Page 33 of Sweet Savage Love

33

A s it turned out, once she had been safely escorted to a room upstairs, Ginny had no longer any time to worry about Don Francisco’s reactions. She sat silent and rather sullen while Dona Armijo combed her hair out and tried to find some means of pinning it up once more; all the while shaking her head dolefully or nodding it in agreement with something Senora Ortega said. And the good Senora had much to say on the subject of Ginny’s behavior.

Unable to bear it any longer after a while, Ginny protested that it had all been Steve’s fault. He had been the one who had encouraged her to escape from the crowds for a time; and afterwards it had been he who had led her to join the gypsy dancers.

“He kissed that gypsy girl right before my eyes, with absolutely no compunctions at all,” she murmured, narrowing her eyes in a fashion that made the Dona Armijo think she looked like a gypsy herself. “Why should I not have showed him that I too could be just as popular if I danced in the same abandoned fashion? I’m sorry, Tia, if I fall short of the standards set for Spanish young ladies, but I am not one—I could not bear to allow myself to be treated in such a casual and offhand fashion! Why all the men I’ve met here are flirts—and most of them are married too!”

She stopped to draw breath and the Senora Ortega, who had been looking quite sour during Ginny’s impassioned discourse shook her head in dismay.

“My dear Genia! You’ve seen our lives only as they appear on the surface, I’m afraid. Do you really believe that women here have such a bad time of it? Of course not—they are quite happy with things as they are, I assure you. They are petted and pampered and spoiled—nothing is denied them. There is no reason for a young lady, especially one who is formally betrothed, as you are, to feel she has to—well, putting it bluntly—to compete with some gypsy wench. Your place, my dear, is up on a pedestal. Men will take their fun where they find it, it’s true, but even in France you must be aware that this is customary. No, dear Genia, there are some things you must learn to accept—even to turn a blind eye to. After all you will be Esteban’s wife, and even if the dear boy has been rather wild, I’m sure he’ll soon settle down and recognize his responsibilities—my brother will see to it!”

“But Tia, I don’t want…”

The Senora Ortega merely waved her hand imperiously, curbing Ginny’s instinctive outburst. “You’ve so much to learn, my child! It’s not what you want, but what you must accept. It’s a woman’s lot, I’m afraid. But men can be managed—there’s the example of my own dear daughter-in-law—such a quiet, unassuming little thing she seems, and she’s always turning to Alberto for advice, begging him to make all her decisions for her; and he adores her! There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for her, and it always ends up, somehow, that Sarita gets her way, although Alberto thinks that he has made the decision!”

“But Steve is different! Please, Tia, forgive me for speaking out—I suppose that’s not ladylike either! However I can’t see myself pretending all the time to be something I’m not. I’m a woman, but I’m also an individual—yes, I have a mind, I can think; I could never, never act like a stupid little ninny just so that I’d make some man puff up with self-importance and protectiveness. And anyhow…” Ginny paused and bit her lip irresolutely, wondering if she had gone too far, “anyhow Steve’s not that kind of man either. He’s arrogant and overbearing, and if I didn’t stand up to him he’d walk all over me! In fact, he’s even had the audacity to announce to me that the only reason he hasn’t become bored with me before now is because I do have a will of my own!”

Dona Armijo, obviously horrified at the turn the conversation had taken now gave the last disapproving pat to Ginny’s freshly coifed hair and stood back as the young woman sprang restlessly to her feet, her cheeks burning with a high color that was really quite becoming.

“I must say that I really cannot understand what has got into you tonight, Genia,” Tia Maria sniffed. “But I can tell there’s no use talking to you when you’re in such a highly strung mood. Let’s go downstairs again, then, and I can only beg of you to be—a little more discreet, my dear. It would not do for people to begin gossiping about you, especially just before the wedding.”

It was on the tip of Ginny’s tongue to blurt out that there would be no need for a big, formal wedding now. She was already married…but the fresh storm that such an announcement would inevitably bring about her shoulders made her bite back the words. Let Steve break the news, and let him cope with all the angry reactions that would no doubt follow.

She clung to the curving stair-rail as they descended slowly, seized with a strange, inexplicable reluctance all of a sudden. You are being quite ridiculous, she scolded herself. What is there to be afraid of? Don Francisco will not be too angry, I’m sure of it…and then, when Ginny had almost reached the foot of the stairs she saw Colonel Devereaux waiting for her; an unusually stern look on his face, his light hazel eyes reflecting the light so that they seemed piercing, almost frightening.

