Lucia turned to the guard and explained hurriedly. In the starlight she could see that he had a long scar across his face, and she felt very secure.
"I know your nephew, Roderigo," she ended, "he helped me blow up the bridge in Cellino."
The soldier nodded.
"I know about that, Señorina," he said respectfully, "and the rest of your fine deeds. You were born for the work it seems. Move an inch and off comes your head," he turned furiously on the man who had tried to edge away. Then he continued in the soft, courteous tones he had been using. "I hope some day you will do me the honor of telling me of the attack yourself," he said. "It is sometimes very lonely here while I am on guard."
His gentle tone, and above all the flattering respect he showed, gave Lucia back her courage.
"Of course I will come," she said, "just as soon as my little brother is better. He fell and cut his head, and, and—well, I guess I'd better be going back, he may awaken and be frightened. Good night."
"Good night, Señorina," the soldier replied, "I am proud to have seen you."
"Now then,—" his voice became harsh again as he turned to his prisoners, "go along, one wink of your eyelid in the wrong direction and I will shoot."
He marched them off quickly, and Lucia, because the affair seemed finished, started for home.