riest-ridden than Rome herself,
with every man a Carlist and every woman that which her confessor told
her to be. In the south, Andalusia only asked to be left alone to go her
own sunny, indifferent way to the limbo of the great nations. Which way
should Aragon turn? In truth, the men of Aragon knew not themselves.

Stirring times indeed; for the news had just penetrated to far remote
Lerida that the two greatest nations of Europe were at each other's
throats. It was a long cry from Ems to Lerida, and the talkers on the
shady side of the market-place knew little of what was passing on the
banks of the Rhine.

Stirring times, too, were nearer at hand across the Mediterranean. For
things were approaching a deadlock on the Tiber, and that river, too,
must, it seemed, flow with blood before the year ran out. For the
greatest catastrophe that the Church has had to face was preparing in the
new and temporary capital of Italy; and all men knew that the word must
soon go forth from Florence telling the monarch of the Vatican that he
must relinquish Rome or fight for it.

Spain, in her awkward search for a king hither and thither over Europe,
had thrown France and Germany into war. And Evasio Mon probably knew of
the historic scene at Ems as soon as any man in the Peninsula; for
history will undoubtedly show, when a generation or so has passed away,
that the latter stages of Napoleon's declaration of war were hurried on
by priestly intrigue. It will be remembered that Bismarck was the
deadliest and cleverest foe that Jesuitism has had.

Mon knew what the talkers in the market-place were saying to each other.
He probably knew what they were afraid to say to each other. For Spain
was still seeking a king--might yet set other nations by the ears. The
Republic had been tried and had miserably failed. There was yet a Don
Carlos, a direct descendant of the brother whom Ferdinand the beloved
cheated out of his throne. There was a Don Carlos. Why not Don Carlos,
since we seek a king? the men in the Phrygian caps were saying to each
other. And that was what Mon wanted them to say.

After dark he came out into the streets again, cloaked to the lips
against the evening air. He went to the large cafe by the river, and
there seemed to meet many acquaintances.

The next morning he continued his journey, by road now, and on horseback.
He sat a horse well, but not with that comfort which is begotten of a
love of the animal. For him the ho