For once, Ginny was relieved that the Senora Ortega was with her. She had remembered suddenly, like a lightning flash, Steve’s careless words of a few hours ago—“Beal knows I’m here, and Devereaux knows who I am.” How could she have forgotten? In spite of the sudden, fearful plunging of her heart, she was filled with an unreasonable anger against him. How could he take it all so lightly? He had married her—his duty done he could have escaped, she knew very well his friends would have helped him. But instead he had deliberately chosen to stay and court danger; he had danced, he had kissed and flirted with his gypsy girlfriend, and then he had gone off quite calmly to speak with his grandfather, having packed her off upstairs. Where was he now?

Ginny found her worst misgivings realized—Colonel Devereaux had been waiting for her; he wished to speak with her, he said in a grave voice, on a matter of the gravest importance.

What followed next was dreamlike—so far removed from reality that Ginny had the greatest difficulty making herself believe it was all really happening. She had felt this way earlier at her wedding; that strange, cold little ceremony that had transformed her within seconds from mistress to wife. Now she wondered rather wildly if that too had been a mirage—something conjured up by her own imagination.

She sat in a comfortable chair in Don José Sandoval’s study, her hands folded in her lap, face as pale as a lily, her large green eyes shining with an unusual brilliance. And she would only shake her head and whisper, “I don’t know—I don’t know,” to all the questions that Colonel Devereaux put to her.

Suddenly, the portly French colonel, that dapper, debonair man of the world, seemed to have been transformed into a cold hard man of business—a soldier with an unpleasant duty to perform.

“You must understand, mademoiselle, that we are at war! I have my sworn obligations to fulfill, and I cannot let anything—not friendship, nor my own sympathetic feelings, nor even pity, stand in the way. Consider, if you please, the seriousness of your position! By your refusal to speak, you are placing yourself in the position of an accomplice. Are you not aware that as a soldier I am empowered to try summarily and even execute any person suspected of giving help to the rebels?”

Don Francisco had, to Ginny’s initial relief, insisted upon being present at this “interview” the colonel had requested. But so far, while the colonel paced up and down, pausing every now and then to fire a question, Don Francisco had said very little. He stood by the mantelpiece as if he wished for the warmth of the fire that burned just beneath, and his craggy face was expressionless as if it were carved out of wood. In spite of her own predicament, Ginny found herself glancing toward him, wondering how he must feel at hearing his grandson accused of being a revolutionary, or even worse, an American spy or paid mercenary. To a man as proud as Don Francisco, this whole interview must not only be humiliating but degrading as well. He had always supported the Liberal movement, had supported the Emperor Maximilian and his government, and now—Ginny wondered how much Don Francisco really knew of Steve’s activities. Had Steve finally been honest with his grandfather, and was that why he had been allowed to “escape” so mysteriously? When the French colonel had asked him diffidently if Don Francisco could inform them of his grandson’s whereabouts the old Don had drawn himself up stiffly, his mouth thinning under his white mustachios.

“My grandson has always come and gone when and as he pleases, I am afraid. He has never seen fit to confide in me regarding the kind of life he’s been leading on the other side of the border.”

“I understand sir—please believe that I bring this matter up only with the greatest reluctance. It is by no means my intention to impugn your loyalty to the government, Don Francisco, and I regret very much that I had to be the person to inform you of your grandson’s unfortunate connections with the Juaristas.”

Don Francisco had made no comment—Ginny had had the impression he was holding himself in check with difficulty; that he was much more upset and angry than he would show on the surface.

Now, as the colonel ended his latest harangue with a veiled threat, Don Francisco interrupted at last, clearing his throat before he spoke, his voice dry and brittle.

“Colonel Devereaux—one moment! I won’t have my granddaughter-in-law bullied. Whatever Esteban’s shady activities, I’m sure she knows nothing of them. He is hardly the type of man to tell his business to anyone, not even to his wife.”

“His wife, you say? Really sir, I do not wish to sound stubborn, but I recall receiving an invitation to a wedding—I was introduced to mademoiselle as the fiancée of your grandson—how can this be?”

Colonel Devereaux had gone as red as a turkey cock—his eyebrows seemed to bristle with frustration.

