re air. "Yes,
he comes," the people cried, "There! Seest thou, hombre?--_There!_
Viva el Senor Emperador!"

For Colonel Dupin the cloud of dust would shortly evolve into a staying
hand of mercy, into the exasperating stupidity of mercy. He had captured
the American not ten minutes before, and here was interference in a
gauzy haze of dust. He signed to one of his men to follow with Murguia,
and he himself placed a gauntleted hand on Driscoll's shoulder. "Now,"
he said.

But a white figure of Mexican rebosa and silken instep moved swiftly
from behind a column and touched the Tiger's arm. Both Jacqueline and
Berthe had been watching the Cossack chief rather than the spectacle in
the valley. And as he turned on his prisoner, Berthe half screamed and
clutched at the bosom of her dress. It was Jacqueline who gained his
side. She addressed him sharply as one who hates to reopen a tedious
argument.

"Monsieur Dupin," she cried, "have I not already permitted myself to
tell you--yes, I repeat, you are mistaken. He is in no sense whatever an
accomplice of Rodrigo Galan."

The Tiger heard, no doubt, but he did not stop. He kept on toward the
door, Driscoll beside him, and his men around him. He meant to pass
through the house. Some secluded corral in the back would do for the
execution. Driscoll seemed as indifferent as ever, though there was a
lithe, alert spring in his step. Behind him Murguia was moaning, praying
to see his daughter. Berthe followed, bewildered, and silently wringing
her hands. But the death march was so business-like, and every one else
was so intent on the approach of a royally born person, that the crowds
shoved aside by the little group never once suspected that they had just
brushed elbows with tragedy in the making.

Jacqueline caught her breath, sucked it in rather, in a pang of angry
despair; and plucking up her skirts she ran ahead until she could oppose
her slender figure squarely in front of the burly Frenchman. If he were
to move on, he must trample her down. Her eyes, usually so big and round
and shading to a depth of blue with their lively mischief, were all but
closed, and through the narrowed lashes they gleamed like white steel.
Her voice, though, was clear and even, of a studied courtesy.

"Yes, I know, Monsieur le Coronel, suspicion with you is quite enough.
But," she went on in contempt and feigned surprise at his dullness,
"this rage of yours at being outwitted by Rodrigo Galan blinds