At these words, uttered with an agonising expression, the general made a sudden movement, as if to start towards the young girl.
But the marchioness, standing erect with a leonine boldness, fixed him to his place with a scornful look.
"Back, Señor," said she; "neither my daughter nor I know you. We are your prisoners. If you dare, kill us also, as you have almost threatened."
At this speech, the cruel accent of which recalled him suddenly to himself, the general resumed his coolness, and answered, with a cutting tone—
"Not you, Madame; we do not kill women; but your accomplices will be shot within an hour."
"What matters it to me?" she answered.
And supporting her daughter in her arms, she went with a firm step to mingle again with the prisoners.
This strange scene, incomprehensible to all that witnessed it, had plunged the officers and soldiers into profound astonishment.
Up to that time they had known their chief, brave—even rash—hard towards others as towards himself—of extreme severity in matters of discipline, but just, humane, and never in cold blood commanding the death of the unhappy prisoners whom the chances of war placed in his power. Thus, this sudden change in the humour of their chief, this cruelty which he had exhibited, astonished them, and filled them, unknown to themselves, with secret terror. They instinctively understood that this man, ordinarily so cold and impassive, must have very powerful motives to act as he did, and thus to give a complete denial to the mildness of character which, up to that time, he had always manifested; so, though this cruelty appeared revolting, no one dared to blame him, and those of his officers who felt disposed to accuse him could not decide to do so.
Meanwhile, don Zeno Cabral, without appearing to remark the emotion produced by this scene, strode about the place where he was, his arms behind his back, and his head leaning on his breast, seemingly a prey to great agitation.