“You ask how this can be? Well—in a word, my grandson informed me only recently of his secret marriage to this young lady. Still, knowing how tongues will wag, I insisted on a second, formal ceremony to satisfy everyone. Do you wish the marriage certificate produced, Monsieur le Colonel? Do you still have any doubts?” There was the faintest sarcastic undercurrent to Don Francisco’s words which made the colonel clench his hands together behind his back, controlling himself with difficulty.

“That will not be necessary, I’m sure. The word of Don Francisco Alvarado is sufficient, even for a mere French interloper.” Was there a note of bitterness here, too? Ginny felt as if she were attending a play—it would have all seemed so harmless, merely a storm in a teacup, if not for the presence of an armed French soldier at the door—a crophaired Legionnaire who wore a captain’s insignia proudly, and stood with his eyes fixed into space, as if he were deaf.

“In that case—” Don Francisco stood straight and tall, a commanding figure still, in spite of whatever inner turmoil he must be hiding. “There is surely no further point in your questioning Ginny? She has already told you that she knows nothing.”

Colonel Devereaux seemed to collect himself. He had stopped his pacing, and his eyes suddenly seemed to have taken on a steely glitter that sent a tremor of apprehension through Ginny’s body.

“I am afraid, sir, that it is not as easy as that.” The colonel turned his head towards Ginny, and a note almost of triumph seemed to have crept into his voice. “Madame’s marriage to your grandson makes her a citizen of Mexico. She is subject to our laws, now, and cannot claim immunity as an American. And though I can well understand your feelings on this matter, Don Francisco, I regret that my duty as a French officer must take precedence over my own inclinations. If you please—” he held up a hand as if to stave off any interruptions and continued sternly, “I must and will have more information from madame. You have already heard me speak of an American counter-guerrilla who works for us—a man named Thomas Beal. He recognizes the lovely Madame Ginny without any doubt, as the same woman who helped an American gunman named Steve Morgan break a man out of jail—a confessed Juarista rebel! And we know now, also, that this same man is none other than your grandson, who calls himself Esteban Alvarado while he is in Mexico. Voila —madame has been travelling far and wide with her—husband. Madame helps rebels escape. Am I therefore such a fool that I must believe that madame did not know what she was doing? That here is a woman so blindly obedient to her husband that she risks her life without question, merely because he tells her to? No, no! Excuse me, but I must ask more questions, and this time I will have answers, Madame, you comprehend?”

“You go too far, Colonel!” Don Francisco’s voice was like thunder. “I had no idea that our allies, the French, are in such straits that now they resort to intimidating ladies in the name of our laws. You may arrest me if you think we’re concealing any knowledge of my grandson’s whereabouts.

And you may be sure, sir, that I will be in touch with Marshal Bazaine himself regarding your rather shoddy tactics.”

“I am acting on the marshal’s instructions. In fact, I am his representative in this province. And if I may remind you, sir, it was the emperor himself who signed certain decrees a few months ago, giving us the authority to question all suspected revolutionaries—to interrogate them to the fullest degree possible, sir; do you understand what that means? And we can execute them too—without trial, if I feel it to be necessary as an example! Believe me, my questions tonight were designed only to spare this lady a great deal of unpleasantness. Do you think we’re so nice in our questioning of peasant women?” He turned on Ginny so suddenly that she jumped, staring at him with wide eyes, her chin now tilting stubbornly. “Madame, I beg you to think, to be reasonable, for your own sake. If you keep silent through any mistaken sense of loyalty, let me remind you that you are half-French—France was your home for most of your life, was it not? And do you realize how many Frenchmen are dying each day for the emperor’s cause? Do you realize that every gun smuggled across the border to the Juaristas is used against us? And it’s men like Steve Morgan who are worse than the others—he is a mercenary—a spy, he has not even the excuse of feeling any particular patriotism, has he? And you, madame, must I tell you of the cowardly ambushes these rebels set? Of the tortures and mutilations? Or must I threaten you with arrest and execution before you will speak?”

“Colonel Devereaux.” There was a sparkle of rage in Ginny’s slanted green eyes, and her voice was coldly defiant. “You are threatening me, and I never have liked threats. And you may execute me, but you’d never get away with it. We have too many acquaintances in common, have we not, Colonel? There’s my papa, the Senator—you know yourself how glad Washington would be of an excuse to intervene here. Our Secretary Seward does not like your presence here, does he? And there’s my uncle Albert—he has your emperor’s ear, as you well know. I’m sorry, but you will not find it as easy to bully or get rid of me as you would some peasant girl.”

