rydon._

Maximiliano I. of Mexico was dead. His dynasty and his Empire were the
frippery of a past time. Yet there was his capital, still holding out
against the Republic. Leonardo Marquez, the Leopard, spitefully refused
to capitulate. But why he would not, no one knew, neither the starving
City, nor the patient besieger outside. No one, unless it was
Jacqueline. The very day of the triple execution she called on Escobedo,
commander in chief at Queretaro. She desired to return to the capital,
and she wanted a pass through the Republic's lines there. She mentioned,
in case it were any inducement, that the place would fall within
twenty-four hours after her arrival. Jacqueline had difficulty to speak
at all. She could not endure the general's monstrous flaps of ears, his
rabbinical beard, his cruel black eyes.

"Maria purisima," he exclaimed, "you cannot mean, senorita, that you,
all alone, will deliver the City of Mexico into our hands?"

"It will certainly be an incident of my stay there," she replied.

The hard, Jewish features lighted cunningly. "Then, por Dios, you are as
wonderful as I've always heard! But may--may one be allowed a little
curiosity?"

"I _might_ say," and Jacqueline forthwith said it, "that I have
just had a cipher telegram from Louis Napoleon."

"Which," breathlessly demanded the other, "will interest Marquez, eh?
Will disappoint him? Will cause him to surrender?"

"Your Excellency is of course entitled to his own conjectures."

But the commander-in-chief was satisfied. "We must hasten your going by
every means," he declared. "You shall have an escort. You----"

"Then I choose the Gray Troop--because," she added carefully, "they're
the best."

Now, why, by all that's feminine, was she surprised next morning when
the Gray Troop gathered round her coach, as though that were a
coincidence? At least she arched her brows, and lifted one shoulder
petulantly, and unmistakably showed that she expected a tedious time of
it. The sunburned colonel of the Grays beamed so with happiness too, as
he drew rein to report to her. They met for the first time since
Maximilian's embarrassing little scene for their express benefit.
Driscoll noted her disdain, and it is likely that he only grinned. He
did that because he knew how helpless he was, and how merciless she
could be. For she was not only beautiful, she was pretty--a demure,
sweet, and very pretty girl. Some vague instinct of self-defense guided