"Then thou shalt taste it to-night. My sister is a famous cook," said Baltasar; "an olla she excels in—it was the favourite dish of our old father, the professor at Salamanca, and is the most noble dish in the world!"
"If Spanish, it must be," said Quentin, flatteringly.
"True," said Baltasar, gravely, while giving each of his enormous moustaches an upward twist; "we consider everything Spanish supremely good."
"We are rather a proud people, you see, senor," said Donna Isidora, laughing; "and so far is pride carried, that to touch royalty is to die."
"Manuel Godoy touched royalty pretty often," said Trevino, with a grim smile, "and we never heard that Her Majesty of Spain resented it particularly."
"Did you ever hear of the escape of the sister of Philip III., senor?"
"I regret to say, Don Baltasar, that I never heard of Philip himself," replied Quentin.
"About two hundred years ago our royal family were residing at Aranjuez," said Baltasar, while filling his own and Quentin's glass with wine; "it is a country palace twenty miles south of Madrid, and is remarkable for its size and beauty. One night it caught fire; the court and all the attendants took to flight, leaving the youngest sister of Don Philip to perish. She was seen at one of the windows wringing her hands and imploring the saints to succour her, but a young arquebusier of the royal guard proved of more avail. He bravely dashed through the flames, raised her in his arms, and bore her forth in safety. But Spanish etiquette was shocked that the hand of a subject—of a man especially—had touched royalty; nay, worse, that he should have entered her bed-chamber, so the soldier was cast into a dungeon, chained to a heavy bar, and condemned to die! But the princess graciously pardoned him, and he was sent away to fight the Flemings under the Duke of Alva. His name was De Saldos, and from him we are descended."
Spanish etiquette made Donna Isidora rather silent and reserved; she somewhat uselessly addressed the old crone Donna Ximena from time to time, and that worthy matron only responded by mutterings, shaking her palsied head, or signing the cross beneath the table. At other times Isidora made an occasional remark to Trevino, by whom she was evidently greatly admired, for his keen stealthy eyes were seldom off her face, and a malevolent gleam shot from them whenever, in dispensing the courtesies of the table, she addressed Quentin Kennedy.
The past day's skirmish among the mountains, the capture and slaughter of the sixteen French prisoners, had appetized Baltasar and his three companions; and though Spanish cookery is seldom very excellent, Quentin was quite hungry enough to enjoy the olla podrida of beef, chicken, and bacon, boiled with sliced gourd, carrots, beans, red sausages, and heaven knows what more, well peppered and spiced.