“I don’t know the woman. And now, comrades, no more questions; for I am not a repeating-clock, and am tired of answering.”
Before half an hour had passed, an orderly arrived from the general in search of a soldier named Lucas Garcia.
Interiorly shaken by the indignation which he would not allow his face to betray, Lucas followed the messenger to a house of good appearance, and was shown into an elegant and luxuriously furnished cabinet. As he entered, a fair young girl robed in silk rose from a sofa, and ran towards him with open arms.
“I do not know you, my lady,” said Lucas, quickly repulsing her with his right hand.
“Lucas, my brother!” she exclaimed, bursting into tears.
“I have no sister,” he replied, in the same tone as before.
“Lucas, my own brother, listen, and I will tell you what happened!”
At this moment, the colonel—that had been, and was now general—entered.
“Ah! Lucia,” said he, with ostentatious condescension, “so, then, you have already seen your brother.”
“He will not know me,” sobbed the girl.