, was the hospital of the besieged. A
stifling, fetid odor, far worse than of drugs merely, sickened the two
girls as a foul breath when they passed with their guide between thick
walls into the large, overcrowded rooms. Military medical service was
not yet become an institution in Mexico, and this place was like some
horrible antechamber of the grave. Every cot had its ghastly transient,
and so had the benches, brought here from the different plazas. More and
more wounded were arriving constantly, and those found to be still alive
were laid on the flagstones wherever space for a blanket remained. But
in spite of the morning's fight, in spite of almost daily skirmishes for
weeks past, the sick outnumbered all others; and those who did come with
wounds, and survived them, stayed on to swell the longer list. Men
tossed in fever, craving what they might not have, a cooling draught, a
proper food, and effective medicine, until, with waking, they craved an
easier boon, and died. But the hospital fever, the calenturas, the
gangrene, were not to be all. Out of the diseased air, mid the fumes of
pious tapers, the spectre of epidemic was taking hideous shape over the
many, many upturned faces. The spectre was the tifo, a plague more
dreaded in high altitudes than black vomit in the low.

Jacqueline found Maximilian bending over a stricken cavalry officer. The
Emperor was far from a well man, and his fair skin more than ever
contrasted as something foreign and lonely among the swarthy faces on
every side. His ostentation was now simplicity, as befitted a monarch in
camp. He wore neither sword nor star. His garb was plain charro, in
which he often walked among citizens and soldiers, inquiring about
rations, or requesting a light for his cigar, never minding if a shell
burst and kicked dust over him, and always affable, always ready to
smile and praise. It was a role that came naturally to his gentle soul.
One would like to believe--if one could, alas!--that he had in mind no
kingly precedent.

Pausing unseen, Jacqueline noted tears in the blue eyes as he pinned
some decoration on the officer's bloodstained shirt. A good heart, she
thought, yet ever the prince. In his divine right was he even here,
presuming to send a dying subject to the Sovereign in Heaven with a
"character," with a recommendation for service faithfully done. His
hands trembled from haste, for he would have the soldier appear before
that dread Throne above as a