"Gone!" exclaimed Don Estevan. "And you have let him escape?"

"How could I hinder him? This brute, Baraja, as well as Oroche, were
both drunk with mezcal; and Diaz refused to assist me, point-blank.
While I was endeavouring to arouse the other two, the fellow had taken
leg bail through an opening in the wall of the garden--at least that's
all we can make out."

"And how have you arrived at this conjecture?" asked Don Estevan,
angrily striking the floor with his foot.

"Why, when we arrived at the place, the Dona Rosarita was clinging over
the wall, no doubt guided there by Tiburcio. He could not be far off at
the time, for she was still calling upon him to return; and judging by
the love-speeches she was making, she must have earnestly desired it."

"She loves him, then?"

"Passionately--or her words and her accents are all deceit. `_Come
back_!' she cried, `_Tiburcio, come back_! _I love only you_!' These
were the last words I heard; for shortly after she left the wall, and
went back to her room."

"We must to horse and pursue him!" cried Don Estevan, hurrying to make
ready; "yes, there is no help for it now. The success of our expedition
depends upon the life of this ragged fellow. Go! arouse Benito and the
others. Tell them to saddle the horses. Warn your friends in the
chamber that we must be _en route_ in an hour. Away! while I awake Don
Augustin and the Senator."

"Just as I have known him for twenty years," muttered Cuchillo, as he
hastened to his companions, "always awake, always ready for the greatest
obstacles. Well, if with his character he has not made way in his own
country, I fear that in Europe perseverance and energy are not worth
much."

Don Estevan, as soon as Cuchillo had left him, spent a few minutes in
putting himself once more in travelling costume, and then repaired to
the chamber of the Senator. He found the door open--as is the custom in
a country where people spend most of their lives outside their houses.
The moon was beaming full through the large window, and her light
illumined the chamber as well as the couch upon which the Senator was
sleeping.

"What is it, Don Estevan?" cried the Senator, suddenly leaping up in his
bed; "Senor Estevan, I should say." Tragaduros had been dreaming of the
court of the King of Spain. "What is it, your grace?"

"I come to take leave of you, and to give you my final instructions."

"Eh! what?" said the Senator. "Is the hour la