inez was sufficiently recovered to listen with a little more attention to the protestations, vows, and oaths, which, for the last half hour, the young Frenchman had been very uselessly wasting on her insensible ears. "And so, then, you did remember me, it seems!" said DoÑa Inez, after a moment's silence—while she rested her head on one hand, and abandoned the other to the passionate kisses of her lover. "Remember you! What a word! DoÑa Inez snatched it out of his hand, and covered it with kisses. "Blessed be the holy Virgin! I have not prayed to her in vain. I, too, have thought of you, Alphonse; I, too, have dreamed of you by day, and lain awake by night to dream of you again. How have I supplicated all the saints in heaven to preserve you, to watch over you! For I, too, love you, Alphonse; deeply—passionately—devotedly—as a Spaniard loves—once, and for ever!" "Mes amis, I regret to part you," said De Lucenay, who re-entered the tent a few moments after; "but the Conde is pardoned—all is right, and you will meet to-morrow; so let that console you!" "Oh, you were destined to be my good angels!" cried DoÑa Inez enthusiastically, as she drew the white hood over her head, and left the tent with the two friends. Less enviable were the Conde's feelings, when at noon, on the following morning, an order from the General summoned him to his tent, to receive, as he supposed, sentence of death. Great, therefore, was his surprise, when he was ushered into the presence of three officers, in two of whom he instantly recognised his former suspicious guests; while the third, a tall dignified-looking man, advanced towards him, and in the most courteous manner announced to him his free pardon. As the Conde poured forth his thanks, the General interrupted him by saying, that however happy he was at having in his power to remit his sentence, it was not to him that the merit was due. "To whom, then?" exclaimed the Conde in a tone of surprise. "To one most near and dear to you," replied the General. "Who? who?" "You shall see." And the General made a sign to Ernest, who slipped out of the room, and in a few moments returned leading in DoÑa Inez. "And it is to thee, then, my own Inesilla, my darling, my beloved child," passionately cried the Conde as she rushed into his arms, and hid her face upon his breast, "that I owe my life!" To describe the joy, the intense and tumultuous delight of that moment, were beyond the power of words. Even the stern, inflexible commander turned to hide an emotion he would have blushed to betray. After waiting till the first ebullition of their joy had subsided, General de Lucenay walked up to the Conde, and shaking him cordially by the hand, congratulated him on possessing a daughter whose courage and filial devotion were even more worthy of admiration, more rare, than her far-famed beauty; "and which," he added, "even I, who have been in all countries, have never seen surpassed." "Though not my own child, she has indeed been a blessing and a treasure to me," said the Conde; "every year of her life has she repaid to me, a thousand-fold, the love and affection which I have lavished on her; and now"—— "Not your child!" exclaimed De Lucenay and Alphonse in a breath. "No, not my child," replied the Conde. "The story is a long one, but with my generous preservers I can have no secrets. Just seventeen years ago, I was returning from a visit, by the banks of the Guadiana, with only two attendants, when I heard a faint cry from amongst the rushes on the water's edge; dismounting from our horses, we forced our way through the briars to the spot whence the sound proceeded. To our "But her parents, did you never discover any thing about them—who or what they were—the motive of so strange an abandonment?" exclaimed General de Lucenay in an agitated voice. "Was there no clue by which to trace them?" "No, I made all inquiries, but in vain. Besides, it was many miles from any habitation that we found her. I sent the following day, and made many inquiries in the neighbourhood; but no one could give us any information on the subject; so, after an interval of months, I gave the point up as hopeless. One thing only is certain, that they were not inferiors; the fineness of her dress, and a little relic encased in gold and precious stones, that she wore round her neck, were sufficient proofs of that." "This is, indeed, most singular!" cried the General. "And do you recollect the precise date of this occurrence?" "Recollect a day which for many years I have been in the habit of celebrating as the brightest of my life! Assuredly—it was the fourteenth of May—and well do I remember it." "The fourteenth of May! it must be, it is, my long-lost, my long-mourned daughter!" cried the General. "Your daughter!" exclaimed all around in the greatest astonishment. "Yes, my daughter," repeated the General. "You shall hear all: but first—the relic, the relic! where is it? let me see it. That would be the convincing proof indeed." "It is easy to satisfy you," replied Inez, "for it never leaves me;" and, taking a small chain, she handed him a little filigree gold case that she wore in her bosom. "The same! the same! these are my wife's initials on it. This is indeed a wonderful dispensation of Providence, to find a daughter after having so long mourned her as lost; and to find her all my heart could have wished, more than my most ambitious prayers could have asked! Oh, this is too much happiness! Alas!" he continued in a tone of deep feeling, while he drew the astonished and stupefied girl towards him, and, parting the dark locks on her brow, imprinted a paternal kiss upon her forehead, "Would that my poor Dolores had lived to see this hour! how would it have repaid the years of sorrow and mourning your loss occasioned her?" "But how! what is this; it is most extraordinary?" exclaimed the Conde, who had waited in speechless surprise the dÉnoÛment of this unexpected scene. The General explained. His wife had been a Spanish lady of high birth. Returning to France from a visit to her relations, they had stopped to change horses at a little posada on the banks of the Guadiana; their little daughter, a child of eight months old, had sprung out of its nurse's arms into the river. Every effort to recover the child was fruitless; it sank and disappeared. They returned to France, and, after a few years, his wife died. "You may judge, then, of my feelings on hearing your story, SeÑor Conde," concluded the General; "the name of the river and the date first roused my suspicions, which the result has so fully confirmed." "My child, my child! and must I then lose thee!" cried the Count, clasping the young girl in his arms in an agony of grief. "Never!" passionately exclaimed Inez. "Tuya À la vida a la muerta!" "Not so, SeÑor Conde; the man who has treated her so nobly has the best right to her," said the General. "I will never take her from you; an occasional visit is all I shall ask." "But if you will not take her, I know who would, most willingly," said Ernest, stepping forward. "But first, my little sister, let me congratulate "What say you, my child?—Bah! is it indeed so?" exclaimed the Conde, as Inez stood motionless, her dark eyes fixed on the ground, and the flush growing deeper and deeper on her cheek every minute—while Alphonse, springing forward, declared that he would not think such happiness too dearly purchased with his life. "No, no—no dying, if you please. A ghostly mate would be no very pleasant bridegroom for a young lady. What say you, General? shall we consent?" "With all my heart." "Hurrah! Vive la joie!" cried Ernest, tossing his cap into the air. "Oh, this is too much bliss!" murmured Inez almost inaudibly. "No, dearest! may you be as happy through life as you have rendered me," said the Count, folding her in his arms. Edinburgh: Printed by Ballantyne and Hughes, Paul's Work.FOOTNOTES: |
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