"Yes, señora. The morning Captain Morando was called from his visit to Colonel Barcelo, in Monterey, he had made me first sergeant. Thus I held his horse, Señora Valentino, while he was within speaking with you. You see, I know, kind lady. Benito, the porter, told me—"
"Hush, man; remember you are wounded."
"Benito told me," the soldier insisted. "Benito told me—" he laughed.
"Ah! wounded men have strange dreams. I doubt not, you have been dreaming."
"I think you have talked already as much as the physician's orders will allow," interposed Carmelita.
"Of that I am sure," agreed the señora. "Come, señorita doña, let us be going. Now," shaking her finger at the soldier, "see that your dreams follow a more orderly fashion."
"But," Benito said, "soon the San José Captain leads our beautiful señora to the padre. The Captain rides much beside her—"
"Not another word, Sergeant. Now, I bid you good afternoon."
She walked toward the door.
"Forgive me, señora," called the sergeant, anxiously. "Benito spoke as if everyone knew already. Maybe I wouldn't have presumed to say anything—leastwise to yourself—if that blow on the head the other day hadn't loosened my tongue as well as my teeth—"