‘Her Majesty is on the road between Aranjuez and Madrid—in safety, my dear Julia,’ replied the General soothingly.
‘But they think she is here. The people are in the streets. Look out of the window. They are in the Plaza.’
‘I know it, my dear,’ said the General.
‘They are armed—they are going to attack this house.’
‘I am aware of it.’
‘Their plan is to murder the Queen.’
‘So we understand,’ said the General gently. He had a horror of anything approaching sensation or a scene, a feeling which Spaniards share with Englishmen. ‘That is the Queen for the time being,’ added Vincente, pointing to Estella.
Julia stood looking from one to the other—a self-contained woman made strong by love. For there is nothing in life or human experience that raises and strengthens man or woman so much as a great and abiding love. But Julia Barenna was driven and almost panic-stricken. She held herself in control by an effort that was drawing lines in her face never to be wiped out.
‘But you will tell them? I will do it. Let me go to them. I am not afraid.’
‘No one must leave this house now,’ said the General. ‘You have come to us, my dear, you must now throw in your lot with ours.’