"But I have not told you all, señor," continued the gossiping muleteer. "A rich young widow of Aranjuez, the Condéssa de Estramera, fell in love with him, when one day he commanded a guard at the palace of Madrid. An old duenna was employed—letters were carried to and fro—meetings held in solitary places; and the upshot was, that the condessa bestowed her fair hand, with a fortune of—of—the holy Virgin knows how many thousand ducats, upon my most happy rogue of a brother. Lieutenant Don Pedro Gomez, of the lancers of Merida; and now they live like a prince and princess."
"Happy Pedro! The condessa is beautiful; I have seen her, Lazaro."
"Plump Ignesa, the chamber-maid at the posada of Majorga, is more to my mind. I never could relish your stately donnas, with their high combs and long trains. This condessa is niece of that prince of rogues, the Duke of Alba de T——, who was killed in the service of Buonaparte: but Pedro cares not for that."
"In the history of his good fortune you see the advantage of being a soldier, Lazaro."
"With all due respect to your honourable uniform, which I am sorry to see so tattered, señor, I can perceive no advantage in being a soldier—none at all, par Diez! I envy Pedro not the value of a maravedi. He has served and toiled, starved and bled, in the war of independence, like any slave, rather than a soldier."
"So have I, Lazaro," said Stuart; "and these rags, and confinement here for five months, have been my reward."
The muleteer snapped his fingers, then gave a very knowing wink, and was about to whisper something; but, observing one of the banditti watching, he continued talking about his brother.
"Ay, like any poor slave, señor; and has more shot-holes in his skin than I have bell buttons on my jacket. And now, when the war is over, he has still a troublesome game to play in striving to please his hot-headed commanding-officer and lady wife, whom it would be considered a mortal sin to baste with a buff strap, as I may do Ignesa when she becomes my helpmate and better half. Pedro's honours weigh heavily upon him, and he has many folks to please; whereas I have none to humour save myself, and perhaps that stubborn jade Capitana, my leading mule, or Ignesa of Majorga, who gets restive, too, sometimes, and refuses to obey either spur or bridle. But my long whip, and a smart rap from my cajado, soothe the mule, and my sweet guitar and merry madrigal, the maiden. I am a thousand times happier than Pedro! I never could endure either domestic or military control, and would rather be Lazaro Gomez, with his whip and his mules, than the stately king of the Spanish nation. I have the bright sun, the purple wine, my cigar, and the red-cheeked peasant-girls to kiss and dance with,—and what would mortal man have more? Bueno!"
He concluded by throwing himself into an attitude, and flourishing his sombrero round his head with a theatrical air. Ronald smiled; but he thought that, notwithstanding all this display, and Lazaro's frequent assertions that he was happier than Pedro, a little envy continued to lurk in a corner of his merry and honest heart.
"But has Pedro never done aught for you, Lazaro, in all his good fortune?" asked Ronald.