at spectator. Too well she
knew that she would have analyzed what she thought and felt. She would
have rated even the second before eternity in its degree as a frisson;
and, no doubt, would have been aware of a voluptuous satiety, while
anticipating the second after. She hated herself, and she hated too the
smart, ultra-refined life that had brought her to it. How many of those
past years, or of the years to come would she not give to shed a few
tears without interrogating them!

Ney met the two girls under the colonnade. At the steps was the coach
and eight mules left by Maximilian for their use, and drawn up in
stately line were Messieurs the Feathers and Furs, as Jacqueline called
His Majesty's Austrian Imperial Guards. When she appeared, out flashed
their curved blades. The queenly little lady in blue-flowered calico and
a rakish Leghorn hat returned the salute with a smile.

"Where are the Dragoons, Michel?" she asked.

Ney did not know. But a Mexican with a crossed eye approached, doffing a
silver-lettered sombrero. He had been waiting for her, he said. There
was time. Otherwise he would have forced his way to wherever she was.

"Indeed, Seigneur Farceur?" said Jacqueline.

She recognized that most sinister of jokers, Don Tiburcio. He was eyeing
her narrowly, and there was a vigilance in the baleful gleam, as though
of late he might have been deceived by his fellowmen.

"But," he coolly proceeded, "only a few minutes are left now."

"My good man, whatever are you talking about?"

"And after the few minutes, we'll have the shooting. I came to invite
Your Mercy."

"Shoot whom?"

"There is but one prisoner."

"You mean Senor Murguia? The American was acquitted, I believe."

"It's the other way, senorita. They were both tried over again, and
then, the American was condemned."

"Mademoiselle," ejaculated Ney, "you are deathly----"

"I am not!" Jacqueline protested furiously. "It's the powder."

But Berthe knew better. Her mistress used it not, for all the roguish
freckle on her nose-tip. Tiburcio, too, was satisfied as to her sudden
pallor. She would save him the American, he decided. "Your Mercy had
best hasten," he urged her frankly.

Jacqueline ran to the end of the portico, from were she could see the
pasture. Within, a platoon of red jackets were filing toward the carcel.

"That scoundrel Lopez!" exclaimed Tiburcio, "he has advanced the time on
us!"

Only for an instant did Jacqueline wring h