s of a friend. Tell us your friend's name, and how you came to
permit documents of value to me and to the cause for which you say that
you are fighting, to fall into any hands but your own."

Rollo saw that to refer to the Convent of the Holy Innocents, or to
mention Concha's name, would infallibly betray the hiding-place of
Dolores to her enemies, so he could only reiterate his former answer.

"I am unfortunately prevented by my honour from revealing the name of my
friend, or why the documents were so entrusted. But if your excellency
will only wait till the morning, I promise that you shall be abundantly
satisfied."

"I am not accustomed to wait for the morning," said Cabrera. "There is
no slackening of rein on the King's service. But I have certain
information as to who you are, which may prove more pertinent to the
occasion, and may, perhaps, prevent any delay whatsoever."

Cabrera leisurely rolled and lighted a cigarette, giving great attention
to the closing of the paper in which it was enwrapped.

"I am informed," he said, when he had successfully achieved this, "that
you are three members of the English Foreign Legion which has been
fighting for the Cristino traitors. What have you to say to that?"

"That it is a lie," shouted Etienne, thrusting himself forward. "I a
Cristino! I would have you know that I am the Count of Saint Pierre, a
cousin in the second degree of Don Carlos himself, and that I came to
Spain to fight for the only true and constitutional King, Carlos the
Fifth."

Cabrera turned his head and scrutinised the little Frenchman.

"Ah, then," he said dryly, "if that be so, perhaps you have taken better
care of your papers than this tall gentleman, who has such trust in his
friends."

"A Saint Pierre does not need papers to prove his identity," said
Etienne, proudly.

"They are sometimes convenient, nevertheless, even to a Saint Pierre,"
said Cabrera, with irony: "they may prevent certain little mistakes
which are more easily made than remedied."

There was a long pause at this point.

"What is your business here, Monsieur de Saint Pierre?" continued the
Carlist General suavely, throwing away his cigarette end after inhaling
the "breast" to the last puff with infinite satisfaction.

"I was sent on a mission, along with these two gentlemen, at the
instance of my uncle, Don Baltasar Varela, the Abbot of Montblanch, and
one of the most trusted councillors of Don Carlos!"

"Doubtless--do