was gone.

Jacqueline had seen nothing of the fray, but now she saw Fra Diavolo's
Contra Guerrillas skulking away and the sardonic captain himself fuming
in ignoble soreness on his back. "Indeed," with fine scorn she demanded
of Ney, "and how did you manage it?"

"Looks like the wrong side won out," mused Driscoll, feeling a little
uncomfortable.

"Permit me to congratulate you--sergeant," she went on. "It's a good
beginning for promotion. If you only knew how hard Maximilian tries to
win over these natives, and here the very first thing you--Helas! poor
Prince Max!"

Driscoll caught one word from her French. "What's that about
Maximilian?" he interrupted. He had to repeat, and then Jacqueline only
glanced at him over her shoulder. Some mule driver, she imagined, and
turned again to the abashed Chasseur.

But the pseudo mule driver moved squarely in front of her. He was
embarrassed and respectful, but determined. Jacqueline lifted her brows.
"My good man, this is effrontery!" But her good man did not quail. She
noticed him a little then. He was ruddy and clean, with a stubble growth
on his jaw. Since the civilization of Mobile, Lieutenant Colonel Jno. D.
Driscoll had backslided into his old campaign ease. His first genuine
stiff beard had found him sabre in hand, so that his knowledge of
cutting instruments and of arched brows was limited. He said that he
would be much obliged to have his question answered. Whereat Jacqueline
thought, by her faith, "What a round, wholesome voice these rustics
sometimes have!" The one she heard possessed the full rich quality of an
Irishman's brogue, with the brogue worn off.

"You know Spanish, do you not, senorita?"

"Mais--why, better than I thought," she returned in English; and in
English that was piquant because it could not help being just the least
bit French as well. "Much better--because, I comprehend even yours,
sir."

"Con-_grat_-ulate you," Driscoll returned. "But what's this about
Maximilian?"

An eagerness in his manner caught her attention. But she answered with
her old irony. "His Imperial Majesty seems to concern you profoundly,
monsieur?"

"H'm'm--oh no! Only it's curious how he gets mixed up in this shindy of
ours."

"If--if you are asking about Maximilian, senor," a heavy voice began.
Fra Diavolo at least was not indifferent to the American's questioning,
and now he explained that the lady was the Marquesa d'Aumerle, and that
she was on her way from