He gained his voice with an effort. "Why—my greetings, Señora Bolio!" he panted. "What the devil—I'm glad to see thee well!—but release my hands, prithee!—we're in the street, woman. Thou'lt stir a scandal!"
"A scandal!" returned the señora, scornfully. "Soapsuds! A scandal, forsooth! What care I for these pagans? I'm glad to see thee."
"Of course—of course!" gasped Pedro. "But look to thy mule!—he's wandering away, reins down. Let me go! I'll—I'll catch him."
"Let him wander, Pedro, and may the fiend ride him with hot spurs! He hath jolted the life out of me these many days. But, art not surprised to see me? Say!"
"Name of a martyr! Yes!" said Pedro, desperately. "But loose my hands, I tell thee! We're observed."
"Oh, Pedro, thou 'rt so coy, thou dear old cherub!"—and she laughed joyfully.
"Oh, coy!" groaned Pedro. "Thunder and Mars! Dost not see the town watching us? And look at the rear guard!"
The troopers had halted, and were observing the little drama with interest.
"Brava, Señora!" called one, encouragingly. "His timidity is that of inexperience. Persist, and he'll succumb, my head upon it!"
The lady turned. "What now?" she demanded, indignantly, facing them with hands upon her hips. "Who gave you command to halt? Jog on, jog on! Circulate! Go, you singular accumulation of veal and old iron! Wend, worry on, flit, you most unusual galaxy of junk and poultice! You grotesque pack of——"