"Strike, Juanito," she said, in a voice of profound meaning.
Her head rolled at Victor's feet. When the Marquise heard the sound, a convulsive start escaped her; this was the only sign of her affliction.
"Ah, thou weepest, Mariquita!" said Juanito to his sister.
"Yes," answered the girl; "I was thinking of thee, my poor Juanito; thou wilt be so unhappy without us."
At length the noble figure of the Marquis appeared. He looked at the blood of his children; then he turned to the spectators, who stood mute and motionless before him. He stretched out his hands to Juanito and said, in a firm voice:
"Spaniards, I give my son a father's blessing. Now, Marquis, strike without fear, as thou art without fault."
But when Juanito saw his mother approach, supported by the confessor, he groaned aloud, "She fed me at her own breast." His cry seemed to tear a shout of horror from the lips of the crowd. At this terrible sound the noise of the banquet and the laughter and the merrymaking of the officers died away.
The Marquise comprehended that Juanito's courage was exhausted. With one leap she had thrown herself over the balustrade, and her head was dashed to pieces against the rocks below. A shout of admiration burst forth. Juanito fell to the ground in a swoon.
"Marchand has been telling me about this execution," said a half-drunken officer. "I'll warrant, gentlemen, it wasn't by our orders that——"
"Have you forgotten, Messieurs," cried General Gautier, "that during the next month there will be five hundred French families in tears—that we are in Spain? Do you wish to leave your bones here?"