The General looked a little nonplussed, for, like many generals of all nationalities, he had no slight penchant for omniscience.
"I never heard of him," he said sharply. "Who may he be?"
Concha leaned yet closer and laid a small, soft, brown hand gently upon the General's gold-embroidered cuff. The General, not being so simple as he looked, drew back his arm a little so that the hand rested a moment on his wrist ("for Rollo's sake") before it was gently withdrawn.
"You have heard of José Maria of Ronda?" she whispered.
The General's face lighted up, and as swiftly dulled down.
"Certainly; what Andalucian has not?" he said. "But José Maria is dead. He was executed at Salamanca!"
"Ah," said Concha, "that tale was for the consumption of Don Carlos and his friends! In fact, he is the best spy we Nationals ever had—aye, or ever will have!"
"Ah!" said Espartero, lost in thought. There were some matters which seemed to need clearing up, but on the whole the thing looked probable.
Espartero had but recently been appointed to the district, and, being an Andalucian, he was naturally still imperfectly acquainted with much that had been done by his many incapable predecessors. Now, it is true that on this occasion our Concha was inventing or rather (for the word is a hard one to use of so charming a personality) restating as facts certain hints which had fallen from the lips of La Giralda. But she was also speaking from a profound knowledge of gipsy nature, which, as in the case of Ezquerra and La Giralda herself, never attaches itself permanently or from conviction to any cause, but uses all equally according to whim, liking, or self-interest.
Concha, in a whirlwind of excitement, would have liked the General to attack the Carlist camp immediately, but the more cautious Don Baldomero only shook his head.