“Threats, threats! My dear madame, did you really think I’d execute a lady as lovely and as intelligent as you are? Or that I’d torture you, perhaps? Ah, no. You will find, when you know me better, that I am not nearly so crude in my—um, methods. But, madame—” the man’s face had taken on its former almost benevolent look and he almost beamed down at her; “What shall I do with you? You are really being very stubborn, you know—I had no idea you were so much in love with your husband. In fact, from the tone of the quite frantic letter I received from your father, you were forcibly abducted—at gunpoint, and following on a dastardly attack upon some of my own men. There was a certain young captain who was badly injured, and in fact almost died, trying to defend you. Have you forgotten already? Is all your love and loyalty for France evaporated completely? Do you consider us all monsters now? Eh?”

His sudden volte-face confused Ginny, as the colonel had meant it to do. He shrugged now, casting an almost appealing glance at Don Francisco who stood with a rather amused smile twisting a corner of his mouth.

“Don Francisco—will you not help me make madame see reason? I know she knows more about your grandson’s movements than she is prepared to say. I have executed others for less. You must see that I cannot let her get away with this foolish defiance—my career would be ruined in any case if the story got out that I had been made to back down by a slip of a girl; that I did not do my duty. You’re a man of honor, sir, you understand how it is, do you not? If your grandson had nothing to fear, would he have run away, leaving his bride? I’m begging you to put your patriotism and your loyalty to the emperor before your own feelings—I know it’s hard—”

“Enough, Colonel! You make your point admirably. So you’d play upon my honor now, would you? What would you have me do—order Ginny to betray her husband?”

“What is this? What am I supposed to do? You know, Colonel Devereaux, that a wife cannot give evidence against her husband…” visibly agitated now, Ginny found it impossible to sit still. She stood up quickly, fingers nervously smoothing out the folds of her gown.

“Ah—so you admit that there is some evidence you are withholding? In wartime, Madame, one does not bother about minor technicalities, surely you must realize that!”

How quickly he had pounced upon her words! It was as if he was determined to trip her up, to frighten her and confuse her with the sudden changes of tactics he had shown already.

“I admit nothing! If my husband is what you say he is—he’s told me nothing.”

“But you’ve drawn your own conclusions, surely? Come, madame, you’ve already shown me you possess quickness of wit. Don’t disappoint me now! You’re a woman of spirit and breeding, a lady—why should you feel any misgivings about telling us what we want to know about a man who not only abducted you and forced you into doing his bidding, but deserted you when he found himself recognized, leaving you to face the consequences? Where’s your pride, young lady?”

“I am very much afraid, Ginny, that he is right.” Don Francisco’s voice sounded heavy and old, suddenly; as if every word he spoke was an effort. Ginny could not hide her surprise, she turned to him with her lips parted, her eyes like green flames, imploring him not to desert her now. But he went on adamantly, leaning his elbow against the mantelpiece as if standing was too much for him. She realized with a pang of pitying understanding how much it was costing him to say what he was saying now, especially in the face of Colonel Devereaux’s triumphant expression.

“You must think of yourself now, Ginny, as Esteban has done. He is my grandson, and I love him, but that does not make me blind to his faults—to his wild, irresponsible nature. If he is, indeed, a traitor or a spy, then—” the old man’s lips twisted, as if in pain, but he went on inexorably “—then he must be prepared to take the consequences of his actions. You’ll remember, we’ve talked of this before.”

His eyes looked somberly into hers and their haggard expression, so unfamiliar to her, made Ginny bite her lip in anguish.

“But Don Francisco, Steve is—oh!” she cried through her gritted teeth, looking imploringly at the implacable Frenchman. “He may be an outlaw, yes, even a mercenary, but he isn’t a traitor! A traitor to what? You tell me, colonel, that you think he’s an American spy—I deny it! And if he is, then my loyalty is to America! And no matter what you say about Juarez and his supporters, he is the elected representative of the people of Mexico. Just as President Lincoln was—and he had to use force to insure that the United States stayed united!”

“You see. He has converted her—she talks revolution, she supports Juarez!”

“I support no one, why must you twist my words?” Ginny’s hands were icy cold, and she clasped them together, desperately seeking warmth, and courage. “I love France, I’ve always been proud to be half-French, but I’m not proud of our role here in Mexico as—as conquerors and oppressors.”

