“I bring no news from Catalonia,” [312] said I. “I believe, however, that the greater part of that principality is in the hands of the Carlists.”
“Ahem, brother Pedro! This gentleman says that the greater part of Catalonia is in the hands of the royalists. Pray, sir, where may Don Carlos be at present with his army?”
“He may be coming down the road this moment,” said I, “for what I know;” and, stepping out, I looked up the way.
The two figures were at my side in a moment. Antonio followed, and we all four looked intently up the road.
“Do you see anything?” said I at last to Antonia.
“Non, mon maître.”
“Do you see anything, sir?” said I to the curate.
“I see nothing,” said the curate, stretching out his neck.
“I see nothing,” said Pedro, the ex-friar; “I see nothing but the dust, which is becoming every moment more blinding.”
“I shall go in, then,” said I. “Indeed, it is scarcely prudent to be standing here looking out for the Pretender; should the nationals of the town hear of it, they might perhaps shoot us.”