About ten in the morning, the servants of don Antonio de Carrera put the horses to the berlin, and a few minutes after the old gentleman came forth.
He gave his arm to a lady, so wrapped up in her veil and mantua that it was literally impossible to see anything of her face or divine the elegance of her form.
So soon as the young lady was comfortably seated in the berlin, don Antonio turned to the officer who had hurried up to him.
"We will start whenever you please, señor lieutenant," he said to him.
Don Jesús bowed.
The escort mounted: the old gentleman then entered the carriage, the door of which was closed by a footman who seated himself by the side of the coachman: four other well armed valets got up behind the carriage.
"Forward!" the officer shouted.
One half the escort went in front, the other half formed the rear guard. The driver lashed his horses, and carriage and horsemen soon disappeared in a cloud of dust.
"May heaven protect them," the ventero muttered, as he crossed himself and tossed in his hand two gold ounces given him by don Antonio: "the old gentleman is a worthy man, but unfortunately don Jesús Domínguez is with him, and I am greatly afraid that his escort will be fatal to him."