“Ginny!” Don Francisco’s voice rang out warningly. “You’re overwrought—be careful what you say!”

“She has already said what she really thinks,” Colonel Devereaux said grimly. “It’s clear enough, unfortunately that she believes in this untidy revolution. A pity that her husband dragged her into it and then saw fit to abandon her! And you, madame—” his voice had become steely, “do you now comprehend that you have, in effect, convicted yourself? And before witnesses?” He took a short step towards her and paused, obviously trying to control his anger. “It grieves me, madame, that I am faced with the very unpleasant duty of placing you under arrest.”

The unreality of the whole scene seemed to deepen. The firelight flickered over Don Francisco’s ravaged, suddenly aging features, and turning her eyes from him to the Frenchman Ginny saw his lips move as he pompously recited chapter and verse from the emperor’s edicts giving him authority to arrest, interrogate, and if necessary, execute suspected rebels. She began to giggle, seeing the humor in it all, and they all looked at her as if she had suddenly gone raving mad.

“For God’s sake, Colonel Devereaux! Can’t you see she’s hysterical? She did not know what she was saying. I cannot let you do this! Whatever my grandson has led her into, I take the full responsibility. I insist that you arrest me. There’s no need to make war on women.”

“Don Francisco, your sense of honor does you credit, but I’m afraid it is not you, but your grandson’s wife we must arrest. She can give us information, I’m sure, that could lead to the arrest of some of these rebels, if not her husband himself. And as soon as she does—she’ll be released. You see, I do not willingly war on women, I can sometimes bend the law—one last chance, madame. I beg you, do not make me do this!”

Her head was suddenly clear; the coldness had spread from Ginny’s hands to her whole body, stiffening it, so that she felt as if she was carved out of marble, even her lips.

She looked back at the portly colonel, and he saw the pearly glint of her teeth as they caught in her bottom lip—her eyes seemed to shine with an unusual brilliance, and he could see the quick rise and fall of her breathing as her breasts swelled over the low décolletage of her gown.

What a woman! he could not help but think admiringly. Such courage, such spirit, and when she’s angry, as she was a moment ago, ma foi! What magnificent, savage beauty! It’s really a pity.

He waited, giving her time to think, his eyes trying to read the thoughts that must even now be scurrying through her mind. Doesn’t she realize the terrible position she’s in? Is she really willing to undergo arrest and even possible death for her husband? He found himself wondering fleetingly, what had really happened between them—this young, beautiful girl that young Capitaine Remy had raved about and the man who had abducted her and taken her all over the country with him. There were even rumors that he’d kept her in a whorehouse—and then, to end up married to him! It was unbelievable—he felt foolish when he thought that earlier in the evening he’d fallen for her story hook, line and sinker; wondering only how on earth Don Francisco Alvarado’s grandson had managed to find her and rescue her. And then Beal had seen her, and described her “husband” and the whole sordid story had come to light. Such a pity!

“I must think…” Ginny said slowly, surprised that her words had emerged from between her cold, stiff lips so clearly. She saw the colonel incline his head formally.

“I will give you three minutes, madame. No longer. You have already wasted too much of my time.”

“Ginny—my dearest child—you must tell all that you know. Never think it betrayal. Think of yourself, of your own future. If I had only known, when Esteban left, what he was leaving you to face I would have stopped him myself. I would have turned him in.”

She hardly recognized the hoarse, old voice as Don Francisco’s. She was almost beyond the point of hearing anything but her own thoughts. She walked slowly over to the small window that overlooked the patio and stood looking out.

Faintly, the sound of music came to her, and laughter. Which was real, all that gaiety of which she’d been a part such a short time ago, or this? This small, hot little room, and the fat, pompous colonel whom she’d dismissed so lightly earlier; the same man who now threatened her with arrest? She wanted to laugh again. Why am I doing this? she wondered. I don’t know very much, it’s true, but what I do know is damning. All I have to say is that he admitted to me he’s a Juarista, and it would be over—after all, he’s gone, they’ll never catch him now. A sudden spark of anger burned in her as she thought of the careless, cavalier way in which he’d treated her from the beginning. And then, this evening, he’d married her quickly and secretively merely to satisfy a promise made to his grandfather…he’d left without so much as a goodbye, leaving her to cope with all this unpleasantness. I must be crazy, she thought, why am I trying to protect him? All he has ever done is use me; he never cared two pins for me, and I suppose that now he’s only too glad to be rid of me. What difference would it make to him if I ended up in jail, after all?

