hen one knows
nothing. Jacqueline refrained from pinching her, and pursued the quest
of her trunk even into the meson.

Hardly had she passed within when a greatly agitated little old man
tried to overtake her. But at the door he thought better of it and
vented his chagrin on the Mexican woman.

"Why did you let her go in there?" he cried. "She will wake the Gringo,
she will wake the Gringo!"

Jacqueline reappeared. "No trunk," she announced. "Do you know, Berthe,
I do not believe it came at all?"

The old man's voice sounded at her elbow, faltering, placating. "With
permission, senorita, we must be starting."

"And similarly with permission, senor, who are you?"

"Anastasio Murguia, the servant of Your Mercy."

"Ah, the poor little crow? Perhaps you will tell me, sir, why neither
the Senor Ney nor Fra--nor Captain Morel is here?"

The young French caballero had visited the fort last evening, he
replied. Her Mercy knew that? Yes, precisamente. Yes, the caballero had
spent the night up there with his compatriots of the garrison. Her Mercy
did not know that? No? But it was quite exact, yes, because he, Don
Anastasio, had been so informed. But the Senor Ney would meet them out
of Tampico--yes, precisamente, with a detachment of cavalry from the
fort."

"That poor Michel!" said Jacqueline. "He's determined that I am to have
a French escort. But Captain Morel, senor?"

Murguia would not answer. He repeated the question to the Mexican woman,
who took up explanations with a glib readiness. "Si, nina, I saw the
capitan, not more than an hour ago. He was riding by the cafe, to meet
his--Contra Guerrillas. But he stopped and woke me. He said that I was
to bring Your Mercies here to the meson, and to say that he would meet
Your Mercies--yes, surely, before you had gone very far, nina." Her tone
was a sugared whine, and more than once she peered around at Murguia;
while he, for his part, stood by as though overseeing a task. But
Jacqueline only allowed herself a little inconsequential sniff, and went
back to the really serious business that did worry her. She demanded her
trunk.

"How, the senorita does not know?" asked Murguia.

"Know what?"

"That the sailors did not come back from the ship?"

"Not come back! Eh bien, I will not go a step."

At first Don Anastasio's pinched face lighted with relief. But at once a
conflicting anxiety, lest she might _not_ go, seemed to possess
him. "But senorita," he protested,