mercy! Have pity on the poor! Glory to God on high! Feed the hungry!"
"You see?" said one of the wretches, thrusting his mutilated arm in Salignac's face. "Like you, I have been afflicted with a divine misfortune."
Salignac retreated a step and called out the guard. At once, two dragoons emerged from the doorway and put the beggars to flight with a shower of blows. Even as he ran, one of the fugitives turned and called over his shoulder.
"I know you, cruel man!" he cried. "Christ has already punished you once for your hardness of heart. You have no more hope of eternal bliss than the beasts of the field!"
The captain watched him go without expression. Then he turned to me.
"Lieutenant Jochberg," he said, "you are the only one of us to have seen the Marquis of Bolibar. Did you recognize him in one of those wastrels? I think it very likely that he will endeavour to steal back into his house in some such disguise."
I strove to explain that the beggars had merely come for their Sunday alms, but he did not hear me out. Instead, he began to lay about a peasant who, half hidden behind a mule laden with firewood, had been gazing into his face with mingled curiosity and fear.
"What are you doing here, you stubborn rogue?"
Trembling all over, the peasant put a hand to his brow, lips and breast in turn.
"Leave me be, Jew," he entreated. "Acknowledge the Cross!"
We laughed despite ourselves on hearing the captain called a Jew, but Salignac seemed not to have heard. He fixed the man with a menacing, suspicious gaze.
"Who are you? What's your business here? Who sent for you?
"I bring firewood from the forest for the Seiïor Marques, Your Eternity," the peasant said haltingly, crossing himself again and again as he bestowed this singular title on the captain.
"Take your firewood and go to the Devil - let him stoke the fires of hell with it!" Salignac roared, and the peasant turned and ran off down the street, terrified out of his wits, with the mule cavorting madly after him.
Salignac drew a deep breath and rejoined us.
"An arduous spell of duty, this. It has been the same since daybreak. You, Eglofstein, sitting snug in your orderly-room, can count yourself lucky —"
He broke off, for just then a peasant drove up with a waggon- load of maize straw, and Salignac, suspecting him to be another Marquis of Bolibar in disguise, showered the unfortunate man with curses and imprecations.
We left them to it and set off up the stairs.
In the dining-room above we found Donop in conversation with the priest and the alcalde, who had likewise been invited to dinner. Donop was dressed to the nines: he wore his best breeches, his boots were carefully polished, and the black stock at his throat was knotted in keeping with the latest fashion.
"She will be at table," he announced, walking over to us with an air of mystery.
"I doubt it," Günther retorted. "Our Colonel Vinegar-Jug keeps her tethered like a nanny-goat."
"I met her on the stairs," said Donop, "and she was wearing a gown of Françoise-Marie's, the white muslin 'à la Minerve'. I felt I was looking at a tombstone come to life."
"She wears Françoise-Marie's clothes every day," Eglofstein told us. "The colonel wishes her to resemble his first wife in each and every respect. Believe it or not, she has had to learn to distinguish between all the vins de liqueur - to tell a Rosalis from a St Laurens, for example. Now he's busy teaching her to play cards: ombre, piquet, petite prime, summa summarum."
"I can think of other games I should like to teach her," said Günther. He began to laugh, but at that moment the door opened and Monjita herself came in with the colonel at her heels.
We fell silent and bowed - all save the priest and the alcalde, who were standing at the window with their backs to the door, unaware of the colonel's arrival. They continued their conversation, and the alcalde's voice could plainly be heard in the general hush.
"My grandfather met him here in this
"You see?" said one of the wretches, thrusting his mutilated arm in Salignac's face. "Like you, I have been afflicted with a divine misfortune."
Salignac retreated a step and called out the guard. At once, two dragoons emerged from the doorway and put the beggars to flight with a shower of blows. Even as he ran, one of the fugitives turned and called over his shoulder.
"I know you, cruel man!" he cried. "Christ has already punished you once for your hardness of heart. You have no more hope of eternal bliss than the beasts of the field!"
The captain watched him go without expression. Then he turned to me.
"Lieutenant Jochberg," he said, "you are the only one of us to have seen the Marquis of Bolibar. Did you recognize him in one of those wastrels? I think it very likely that he will endeavour to steal back into his house in some such disguise."
I strove to explain that the beggars had merely come for their Sunday alms, but he did not hear me out. Instead, he began to lay about a peasant who, half hidden behind a mule laden with firewood, had been gazing into his face with mingled curiosity and fear.
"What are you doing here, you stubborn rogue?"
Trembling all over, the peasant put a hand to his brow, lips and breast in turn.
"Leave me be, Jew," he entreated. "Acknowledge the Cross!"
We laughed despite ourselves on hearing the captain called a Jew, but Salignac seemed not to have heard. He fixed the man with a menacing, suspicious gaze.
"Who are you? What's your business here? Who sent for you?
"I bring firewood from the forest for the Seiïor Marques, Your Eternity," the peasant said haltingly, crossing himself again and again as he bestowed this singular title on the captain.
"Take your firewood and go to the Devil - let him stoke the fires of hell with it!" Salignac roared, and the peasant turned and ran off down the street, terrified out of his wits, with the mule cavorting madly after him.
Salignac drew a deep breath and rejoined us.
"An arduous spell of duty, this. It has been the same since daybreak. You, Eglofstein, sitting snug in your orderly-room, can count yourself lucky —"
He broke off, for just then a peasant drove up with a waggon- load of maize straw, and Salignac, suspecting him to be another Marquis of Bolibar in disguise, showered the unfortunate man with curses and imprecations.
We left them to it and set off up the stairs.
In the dining-room above we found Donop in conversation with the priest and the alcalde, who had likewise been invited to dinner. Donop was dressed to the nines: he wore his best breeches, his boots were carefully polished, and the black stock at his throat was knotted in keeping with the latest fashion.
"She will be at table," he announced, walking over to us with an air of mystery.
"I doubt it," Günther retorted. "Our Colonel Vinegar-Jug keeps her tethered like a nanny-goat."
"I met her on the stairs," said Donop, "and she was wearing a gown of Françoise-Marie's, the white muslin 'à la Minerve'. I felt I was looking at a tombstone come to life."
"She wears Françoise-Marie's clothes every day," Eglofstein told us. "The colonel wishes her to resemble his first wife in each and every respect. Believe it or not, she has had to learn to distinguish between all the vins de liqueur - to tell a Rosalis from a St Laurens, for example. Now he's busy teaching her to play cards: ombre, piquet, petite prime, summa summarum."
"I can think of other games I should like to teach her," said Günther. He began to laugh, but at that moment the door opened and Monjita herself came in with the colonel at her heels.
We fell silent and bowed - all save the priest and the alcalde, who were standing at the window with their backs to the door, unaware of the colonel's arrival. They continued their conversation, and the alcalde's voice could plainly be heard in the general hush.
"My grandfather met him here in this
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