But, at that, she stared at him, troubled, and her lip began to quiver.
“Ah, God!” she cried; “then it was not I in the first place! Go thy ways, love; but for pity’s heart-sake let me weep a little. Yes, yes, there is salt in the mountains, that I know, and where the caves lie. But there are also Cangrejo—whom you French ruined and made a madman—and a hundred like him, wild-cats hidden amongst the leaves. And there, too, are the homeless friars of St. Ildefonso; and, dear body of Christ! the tribunal of terror, the junta of women, who are the worst of all—lynx-eyed demons.”
He smiled indulgently. Her terror amused him.
“Well, well,” he said; “well, well. And what, then, is this junta?”
“It is a scourge,” she whispered, shivering, “for traitors and for spies. It gathers nightly, at sunset, in the dip yonder, and there waters with blood its cross of death. This very evening, Cangrejo tells me——”
She broke off, cuddled closer to her companion, and clasping her hands and shrugging up her shoulders to him, went on awfully—
“Eugenio, there was a wagon-load of piastres coming secretly for Saragossa by the Tolosa road. It was badly convoyed. One of your generals got scent of it. The guard had time to hide their treasure and disperse, but him whom they thought had betrayed them the tribunal of women claimed, and to-night——”
“Well, he will receive his wages. And where is the treasure concealed?”
“Ah! that I do not know.”
Ducos got to his feet, and stretched and yawned.