The bugles sounded. A sudden movement began in the crowd, who were driven back under the portales. The soldiers mounted and closed up. Then calmness was re-established, as if by enchantment, and a silence of death brooded over this immense square, which was covered with people, and literally paved with heads. Miramón sat upright on his horse in the midst of his troops. Don Jaime and his companions were mixed up with the officers surrounding the general. After a moment's hesitation, the general took a last sad glance at the dark, gloomy palace, in which not a single light was burning.
"Forward!" he shouted.
The troops started. The march commenced. At the same instant shouts of "Long live Miramón!" were raised on all sides.
"They regret me already," the general said in a low voice to don Jaime; "and yet I have not left them."
The troops slowly passed through the city followed by the crowd, who seemed desirous, by paying this last respect to the fallen President, to prove to him the esteem of which he was personally the object. At length, at about two o'clock in the morning, they reached the city gates, and found themselves in the open country. Ere long the city appeared only as a luminous point in the horizon. The troops were sorrowful and silent. Still the march continued. All at once a certain hesitation seemed to be displayed, and a sullen agitation prevailed in the ranks.
"Attention! There is something going to happen," don Jaime muttered, addressing his friends.
Ere long this agitation increased, a few cries were heard from the vanguard.
"What is going on there?" Miramón asked.
"Your soldiers are revolting," don Jaime said, bluntly.
"Oh, it is not possible!" he exclaimed.