a wise woman, not one of the ordinary stamp. Her blue eyes sparkled
with intelligence and mirth, her full lips seemed formed for quick, gay
repartee, she was always kind and cheer ful in her manner even to the
most insignificant. But whence came the deep lines about her red mouth
and the outer corners of her eyes? She covered them with rouge every
day, to conceal the evidence of the sorrowful hours she spent when
alone? The lines were well disguised, yet they increased, and year by
year grew deeper.

No wrinkle had yet dared to appear on the narrow forehead; and the
delicate features, dazzlingly-white teeth, girlish figure, and winning
smile lent this woman a youthful aspect. She might be thirty, or perhaps
even past forty.

A pleasure made her younger by ten summers, a vexation transformed her
into a matron. The snow white hair, carefully arranged on her forehead,
seemed to indicate somewhat advanced age; but it was known that it
had turned grey in a few days and nights, eight years before, when a
discontented blackguard stabbed the quartermaster, and he lay for weeks
at the point of death.

This white hair harmonized admirably with the red cheeks of the
camp-sibyl, who appreciating the fact, did not dye it.

During Zorrillo's speech her eyes more than once rested on Ulrich with a
strangely intense expression. As soon as he paused, she went back again
behind the table to the crying child, to cradle it in her arms.

Zorrillo--perceiving that a new and violent argument was about to break
forth among the men--closed the meeting. Before adjourning, however, it
was unanimously decided that the election should be held on the morrow.

While the soldiers noisily rose, some shaking hands with Zorrillo, some
with Navarrete, the stately sergeant-major of a German lansquenet troop,
which was stationed in Antwerp, and did not belong to the insurgents,
entered the wide open door of the tent. His dress was gay and in good
order; a fine Dalmatian dog followed him.

A thunder-storm had begun, and it was raining violently. Some of the
Spaniards were twisting their rosaries, and repeating prayers, but
neither thunder, lightning, nor water seemed to have destroyed the
German's good temper, for he shook the drops from his plumed hat with a
merry "phew," gaily introducing himself to his comrades as an envoy from
the Pollviller regiment.

His companions, he said, were not disinclined to join the "free
army"--he had come to ask how