“Madame!”

So her time was up. The Colonel wanted an answer, what could she tell him? I’ll never let him force me into betraying anyone else, she thought fiercely in the same instant.

Ginny turned slowly and the colonel, standing impatiently in the center of the room, thought he saw the faintest smile trembling at the corners of her lips, giving her a strangely sensuous, alluring air. Her arms and shoulders seemed to reflect the firelight, like her opalescent gown—her skin looked tawny, her eyes like emeralds. He knew a fleeting sense of regret that he had not met her first. He had married his very young wife purely as a matter of convenience and because her family had wealth. Had circumstances been different he might have tried to make this woman his mistress. Yes, she was that type. She had the look of a born courtesan; an unconsciously natural air of seduction. She was born to be a mistress and not a wife…

“Well, madame?” Colonel Devereaux repeated impatiently, brushing his own thoughts away with some annoyance.

She seemed to bend her neck slightly as if under a weight. But even if she had made a gesture of defeat, her voice was as clear and as proud as ever.

“Well, Colonel? I vow, you’ve quite frightened me with all your nasty threats. Tell me, what would you have me say?”

He was conscious of a twinge of irritation. Was she implying that he meant to put words in her mouth and force a “confession” that was no real confession at all?

“Why don’t we start at the beginning? When did your husband first admit to you that he was working with the Juaristas? Did he ever give you any indications that there might be some other agency behind him?”

“What a lot of questions. Am I supposed to answer them in order? Well, then—” She had remained by the window, leaning her elbow on the padded sill so that part of her profile was shadowed. The colonel found himself absurdly annoyed because he could not guess at the play of expressions on her face. Her voice continued, lightly mocking, it seemed to him. “Steve never did come right out and tell me he was working with the Juaristas. He did sympathize with their cause, I’m sure of that. But as for any other agencies, I really think you are barking up the wrong tree, Colonel. He seemed to know what he was doing, but he certainly never gave me the impression that he worked for anyone but himself.”

“Madame, you are playing with words! And as I’ve told you before I do not have the time for any more evasions. I don’t want your impressions, if you please, I want facts! Names—places. The names of villages where you hid out. The names of people who sheltered you both—persons this man considered as close friends—in fact, madame, anything that would help us round up as many revolutionaries and Juarist sympathizers as possible.”

He managed to drive under her mask of reserve at last—her head came up and her eyes sparked angrily at him.

“You are asking me, in other words to act as executioner, and merely on suspicion! No, Colonel, I remember nothing. The names of villages mean nothing to me, I’m afraid I can’t even remember faces. But indeed, I’m beginning to realize more and more why the people of this country resent your presence here as oppressors!”

She would tell him nothing else. Her defiant stubbornness drove the colonel into an equally implacable determination to crush her pride and force her into bending.

He changed his tactics only at the last moment, after he had informed her that she was under arrest, and that he must insist, regretfully of course, that she accompany him to his headquarters at Zacatecas. Even the threats and anger of Don Francisco could not alter Colonel Devereaux’s decision, although he put on an air of paternal concern and promised that there would be no overt scandal. With Don Francisco’s compliance, they would leave quietly, in Colonel Devereaux’s own carriage. He could make her excuses to the Sandovals—the young lady had developed a splitting headache and was so sick that she had been sent home. And in the meantime…

“You may be assured that I’m not exactly a heartless monster. She won’t be lodged in a jail cell, of course—I’ll see that she occupies my own quarters, which are comfortable enough, I assure you!” The colonel’s benign look had returned, his eyes twinkled as he lowered his voice. “Perhaps a little fright—the knowledge that I’m not bluffing—will help overcome her stubbornness. And of course—if her husband should decide to give himself up it will save us all a lot of trouble, won’t it? I’ll see to it personally that the young lady is released at once, in that case. You understand my position, Don Francisco?”

“There is no mistaking it,” the old man responded harshly. He said nothing else to the colonel and embraced the silent, cold-faced girl with real affection.

“You must not worry. The matter is not ended here, and I promise to move heaven and earth if need be to secure your immediate release.”

“You mustn’t be upset. I’m not afraid, you know,” she said quietly, and almost wonderingly. Because she was not. Not then.