forward, and looked at you in the
automobile, although you'd made your car different he fancied you might be
in it, and telegraphed to have the man he suspected kept back at Iran.
Well, it was clever of you to change with your chauffeur; but all the
same, if you go on, dressed as a chauffeur, you can never have a chance to
get near Lady Monica. And if you appear as yourself, even though the Duke
isn't sure it's _you_, he'll keep Lady Monica out of your way. And her
mother will help him, as she wants them to marry. But think how different
for my brother! We all happen to meet--suppose it's in the cathedral--and
papa says: 'How do you do? You don't remember Cristobal?' He'd simply have
to accept you as Cristobal, although he might find Cristobal rather like
that troublesome Marques de Casa Triana."

"Casa Triana is also Cristobal," I laughed. "Ramon Cristobal."

"All the better. We shouldn't any of us have to fib. I always said
Cristobal is the luckiest saint to have for a patron. See how he's
_offering_ his help to you. And oh, _did_ you know he's the patron saint
of automobilists? To-morrow I'll give you a Cristobal medal to nail on
your car. They're made on purpose; such ducks! But now do you begin to
understand what I'm driving at, and that it wasn't just _impudence_ to
suggest our going in your automobile, papa and I? What with us, and San
Cristobal, you ought to get your foot on the Duke's head."

"But what about your brother Cristobal?"

"Oh, he! We must all thank San Cristobal that he has this leave, otherwise
the Duke could easily find out; but instead of going home he can go--why,
he can go to Biarritz, where he will see Angele, so it will be nice all
round. And imagine yourself in his uniform, walking with us in the
cathedral, where the Duke is sure to take Lady Monica and her
mother,--otherwise, why stop at Burgos? One comes for that, and nothing
else, unless one has a little brother in the garrison. _Now_ what do you
say, Don Ramon?"

"I say you're an angel," I replied with promptness. "But I also say that
Colonel O'Donnel won't allow such an arrangement."

"Oh, won't he?" exclaimed Pilar. "Do you think I'm an ordinary girl of
southern Spain, who says 'yes, yes,' and 'no, no,' as her parents wish,
and looks down on the ground while life passes? Only to think of being
like that is enough to make a woman grow a moustache and have an
_embonpoint_ out of sheer ennui. It's my Irish heart which keeps my father